I’ve often heard people say that ‘life happens’. I have to admit (without sounding like a jerk, I hope) that I always thought the phrase was weak. Wishy washy. Like, something someone says when they don’t want to accept accountability for their actions. Or lack of action. Or mess.
Life doesn’t just happen. There are choices in there, right? Opportunities to get it right. Or spectacularly get it wrong. And then sometimes you have fewer choices than you would like to have. Other times, the only choices available are bad ones. Such as jumping out of the frying pan and into the fire.
My whole life I have wanted to be perfect. Not for the admiration of others. I don’t seek that. I never needed to be popular, and as a chubby kid, I never was. Well, there was a brief moment when my parents had divorced, when I was driving a Honda Accord LX with flip lights. I worked hard for it. Bought it used from my Dad who drove the snot out of it commuting to Toronto from our rural home. Still, it was a cool car. I felt cool. And the cool people let me drive them around for a time.
So perhaps I was cool by proxy? Not even close. Although I made a kick-butt yearbook editor, selling advertising to local businesses. So there’s that. A preview of talent that would emerge later. Allowing me to work from home perpetually. With the comfort of my dogs around me.
Anxiety: Think I Like Feeling This Way?
Have I mentioned that I have two diagnosed mental health disorders? I don’t think of one of them as a disorder at all. Attention Deficet Hyperactivity Disorder (ADHD) has been a superpower for my career. If not exhausting frequently for those who love me. Oh that energy. Oh that left turn no signal creative conversational style. I am hoping eventually it gets less burdensome for people who spend time with me.
I assume everyone wants me to shut up. And act differently. I wish I could, many times. If you think you are telling me to shut up in your mind? I’m doing the same thing. The energy surges are exhausting. The exhaustion is exhausting. And the creative noise in my writer’s brain is exhausting too.
The other condition I have is called General Anxiety Disorder (GAD). When you combine it with ADHD… oh boy! FUN! Do you remember speedy Gonzalez? The little Mexican cartoon mouse that would be SO culture canceled today for the racial stereotypes? Well, I loved the little dude. I related to him.
I didn’t like feeling like him. I didn’t like acting like him. I was aware of those behaviors, or the signs of almost manic levels of excitement, explosive creativity, humor, chattiness, followed by an energy crash of epic proportions. Want to know why I am so grateful to the few people who actually love me? Because I know my company isn’t always easy. But I try so hard to moderate it.
Without medication. Because unfortunately, after trying a bunch of them, I learned they don’t work for me. Well, they dumb me down which makes it impossible to write. Which is how I make my living. So, no, I don’t choose to struggle with anxiety and hyperactivity. But I have tried to moderate it. Master it. It’s harder than it sounds, and a continued work in progress.
Messy Things Stress Me Out
If I should die before I wake, I want my Mom to know she was a good Mom tonight. There is a mess I have to clean up from those three years of turmoil. I had a panic attack tonight and I called my Mom. To be clear, that’s weird for us. Usually, I manage my own schtuff. But tonight, my Mom was a good Mom and helped me. And that felt really, really good.
Thanks Mom. xx
When the health bills kept flying at me. When I tried to concentrate on not dying from Sepsis, or COVID-19. When immigration was attacking me for a clerical error. A. Clerical. Error. You would have thought that I was a criminal by the way I was treated. I was almost deported. For using the wrong form. That’s it. I did everything else correctly. It was just the wrong form on a website. Which, by the way, they changed later because apparently, thousands like me made the same error.
Messy things stress me out. Problems that add up, that aren’t cleared or resolved, bother me. I like making progress. I like clearing through the garbage. I like an uncomplicated existence. HAH! Okay, if you know me, you chuckled. I chuckled too. That may be the goal but it definitely isn’t realized. Yet.
So this particular mess has built up over a few years. I am human. I faced a tsunami of junk that honestly, I think would have tanked most people. I walked, swam, waded, and crawled through it. And now, I am tacking the last big mess. And it was intimidating to me.
Removing the Spiritual Necrotic Tissue
Today I ripped the bandage off. Saw the infection. I have been feeling it for a few years. Getting more and more infected, I simply piled on more bandaids. And felt worse and worse about the problem it was creating. Paralyzed by fear. Unable to deal with one more thing, financial or otherwise, in my world. I let it fester.
But today I ripped the bandage off. I retained some help, and we are working on the resolution. And rather than staring at the seepage from a wound, I tried so hard to recover (until I had the faculties to address it) I poured some alcohol over it. It’s going to sting. But, as my Mom used to say, “it only stings because it’s working”. Curing the problem.
And on the other side of the problem, is more pride in myself. A cleaned-up mess. And hopefully, less anxiety, self-loathing, and fear. Because I am facing it head-on. And I will fix it. Because it is my mess. And my job to clean it up.
