The Anger Phase

Mental health is a fickle bitch. I’m on top of this though. I’m going to let it do its thing. I’m not going to hold back and I’m not going to judge myself.

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bees

There is a swarm of bees in there! Don’t open the door! If one gets out, you will be chasing it for days!

My past is a swarm of bees. Every single bad decision I have ever made. Every bad thing that has happened to me. Every single thing I wish I would have done differently. The swarm is buzzing full speed. Circling the space, looking for an exit. Waiting and waiting, buzzing and buzzing. Just building energy waiting to unleash. One slip up, one bad day, one bad moment and the next thing you know I keep opening the damn door. And an angry bee or two dashes out. Then I am chasing it, analyzing it, wondering where it’s going next and how do I get it back in that damn room? How can I get it back in there without opening the door? If I open it, I risk more bees slipping out. So I chase it. Should I just kill the bee? But I can’t kill it. I need it.

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the apex of anxiety

My anxiety grew into a behemoth. Rendering me silent. Swelling like a tidal wave. Dropping off. Then swelling again. It’s electric. Intense alertness. I can feel it. In my chest, in my body. I’ve never been able to describe it well, it’s like a fuzzy feeling. It’s adrenaline. Misused adrenaline. Spent energy. Wasted energy. Then exhaustion. My body just shuts down.

Rest.

Recovery.

Repeat.

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perspective

It is all about perspective.

How are you looking at the world and do you think it owes you something? It doesn’t. The only person to bring you peace is yourself. And how you look at the world determines how much peace you will have. Do you have to do things or do you get to do things.

I try to remind myself that I get to do things. Getting to do things gives me a different perspective. Alleviates some anxieties.

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unnecessary anxiety and the solution

I have anxiety. I believe we have established that. I’m not cool with it by any means but I am learning to let it be and acknowledge it. Pretending it isn’t there is toxic. Ignoring the racing thoughts and the heaviness is my chest is unhealthy and prolongs the episode. There are categories to my anxiety; legitimate panic because of shitty life things, unknown panic that comes out of nowhere, panic induced by false thoughts and then unnecessary panic that can be solved by completing a task weighing on my mind.

My house was causing me unnecessary anxiety. Unnecessary panic. As we approach the end of summer with sports starting up and back to school for the kids and myself I had to find a solution.

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A bike. A smile. And some happiness.

I bought a bike. With a basket. It’s periwinkle with muted lime rims. She is an old timey easy rider. Wide set handle bars. A white spring seat. Whitewall tires underneath glossy white fenders.

I’ve been wanting a bike for a few years now but I kept finding an excuse not to follow through. My daughter has a bike and I taught her how to ride it. My son has one and has been struggling without the training wheels. I didn’t put the pressure on because of his condition. I figured he would get it eventually. My husband has a bike that I’ve never seen him ride. Now that you know our bike inventory you are probably wondering where I am going with this. Honestly, I have no idea. This is how writing works with me. Enjoying the ride?

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Parenting: when you know you’re doing it right.

I’m kidding. I have no idea if I’m doing it right. We are all just winging it, right? We are an amalgamation of influences; our own parents, our friends’, social, educational, environmental. We just sandwich all that shit together and hope for the best.

Part anxiety, part regular ol’ parenting; each night I rehash all of my parental instructions of the day. I question all of it. Did I give enough context? Did I give an example, was my tone too harsh? Did I come across bat-shit crazy?

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Feeling the Stigma

Published words have been elusive as of late. I’m not entirely sure why but I have an inkling. I’m feeling good. Not great but good. I’m feeling vulnerable and a little less confident. I’m feeling the weight of the mental health stigma and I’m shying away from putting pen to paper, err rather… fingers to keys. I’ve scribbled many starts in my countless notebooks.

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