This is an empty blog, but not for lack of guilt or inspiration.
I’d like to say the last couple of months have been hard, and while they’ve certainly been eventful, describing them as “hard” would be a disservice to individuals with more difficult problems. It would also be a disservice to myself — I’ve certainly dealt with a fuller plate, and with more grace.
In the past few years, I’ve developed pretty severe anxiety. This isn’t something that I talk a lot about, but I’m finding that it interferes with my daily life more frequently as time passes. I have had other, more important things to write — legal papers, an internship proposal, e-mails to my employers sorting out their not-actual-firing of me.
I grew up as a member of the Happy Plate Club, and we didn’t eat dessert until we’d finished all of our dinner. Writing for this blog or for any other “frivolous” manner would be eating my dessert with green beans left on the plate. However, my anxiety has prevented me from approaching the essential writings on my To-Do list. Every time I sit down to take care of them, anxiety intercedes until I find it impossible to keep working. My mind goes completely blank, my heart races, and I feel on the edge of an emotional break-down … and all of this for just WRITING something down that I already have formulated in my brain. A complete thought, not even the sorting out of what to do but the actual doing of it. Something in my brain deeply fears the completion of responsibility and it SUCKS. That used to be my forte, the thing that tickled my fancy. All of my loose ends are choking me, and I feel very incomplete without the ability to pursue my strong internal direction.
Frankly, I’m very ashamed and disappointed in myself. This is hard to deal with.
I have some very probable theories on why I’ve developed this anxiety, and I probably should see a therapist, but in addition to the Happy Plate Club I grew up as part of the Bootstraps Pulling Club (yes, my extracurricular activities list was the tipping point for my acceptance into the University of Georgia). For me, it feels pointedly wrong to ask for help. Like an acceptance of personal weakness; the weak do not succeed.
I haven’t come to a resolution on dealing with this anxiety, but I needed to air out these feelings and reward myself with a little dessert. I hate green beans, and I ate a big bowl of them, and there’s more left to eat.
Let’s call this a warm-up exercise for more green beans.