It’s been a while, I know. This type of absence is perfect evidence of the turmoil that has become my mind since last we spoke. But, frankly, I don’t want you to think I’m apologizing, I’m just acknowledging, and that’s a damn good first step.
I’m even struggling to write something right now, even though I do this all the time for work. And this struggle is unfortunate, since: first, it is rooted in me not wanting to fall in the typical, cliché blog post about anxiety; and, second, I’m still caring about your opinion, a typical, cliché collateral feeling of anxiety. Meaning that I’m still not there yet, and I’m beginning to feel that I never will.
Don’t get me wrong, this is not a post about me putting up a white flag and surrendering. This is not me giving up on getting better. On the contrary, this is me realizing something that I enjoy seeing somebody else realizing in literary fiction and have always thought of not needing to realize it myself: the concept of peace.
I’m not talking about the fantasy concept of peace that aims to have everything rosy and fine (ugh, how I loathe that word) between two enemies "just because". I’m talking about the realistic concept of peace in which both enemies approach each other and, even though they disagree with each other, have come to terms with the fact that they need each other to survive, so they might as well share the world in peace. They have come to realize that the destruction of one, is the destruction of both.
Anxiety, for me, is a monster that is lurking under my bed, whispering endless thoughts of self-disappointment, what-could-have-been’s, and what-can-happen’s. It’s despicable, disgusting, and tempting to destroy.
But... I can’t live without it. I couldn’t have lived without it. Those thoughts come with a sensational collateral plus: they make me better at what I do. The what-could-have-been’s are lessons to be learned; the what-can-happen’s are plans to be carried out and designed to avoid future what-could-have-been’s; and self-disappointment is a good incentive for avoiding them.
I want peace with it, the realistic one. I want to reach down under my bed and offer it cake, because we need each other to survive, so we might as well share it in the process. And I know this is a long haul; I’m not here stating that I’m okay. I’m here saying that I may never be and that I’m starting to be okay with that. That monster is me and it wants to be loved as much as I do. To want to destroy it is to want to destroy me. To avoid having those thoughts or feeling down when I do have them, is like I’m apologizing to myself for being me.
I’m not here to apologize to myself for what I am, I’m just acknowledging myself, and that’s a damn good first step.