“I have woven a parachute out of everything broken.” ~William Stafford
I’m not saying anything new here but always, always, ALWAYS have a Plan B. One day you could be going about your life, minding your own business, enjoying your new boots that fit your fat calves and the next day you get stabbed in the back and everything that you thought was going up is headed right back down.
Or not.
Yesterday…God…I can’t even begin to describe. I spent the entire day so stressed out that there was no eating but there were seven klonopin and five cups of coffee. Come 10 PM, when I was on my third glass of Maker’s Mark, I finally enjoyed a perfectly marinated chicken breast. There was a lot of pacing and marching up then back down my street thinking of the What If’s. All of the very bad things that might happen over the next six months. Those things that you never think would happen but are always there, ready to pop out of a closet saying BOO, bitch! I’m still here! Be prepared for doom! Then it goes slithering back into its corner while you sit on your (disgusting) kitchen floor sobbing.
And that’s how things are right now. But to focus on the Very Bad would literally drive me crazy. Let’s face it, I’m already heavily medicated for a psychological disorder, I don’t think my neurons could take the extra pressure. I was on the phone with my mother explaining Plan B and she kept telling me that things would be OK. I would get through This Thing, so why worry? And I told her that it wasn’t worry so much as the sheer fear that if I continued to think about The Thing then there’s a very high building somewhere that I could just fly off of. Oh yes, I went there. I have to think about anything else but this, so that is what I am doing.
I have a book proposal to finish and photos to process and Project XX to work on and a body that cannot withstand another public panic attack.
This wasn’t the post I had planned. Actually I was going to write about how well things are going and I could finally breathe again. Then this Thing happened. An elephant sat on my chest and everything that was now isn’t. And now I’m the only one who can fix it…it is my life after all. So, I will.
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Fear seems very present in the universe this month, for some reason. I’m doing my best to acknowledge it and then move on. It’s a sneaky bastard, though, blindsiding me when least expected. For some reason John Irving comes to mind — keep passing the open windows….
My mother tells me that having a “plan B,” means that I didn’t believe enough in “plan A.” My mother is sweet, but full of crap. I have panic attacks too. I live with a water buffalo sitting on my chest. I worry about money, my kids, and the rapture taking place. I think of all the things that I logically know I can’t control. I take those things and try to dissect them into tiny pieces. I think if I can see each individual piece it will help me understand. It doesn’t. I have John Irving references tattooed on my back…keep passing open windows…
Breathe. Just…breathe.
Man, I’ve had eight weeks from hell, seriously, with things that I can and things that I cannot fix. So if you ever want to talk, dude, I get it, and I’m sure I’m not the only one.
Sending positive thoughts your way and seriously, if you were here, I would give you a hug, and then I would cry. But what ever you do, do not go there lady. Sending love.
Sending hugs your way