Only The Curious

Karl* says that my kind of crazy is like my kind of “bad skiing:” totally manageable. Given that he’s already seen me at pretty much my worst (a few times, actually, I’m awesome…) I can only conclude that he is, himself, kind of crazy. Maybe that’s why it’s** working. He started dating me at what might have been my lowest point in years. Which makes me think I should probably not be dating at all right now, but you know what? Things happen for reasons. I believe in divine timing, or synchronicity, or whatever you want to call it. Point is, that little joy is holding me together right now. Not in a dependent, oh my god I NEED you way, (this is the part where Karl runs for his life) just in a “I have at least one thing I”m looking forward to today” kind of way. And when you’re borderline depressed, sometimes that’s all you need. One thing to get you out of bed in the morning. (Even if I’m counting rolling out at 11:59 as “morning.”) I am grateful for him, but also kind of embarassed. I find myself constantly wanting to apologize for myself by quoting that line from Fight Club, “You met me at a very interesting time in my life.”

Thankfully I’ve been far too down to take any action a la Tyler Durden. Though when I’m upset I do occasionally feel the desire to punch things. My mother realized this when I was in the temper-tantrum throwing stage (which, for me, started around 2 and ended around 22) and taught me to hit pillows and throw balled-up socks at the wall. Which was brilliant, really. Except for the time I hit a hanging picture with the socks and it shattered, and then I got even more upset because my unicorn mirror was broken…

What was my point again? That I’m doing better? Yeah, I am. Kind of. Admittedly I still stayed up until 1 am drinking red wine and watching “Castle” online. (PS: watching murder mysteries right before bed is NEVER a good idea. Really, watching murder mysteries is never a good idea. But with Castle I figure the goodness of watching Nathan Fillion neutralizes the whole thing.) And admittedly I was proud of myself for getting out of bed “early” today. (9:48 a.m.) It’s better than noon, right?

But I am doing better, and here’s why: well, actually here’s the backstory on why: for most of my life prior to turning 24, I was a ginormous ball of stress. I was a perfectionist, an overachiever, an insomniac, and had regular anxiety attacks. The kind of anxiety attacks that would pin me to the ground in the middle of the afternoon, where I would nearly stop breathing and then call my mom and yell at her for not helping me (wonderful daughter, right here. SORRY ‘BOUT THAT, MOM! YOU’RE A FANTASTIC PARENT. Forgive me?) even though there was absolutely nothing she could do since I wouldn’t tell her what was wrong (because I didn’t actually know.) This peaked my sophomore year of college, and the end result was losing a job because I forgot to go to work, losing a boyfriend because I forgot how to be a fun person to be with, and failing a class because I forgot go to go the final. I went into therapy at the school’s psych center, they put me on anxiety meds, and both felt better and hated it.

I decided I didn’t need to be on meds, and as it turns out, I was right. But the only way I was able to get off of them was by taking control. I got my first apartment with a good friend, took ONE job as a campus tour guide, which I really liked and was good at, and that was all I allowed myself to do that summer. No stress, no pressure, no overcommitment. I made myself go running every day, cooked healthy meals for myself, and got 8 hours of sleep every night. I also didn’t  drink alcohol, but, then, I was 20 and didn’t really drink at that point anyway. Thank god. By the time school started again in the fall, I really, actually, had my shit together for the first time in my life. And all on my own. And that felt GOOD.

So when I started losing my shit last week (both figuratively and literally; missing: wallet, camera, sunglasses, pride…) I recognized it. I won’t pretend I’ve been doing everything right, (not hardly) but I started with one thing: exercise. I ran for 20 minutes one day, and 30 the next, and 32 the day after that. (Baby steps.) I bought some produce so I could cook some healthy food. I also bought plane tickets home and registered for a meditation retreat.

Oh, yeah, meditation. That was the thing that really changed my life. I started in 2005. Because even with the exercising and eating well and all that there was still anxiety and underlying stress. It was just manageable. And the meditation helped it go away. Sometimes I write about my meditation here. (Though not often, I’ll admit. Because the whole point of meditation is to not think about it too much.)

I’m still having a rough time. I look at Craigslist and determine that I don’t want to do ANY of the hundreds of jobs listed there. I read ads for Administrative Assistants that talk about being detail-oriented and on time and wonder how on earth I have managed to successfully work those kinds of jobs for nearly ten years, because I am willing to admit that I am neither of those things. I really just want to drink coffee until happy hour and then beer until bed, while I read and blog and watch Buffy.

But I don’t indulge those desires for too long. Because, for one thing, I don’t think Karl would find me so attractive if I gave up on life that way. Neither would I.  And for another, I don’t give up, especially on myself. And for a third, because I know that if I keep taking little steps toward getting my shit together again, I will.

Time for a run. Possibly followed by Buffy.

________________________________ …yes, my blog has footnotes today.

*Karl: this is the first time I’ve posted about him. Or any guy directly, really. He claims he has nothing to hide, so it’s okay. I told him I was more worried about what I might have to hide. Anyway, he’s a guy. A good one. Who seems to like me. And is also possibly the best skiier I have ever seen in person.

**IT: is currently undefined. Dating, I guess. Though for his sake thank god facebook lets you go with “it’s complicated.”

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Okay, so I’m moving. In a week. This is something I’ve dreamed of doing for years and years and now it’s a week away and I barely feel like it’s even happening, except that I’m all nervous and weird about it so I know something important is happening. I had always pictured this week as being a joyride of looking forward to leaving, getting ready, everything like that. But at the moment I’m mostly in denial and eating copious amounts of ice cream.

It’s not that I’m not excited – I am. How could I not be? I’m fulfilling a life-long dream. I’ve even got a few things lined up and happening out there, so it’s getting more and more real by the day. I guess the joy of it just hasn’t quite hit me yet. I keep saying it probably won’t until I’ve been there long enough to realize that I’m there, and I’m not on vacation.

I guess I didn’t think I would be so sad. In the past, the times when I most intensely thought about moving were usually the times when things weren’t going well – when I felt a lack of friends, I had just been laid off or a relationship had just ended, or all of those at once. But that’s not the case now.

I love my friends. I love my boyfriend. I love my family. And they’re all here.

But I feel like it’s better to be leaving on good terms. I’ll always have all of those things to come back to. And I’m going to Colorado to pursue something, rather than to run away from things.

I’m glad I’m doing it now, though. Two years ago I would’ve left and not looked back. A year from now and those attachments that are making me sad to leave now might stop me in my tracks completely.

Things happen in their perfect time. And mine seems to be NOW.

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