I have so much I want to say, write, and express. Sometimes I feel like there’s not enough hours in the day to get it all out! The words spoken or written come out in a humble jumble and I breathe a sigh of relief. Finally I can focus on something that needs my attention like my overflowing laundry baskets, neglected emails, and that ugly bath tub ring staring at me.
I get consumed sometimes like there will be there be enough hours in the day to purge myself of these thoughts that hold me captive. Will there be enough lyrics in a song, enough stanzas in a poem, will my insatiable thirst for knowledge ever be quenched as I spend my late night owl hours researching neurology?
Will I allow myself to rest or will the anxiety monster that lives inside me roar up and raise its ugly head yelling at me never shall you sleep with ease while I’m in charge! What is it about this desire, drive, curiousity, and deep seated need that feels like home to me? It’s all I’ve ever known so is it possible to be something or someone else who isn’t acting on the impulse of that steady thrumming in my head and heart?
To be all I can be, when I can, as much as I can before it’s too late! And why will it ever be too late when will the worry jagged lines carved into my brain cease to exist? I really can’t answer that to worry feels like breathing to me. I can get on a good righteous path and do really well with controlling it for awhile. Then something always happens and sends me into a tailspin watching, waiting, and questioning my anxiety fueled fears.
Gripping me in it’s vise grip hold choking the pure joy out of me and drowning me in sadness and worry. I want to break free and live that life I dream of on the overside of the coin, than overdose in this blanket of fear. I cry out in pain, praying for God to release me from this torment of my mind! My life has never been an easy one like anyone else on this spinning orb we call earth I grew up in dysfunction.
I was loved it was just the people who loved me grew out of love for each other. Or maybe there was a deep rooted love there but no respect. I spent my childhood days wanting that picture perfect family I saw shining in all its Hollywood glory on Happy Days. Even the Fonz in his cool leather jacket, and rebellious ways was Arthur to the Cunninghams and was loved and found worthy.
Why did I need this so much I was only four when my parents separated? I worried so much with my religious background, that they would end up in purgatory for their sins. I wanted desperately to solve the problems of the adults around me and everything to go back to what I considered normal. That word always left me feeling so inadequate because I never felt like I could live up to its expectations.
Normal is really just a figment in my mind. My Mom always told me I was born to stand out and to never let anyone tell me my star couldn’t shine. She had such a lovely positive spirit and a way with words spoken, written, or sung. Losing her was my normal first to dementia, and next to death. When both felt like my heart was being ripped from my body!
There are days when I just don’t want to worry anymore. How I just want to see my beloved Mama again and collaspe into tears in her lap; where she strokes my hair and tells me this too shall pass. But she’s not there and sometimes it’s only a Mom’s hug that can heal the wounds of your heart.
An emotional roller coaster on the anxiety highway is my reality. When it gets too much I turn off the world and unplug and slip into my sensory pleasure of music. Singing with all my being so loud that even heaven could hear me. Those are the times I feel closer to my version of normal and as my heart soars and my spirits sings, getting me one step closer to God and freedom and to her voice and love.