Look, blue sky!
I didn’t make it to the concert and I feel amazing.
It’s confusing. Although I didn’t make it, I actually got further than I have done in months, so I feel a million bucks.
Though I missed the concert, what I got was the sense that I won’t miss every concert.
When I quit my job back in February, I was almost to the bottom of the pit, but not quite. I was bad, but I knew I was going to be worse. I could feel the waves crashing and I knew that they were going to try to drown me, so I needed some secure footholds, and they came in the form of being wrapped up in my house, listening to all of you tell me it would be better than it was. And that if it wasn’t better, that at least I wouldn’t be alone.
For a month I cried every morning on my way to drop the kids at school. Some mornings I made it. Some mornings I made it halfway, then called for help (I have a very patient family). Some mornings I only made it to the end of my street. One morning I didn’t make it out of bed. My kids put their little hands on my shoulders, and sometimes it helped and sometimes it didn’t.
The truth is, for three months I have spent my weekends indoors and would probably have spent my weekdays indoors too, given the choice. From Friday night to Monday morning I have been inside. Actually, one Sunday morning I did sit on the front step in the sun for half an hour. But I haven’t even been to the corner of my block, let alone a concert on the other side of town. Some weekends I literally haven’t moved from the couch from 7am to 7pm. Not even to go to the toilet. I’ve been paralysed with fear. I’ve done a lot of work, and watched a lot of TV, but I have been locked inside my house by the great angry walls of fear.
So on Saturday just gone, with the concert looming, I armed myself with every kind of anxiety fighting tool I have: essential oils, massage bars, water, chocolate, affirmations, sleep, sunglasses. When it came time to leave, I buckled and I cried. I got in my car and cried. I drove down the street and cried. I drove around the block and cried. I drove and drove and I didn’t make it very far but I did make it somewhere.
Gaz called me during the concert so I could listen.
When I got home from my outing around the suburb, I felt empowered and strong more than I felt sad. I dwelled not on the fact that I had missed the concert but on the fact that I had faced a fear and made some progress. Not all the progress. Not as much progress as I might have liked. But some. A little.
The bottom of the pit is below me. Thanks for helping me out of it.