Wednesday, February 25, 2015

State of the Union --Vulnerability Hangover Pending

LaFou, I'm afraid I've been thinking... A dangerous pastime-- I KNOW

I think I'm a better long distance friend than I am in person. There are very few exceptions to this rule. Very few people that I've allowed to see me vulnerable in person. That I've been completely myself around.  That I can tell the things that you don't tell other people to --the happiest thoughts and greatest fears and depressing thoughts. Tell them, like verbally, in person. I can count them on one hand. One literal hand. On the other metaphorical hand however, there are countless people that I keep in touch better with over long distance. Social media. Text message. That I can be more myself through written and digital communication only. And it's not them, it's me. At least mostly, I think. Maybe it's just another expression of my preference to compartmentalize my life?

...

I had a full on chest-tightness, palpitations, and tachypnea panic attack the other day in the middle of Wicked at The Pantages Theater in Hollywood. Why? Because I don't have a house and what if I don't have my house paid off by the time I retire --by the time my mom was my age she and my dad had owned a home for twelve years... and what if I don't have enough money saved for retirement and I really should be more... No, Stop. It's fine... Besides, it's not like I need to have money saved to put children through college, so there's that...

...

Running hasn't been enough lately. For the past few days I've woken up on the queen bitch side of the bed. None of my usual tricks work to snap me out of it. The other day I had met my four-letter word quota for the day before I had even opened my eyes thanks to the obnoxious tropical birds outside my window (first world problems) (and have you ever seen Failure To Launch?)

Anyways, I stomped out of bed, caught up on the important goings-on of the world while I was sleeping (checked in with twitter and instagram) and grumpily decided to go for a run. It wasn't enough. My legs protested, my lungs burned, my stomach threatened to overturn itself and I was still mad at some unknown entity. So I kept going. I got to the end and still didn't feel any better, which just made me more mad --where were my endorphins dammit?! I threw my hands in the air and cried. Yep. Cried. Walking from the running path to the beach --tears streaming from underneath my sunglasses. And as if from nowhere I said to myself ...or maybe as a prayer of sorts... "I can't do this anymore! I can't do life by myself anymore, I need people!" Life is just hard sometimes, ya know? I kept walking, and kept crying, waiting for the sun-drenched sand to work it's magic. Then because God is funny, the next song on my Pandora was "Big Girls Don't Cry." Which actually did make me laugh... and the tears did stop. I appreciate humor. Then I made it to the beach and saw the most beautiful low tide, and I was ok.  I am ok, and I will be ok. Why is it so hard to need people?  Maybe I need to read THIS article again...


1 comment:

Anonymous said...

Hugs. And a big flip-off to those damned birds...