Afraid to Write

I am afraid to start writing this story. I am more terrified than simply scared, to be quite honest. I thought I was taking a writing break to relax and focus on what was important to me. Instead, I find myself dreading this moment. I don't know what words will come out once I start writing. I have felt such tremendous anxiety over the last week or so. I finally contacted a new therapist and will see her for an initial session next week. I don't know if I can hold out for that long, but I've always managed in the past.

I suppose that the best place to start is at the beginning. After we adopted our new cat, Jordan, things went well. I decided to take a break from writing to focus on him and the other cats. We have to ensure they are all adjusted correctly and without any carnage. Things went even better than planned. The cats all got along quickly and have grown closer ever since. That was when I decided that I needed that time to myself. I had deliberately stopped writing every day because I didn't feel that I had anything to contribute on such a regular basis, and I didn't want to become repetitive.

After a week, I started noticing that little things were bothering me. I began to feel anxiety creeping back into my life. I had taken my medication every day, but this time, things felt different, as if I wasn't getting enough results from the medication. Then, the dreams started. 

I found out through a random notice that an old/former, apparently, friend got married. Hal and I never got any notice or invitation. Hal told me to let it go, and I tried, but I couldn't. That was a change from before when things like this had ceased to bother me because of the medication. My mind invented all sorts of worst-case scenarios about why we weren't invited or notified when the simple fact that I discovered it accidentally should have alerted me to the fact that the person obviously didn't care to let us know.

I couldn't let this thing go. Scenarios kept recurring. I was on the verge of calling to see how they were doing until I realized that was the worst thing I could do. I wanted to lash out and be angry at someone, even though I couldn't find a legitimate reason. Thoughts kept me awake at night, and I felt the anxiety growing inside me. I wanted this to stop.

I had seen a therapist before, but I found that she was more interested in trying experimental drugs and practices on me that my insurance wouldn't t cover, so I stopped seeing her after January. I kept putting off locating a new therapist. I must have thought that I had everything under control, but I was wrong. I finally contacted a new therapist and set up a consultation for next week so I can try to get myself back to normal, or at least closer to normal.

Then, the next series of dreams started. I won't go into detail; suffice it to say that they all involved a fear of abandonment, which was the common theme for several nights running. I knew I had to see someone and hoped they could help. I will find out in a little over a week.

Until then, I resisted writing because I wasn't sure what I was going to say. That is a frightening predicament for a writer. I felt like I was on top of everything until this all started. I feel like I am on that first steep roller coaster drop, but I'm riding blindfolded and cannot see how long the drop will last before pulling up. For years, I treated writing as self-therapy, but now, when I need to be in control, I find I am in freefall with no guidance. 

I hope to find some explanation for my separation anxiety because my anxiety has never been so specific before. I don't try to explain it away because I can't. This whole thing kept me from writing until now. I have to get this off my chest to get back to writing for pleasure again. I hope that I am doing the right thing.

In addition to the specific anxiety I mentioned, depression also seems to be increasing. I am not motivated to do most things right now, with writing just the tip of the iceberg. Even though the weather has been beautiful, I find reasons to stay indoors and quiet. While that is occasionally useful, I know it is out of control now. I listen to music and try to meditate, but that isn't helping as much as in the past.

By now, you have probably written me off as a basket case, and I find it hard to argue with you on that point, but I want to get better and start enjoying things again. There is still a lot that Hal and I want to do. He has been supportive, but he also pushed me to get a new therapist as quickly as possible. I don't want to ruin any more of our spring or summer with my issues. We want to get out and explore the area, visit a few museums, and take some leisurely hikes since I cannot take any other type right now.

I had to stop writing yesterday because I didn't feel I was getting anywhere with my efforts. I got a decent night's sleep without a separation anxiety dream messing things up, so I was happy about that. I know I needed the rest.

When I woke up today, I felt exhausted even after my sleep. I wanted to go out with Hal, but the malaise returned, and I just wanted to put my Airpods in and stay home. I even went back to bed and napped for two hours this afternoon. I know we will go out tomorrow because I have my physical therapy appointment on Wednesday afternoon, and I hope that does me some good. I keep hoping things will improve soon, but I also know from experience that I have to be patient and ride this out. Whenever I try to rush through periods like this, I only end up feeling worse than before.

Tuesday evening will be quiet here at home. Hal and I don't need anything right now, and I am grateful for that. We have each other and the Fab Four to keep us company, which is so much more than some people have. I will finish this story, post it, and let the chips fall where they may. Part of me still wants to hide this story away, but perhaps it will help someone else out there, so I will publish it this evening. I am happy that I am approaching the word count I set for myself when I started typing; that is one practice I want to continue. If I can tell a story at a set length of time, that would be a pleasure for me. Something always gets in the way whenever I think I have found my writing rhythm.

Once this storm of anxiety and depression passes, I will try to be more consistent and punctual with my writing. I still feel like I am sitting on a volcano that is about to erupt when I don't write. I'm not too fond of that feeling. I feel like I let myself down by surrendering to the anxiety and depression rather than fighting through them. As I said earlier, this story may resonate with someone who needs help, just like myself, and I hope it convinces them that they aren't alone. I feel better after dragging myself to the Mac to complete this story today when it would be so easy just to let it slide for another day.