Day 16 – Someone or something you definitely could live without.
If you’re new to my blog, I started a 30 Days of Truth Challenge earlier this month. I’m now tackling day 16. You can see the rest of the prompts here.
Saying you live an anxiety-driven life is an oxymoron. What is left of living if you’re consumed by compulsive behavior and panic attacks? Well, when you say it that way Fina…
At the age of 16, I started fighting little battles with the bastard and, by the time I was wrapped in Ike’s arms, I’d overwhelmingly lost the fight. With cold sweats and trembling limbs, my daily life was consumed by forcing myself to breathe. Seriously. I had to remind myself that it was necessary.
The worst part? Remembering what a fighter I used to be. I was the 12-year-old girl who stood in front of a crowd and broke boards with her right foot. I was the 5’3 blond girl who gracefully stood front and center at our high school football games during half time, knowing that hundreds of eyes were on me. I walked with confidence, I fought with vigor, and I danced with impeccable grace. It seems, at the time, that courageousness was a fickle bitch in my life. Instead of growing into a suitable bravery, I started weakening as I neared my twenties.
This period of life wasn’t exactly kind to me. My first relationship was mentally abusive, my second sexual partner wasn’t consensual, and my desire to hide these things from the people who I loved proved to create an unstoppable habit of secretiveness, which remained with me until I left Ike.
I used to read books about getting rid of anxiety without medication. I used to take daily doses of ‘normalcy’ (i.e. Celexa) to fight the battle for me. But what it really came down to was that I needed to get the fuck over myself.
Now, as a mid (okay, mid-to-late) twenty-something, I look back at myself as an early twenty-something and can’t say I recognize the little pieces of glitter that make me who I am today.
I’m not mad about it. I can’t begin to describe how thankful I am to see those changes in myself. And, no matter how much it pains me to say that I was in an abusive relationship, those little pieces of glitter I just mentioned tell me that it took superhero strength to walk away from something like that.
I’m beginning to see remnants of my former self resurfacing. Want proof? Just last year I taught 9 other teachers a hip-hop routine for the talent show. I stood front and center as 450 students prayed that one of us would roll an ankle. It was three weeks ago that I decided to submit a piece of my writing to Indieink even though I was fearful it would be inadequate. They published it. You can read it here.
My point? The only times in my life that I didn’t recognize the beauty of being myself, were those times when I was consumed by that ugly beast of a mental disorder. So, if there is one thing that I’ve chosen to 86 from my existence, it’s anxiety. Sianara, glow killer. You’re not welcome here anymore.