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.”

Tweet This Post

I’m a crappy blogger. Because, seriously? I can’t write regularly. Ever. Even when I’m biking the hell across Texas and have three posts a day worth of stuff going on and so why am I writing now when there’s nothing going on and I’m unemployed and homeless and sitting in the suburbs? I have so much to tell you. Everything changed.

So at some point I will write more about the ride. And at some point I will write about the massive disappointment that was me not getting an interview to be a guide with Trek, and how to deal with disappointment and moving on when your dreams don’t work out and what it feels like to bust ass and have to give up on your goals anyway because achieving them is beyond your control. And at some point I’ll write about the thousands of things that have gone through my head in the two weeks since I got the email that said I was qualified but “not a good fit.”At some point I will write about corporate culture, and the fact that it really is for the best, and how we build up idea of things that aren’t always realistic. At some point I will tell you about everything I have learned about myself and everything I have figured out and about the things I’m thinking about doing next.

I will write about all of that. At some point. Maybe when I stop having anxiety attacks while sitting in my parked car, maybe when I’m done laying in the middle of the street and sobbing. Which I hate to admit that I actually did in real life a few days ago, because it makes me sound pathetic and I normally pride myself on being one of those people who always wants to put on my strong face and never ever gives up and just tries harder and keeps trying harder until I win. That is something that I love about myself. I don’t quit. I don’t give up. And I hate to admit that sometimes I do, in fact, freak out, and cry, and spend entire days in my pajamas watching Buffy the Vampire Slayer because it’s the only thing that makes me feel okay.

But I want to be real here. And one of the best blogs I ever read was when my awesome fabulous friend Nicole (who I have never met for real but will next month in Vegas) wrote about dealing with her own depression and anxiety. Because as cliche as it sounds, it made me realize I’m not alone, and that a lot of my friends and peers are awesome on the outside and freaking the shit out on the inside. The quarterlife crisis cliche is real. And it’s not a one time thing. It happens over and over in your twenties. And most of us handle it well and go running and go drinking and blow off steam and keep moving forward. But sometimes the crazy comes out and you just need to sit in the street and cry, and save the profound thoughts for another day.

Tweet This Post

I write this post from a point of equilibrium – halfway between things. We’re almost exactly half of the way from Madison to Boulder, in Lincoln, NE where some friends have been so generous as to put Leah and I up for the night. So often our outside circumstances reflect our inner ones, and at the moment I’m feeling very neutral.

Leaving was hard. I knew I’d be sad, but I expected it to be more bittersweet than melancholy. I cried a lot, especially when watching my mother and then Ian shrink in my rearview mirror. The weight of those emotions only started to lift about 6 hours into the trip, as we watched the spectacular light show that the thunderstorms on the horizon put on for us. When you see something that massive and powerful and beautiful, you are reminded that your own life is but one small piece of so much more.

I had pictured my departure in my head like a scene from a movie – my closest friends and family in the driveway, all waving goodbye as I pulled away, music blaring, thrilled for my grand adventure. While I knew this wasn’t quite realistic – it was a workday, after all – I wasn’t quite prepared for the drawn out process of saying goodbye to people individually and doing so hours and hours before my departure. Many people I didn’t even get to say a proper goodbye to; last time I saw them I didn’t realize I wouldn’t be seeing them again. Pulling away from Ian’s apartment with him standing alone in the parking lot, waving until after I was out of sight was just painful and sad. Not the celebrated exit I had mentally prepared myself for.

When we finally left Madison, it was nearly 3 p.m., hours later than I’d planned. It was overcast and threatening rain, and the last place I set foot in Wisconsin was at the Supertarget, where we bought a cooler bag and a bottle of wine for our overnight hosts. It was weird. But Leah did take some video which made it feel more official and important.

And then we just started driving West. Infrequent downpours slowed us throughout Eastern Iowa; once it was so dense we had to pull over and wait it out. We listened to “The Hitchiker’s Guide to the Galaxy” and noted funny names (Middle Raccoon and North Skunk rivers) and pulled out the videocamera each time we hit some kind of landmark. At 9:00 p.m. we were hungry and desperately hoping to find a place that would still serve us food; we nearly fell to our knees and bowed down in the parking lot of a Subway somewhere East of Council Bluffs.

Though I was exhausted last night, I can’t say I slept soundly. It’s always odd being in a place with unfamiliar sounds and smells, and that combined with anxiety and excitement pulled me in and out of waking consciousness all night. I am finally starting to feel excited this morning though. We’ll be in Colorado TODAY! It feels so surreal. But I suppose that’s how it is when you’re finally doing something you’ve talked about for so long, you weren’t even sure you believed yourself anymore.

As I move more into wakefulness this morning, the anxiety lingers and sadness about everyone I’m leaving behind still colors my thoughts, but joy and excitement are beginning to flood in.

Tweet This Post