Don't Call It A Comeback
June 17th, 2018. I said I was back.
I lied.
A lot can change in a year. (yes and no)
Somewhere along the way I stopped making time to write out the way I feel. As I continue to age, I've noticed that I tend to approach anxiety and stress by decluttering and organizing. As if having my books lined up perfectly alongside the edge of my desk will somehow help me make sense of the fact that I'm 33 years old and terrified of moving out of my parents' house. That giving every material possession a nook and cranny of it's own will help break my tendency of starting a project and never completing it. Or that making my bed every single morning and arranging my pillows by descending size will make up for the guilt I feel for not being able to live my true life in front of my parents.
That's probably how OCD starts, right? You pick up a habit that helps you bring order to things in your life to help you feel like you've got some kind of control of things. When in reality, things are barely within grasp and you seem to be losing grip of everything going on around you.
I don't think my case is that extreme, but I suppose Rome wasn't built in a day.
I don't know what I feel will come out of this my mess. I keep trying to make decisions and take measures with everyone's feelings in mind, but why? I'm not sure what I think I'll achieve. An eternity of guilt-free living? Because hey, at least I was able to make my decisions and considered their feelings first? It doesn't quite pan out that way.
I'm not sure if I'll ever be able to make a decision without feeling so guilty. I do it now, will I do it when I have kids? Feel too guilty to live life for myself? Do shrinks even have an answer on how to fix guilt? Or overwhelming guilt? Or guilt so large that it could swallow you whole and leave nothing but a trail of dust?
The only thing it probably comes down to is letting it go.
I'm no expert at letting things go. I am, however, getting fairly skilled in the art of categorizing my life in belongings. So until I figure out the answer to this age-old dilemma, I'll attempt to start putting things into piles and words onto virtual paper until they seem to all make sense.
It's March 23, 2019. I'll say I'm back again. I'll try not to lie this time.
I lied.
A lot can change in a year. (yes and no)
Somewhere along the way I stopped making time to write out the way I feel. As I continue to age, I've noticed that I tend to approach anxiety and stress by decluttering and organizing. As if having my books lined up perfectly alongside the edge of my desk will somehow help me make sense of the fact that I'm 33 years old and terrified of moving out of my parents' house. That giving every material possession a nook and cranny of it's own will help break my tendency of starting a project and never completing it. Or that making my bed every single morning and arranging my pillows by descending size will make up for the guilt I feel for not being able to live my true life in front of my parents.
That's probably how OCD starts, right? You pick up a habit that helps you bring order to things in your life to help you feel like you've got some kind of control of things. When in reality, things are barely within grasp and you seem to be losing grip of everything going on around you.
I don't think my case is that extreme, but I suppose Rome wasn't built in a day.
I don't know what I feel will come out of this my mess. I keep trying to make decisions and take measures with everyone's feelings in mind, but why? I'm not sure what I think I'll achieve. An eternity of guilt-free living? Because hey, at least I was able to make my decisions and considered their feelings first? It doesn't quite pan out that way.
I'm not sure if I'll ever be able to make a decision without feeling so guilty. I do it now, will I do it when I have kids? Feel too guilty to live life for myself? Do shrinks even have an answer on how to fix guilt? Or overwhelming guilt? Or guilt so large that it could swallow you whole and leave nothing but a trail of dust?
The only thing it probably comes down to is letting it go.
I'm no expert at letting things go. I am, however, getting fairly skilled in the art of categorizing my life in belongings. So until I figure out the answer to this age-old dilemma, I'll attempt to start putting things into piles and words onto virtual paper until they seem to all make sense.
It's March 23, 2019. I'll say I'm back again. I'll try not to lie this time.