Lately I feel like I am laying in a hole and every possible worry this world could throw at me is holding a shovel, piling more and more dirt on top of my chest. There are times through out my day when I feel like I will never be able to successfully take a breath again. My entire body becomes filled with an overwhelming anxiousness and I’m on edge waiting for the sky to fall. I stopped eating for almost 3 weeks. My body literally, physically rejected food. I couldn’t take 3 bites without vomiting or having severe stomach cramps. Low and behold, that in itself only made the feeling worse.
The hole that I am laying in is conveniently barricaded on all sides. I put myself into a position where I have next to no one to talk to about this, because if growing up taught me one thing it is that the only person I can count on is myself. This lesson has been beaten into me like the nails hammered in to my joints keeping my body together. It came in a variety of forms to really enforce it and its diversity. I’ve been watching people walk in and out of my life for as long as I can remember. I’ve also taken note of the resentment people harbor when they are not allowed to leave. I hate to air out old cliches, but in all honesty I am so used to watching people leave I no longer anticipate any kind of permanence with any single person in my life at this very moment. I don’t even know if I would be all that phased to watch another leave. I’m more afraid of the numbness I feel in relation to this subject than the threat itself.
My dad killed himself when i was 18. I’ve had almost 2 years to process this fact and yet I’ve barely allowed myself to scratch the surface. It took me 6 months afterwards to muster up enough energy to properly cry over it and it seems like I haven’t stopped crying since. I swear to God I can find a new and substantial reason to cry over this single event every fucking day. Lately its tied closer and closer to the weight on my chest or the bats flying frantically in my stomach. I cant stop fixating on this idea that has embedded itself in my dads memory. I’ve been listening to people tell me how much like my dad I am since I was too young to determine whether or not that was favorable. Well I decided pretty early on that my dad was the figure I wanted to model myself after. My mother says he was the type of person that was too smart for his own good. (These last few years she’s been saying the same about me.) But his intelligence was never the first thing you noticed about him. The first thing you noticed was his anger. Somehow those two traits seemed more like strength to me than anyone else. My father was almost inhuman in his lack of empathy, his intelligence made him cold. His anger made him spiteful. I saw my Mother broken more times than I can count. I began to resent her for it. I began to see love as a weakness. I thought that to be untouchable meant you figured out something that no one else was quite smart enough to get. I thought it put you above others. What I didnt understand back then is that anger is just a different way to display the things that hurt you. That not letting anyone in didnt make you strong, it just isolated you when you needed someone the most.
My dad’s suicide was a slap in the face. And now it’s something that haunts me. Along with 50 million other trivial worries. I spent so much time shaping myself to be like my father, building barriers and making myself so independent its a natural thing to me but there is no way that I will ever be as “strong” as he was. And I’m so terrified. Because if he couldnt do it, if he wasnt enough on his own how will I ever be.
And that is all I can think about lately. If he couldn’t do it, there is no way in Hell I will ever be able to.
And maybe the answer seems obvious. The fact that I now recognize what I once thought was his greatest strength to have been his greatest weakness, that I know that I have harbored that specific trait in myself why the hell wouldnt I just turn it around? Its not that easy. Life shapes you. Your reaction to any given circumstance whether its instinct or premeditated forms the person you become. And you cant just turn that around over night.
This honestly wasn’t meant to be a rant about my dad. I wanted it be geared more towards the anxiety I’ve been dealing with lately. All the mountains I’m making out of pebbles.
I guess this new fear of mine preoccupies my thoughts more than I generally give it credit for.