Monday, December 5, 2011
Learning to breath
I'm worried about losing my job, losing my family, losing my friends. I'm receiving a package from family I don't talk to and it is heavy on my mind. Never mind the fact my mom is struggling and she must be (must be) going crazy. And the lady at work, the damn bipolar lady at work, is driving me crazy. Top it all off, I can't get in to see the doctors.
Suddenly my chest constricts and I cant breathe and I'm crying because I'm afraid of losing my job. I can't breathe over the thought of what might be on its way to me. My mind is a jumble of thoughts because, no matter the cause, my mom is struggling and I cannot help her. I can't speak in complete sentences, and therefore, cannot articulate that I'm worried the abuse my mom has suffered is real and I may be repressing something from childhood.
It's been estimated that 99 out of 100 things we worry about never come to pass. If you stopped worrying about what might happen tomorrow, wouldn't that give you more time to actually enjoy and savor today? What did you worry about six months ago? A year ago? Five years ago? How many of your biggest worries have actually come to pass?
All of these things, all of them, are things that caused me to go on a high level of panic attack medications in the last month. The thing is, whether I worried about them or not, the way they would've unfolded would not have changed. Meeting them with anxiety only consternated the situation.
And I can say, my worry about losing my job is far unfounded. I have recently interviewed for an opportunity at work in which the vice president of human resources interrupted to say how often she receives positive praise in regards to my work ethic. So, this worry is not something to fear.
I know this worry was compounded by the other concerns. In fact, the box did hurt a lot. But the silver lining in the situation was the breakdown to ground zero and the building up of the desire to recover. My mom is still here, I'm still listening to her, and praying she follows through on a release of information, so I may find out better what is going on with her. That's all I can do right now to help and I have to remember my own sanity because I have to put my recovery in front of my mother's needs.
I guess, I have found the strength and the difficulty in refusing to worry. Not worrying gives the added benefit of being able to meet situations with a grace and strength. I say that to say this: I am worried about recovery, worried if I'll get there. But, I refuse to give credence to that. Because I WILL recover. I refuse to carry this disorder any longer. So, I make a daily, an hourly, a second by second battle to lay it down. Until I don't pick it up anymore. I cannot worry about what the process will bring tomorrow, I just have to live in the progress of today.