i do not want to write today

I honestly would rather cry. I feel attacked, confused, worried, stressed. I'm second guessing myself, my efforts. I feel like I've been working so hard on me and for myself, I was slowly inching towards progress and my best friend put up a hurdle. Maybe it's jealously. I don't know. I feel crazy typing that, thinking that way. It makes me feel like I think I'm better than her. And I don't mean it to be that way.

I answered the phone thinking she had some news, or wanted to pep me up, or just catch up. (Not that she has to pep me up. But whenever I've been telling her how tough my week is going, she usually gives me a best friend call to cheer me on.) But today I feel like she clipped my wings.

I do not like when people think they know what's best for me, if those people don't really know what they are talking about. I would not go to an AA meeting and tell alcoholics how I think they should get over their addiction. I would not go on the Biggest Loser and tell people to just stop eating crap, eat healthy, work out more. I don't mind advice from people who have problems I can relate to. But telling me what I need to do without knowing what it's actually like to be on my journey, I don't take kindly to.

My anxiety has only worsened since COVID. Anyone out there who knows someone who has it or is someone who has it, may be able to better understand why that is. If I can make it make sense, I would make this probably over-complicated comparison. In my anxiety, the world is like a sitcom. They're all basically the same. You have your main characters, secondary characters, background folks hanging out sometimes, a traditional hang out spot. Plot lines aren't really original, but they're ok. A new pet, a new friend, a new discovery, a confession, a classic "the audience is in on a secret," you get the idea. That's my anxiety. There may be a continuity error every now and then, a boom mic in frame, a character breaks, someone ad libs. But it's expected. Even the unexpected is within reason, i.e. a character dies, gets written out. But imagine being in the safety of that show, living life still kind of nervous, a little on edge, but mostly you know what to expect. Well COVID was basically the network pulling funding, bulldozing the studio, no syndication, no merch, no DVDs, no nothing, all over night. And never mind telling the fans or the actors or the employees. Fuck that. It's just done. Mid-season, no warning, no impending doom, nadda. Now I'm left in this void of WTF. My life on this sitcom is just cancelled? Yep. Figure it out. Bye.

That's me right now. Left trying to figure out what to do with myself now that what I'm used to, my safety net, is gone. My fake scene walls that looked like this beautiful house have been replaced with cardboard walls. Ok, so maybe the show didn't get cancelled, but funding DEFINITELY got cut. What can I say? I'm trying lol.

But anyways, here I am trying to figure out how to turn the shit show I've been given into a syndicated masterpiece. And I was basically making it happen for me little by little. And I do mean little lol. But still, it's progress. Well in the mist of me working to make this shit shine, she comes and tells me what I should be doing. "Replace the cardboard with fake brick walls, decorate more, find some good lighting." I know what it is!! She's driving from the passenger seat! Every one hates that, right? That's more relatable! (See! I did it! Bare with me; I eventually get there.)

Yall I'm trying. But she's telling me all these things I need to do. Do this, do that, make time, find the money, do something. All find and dandy, ideally. But realistically, rarely is anything that simple for me. Thank you, anxiety. Even when I'm buying eggs in a store. Are these the right eggs for me, is God directing me to get the pack behind it, what's wrong with this one, should I get the other ones, maybe, these will be fine, right? It's nuts! I KNOW! But it's my truth! It's my fight every single day. Some days it's easy and some days it's very hard. And even on hard days, I'm able to get out of bed and make an effort. And I'm grateful because alot of people can't do that. Like, I'm literally trying every single day to not pull my hair out. Small victories, are still victories.

But instead of being celebrated or motivated, I felt reprimanded. "This is what you need to be doing because you're not doing enough." And I felt like the whole time she had the mindset of "it's not hard." But having anxiety is hard. So I have learned to adjust that mindset to be "it's difficult, but I can try." Small victories! I just felt like *snip snip* "You don't get to fly because you still have your anxiety holding you back. You can't trust God and be anxious." She basically said that last part. And when I called her out on it, she backtracked. I love God and He is my everything. I know all is in His hands, He's there when I need it. But that's the thing. He's always there, but he's not moving the chess pieces for me. I feel like He is the best coach, the best support system, and when I'm ready, He will tag in and play like he never left. But it's my call. I hate feeling like I can't be imperfect just because I'm a believer. I'm flawed but I managed. We all are. I can't fix everything. As long as I am on this Earth, there will always be some proverbial mountain for me to climb. That's the gig. It's not a surprise. She honestly just made me feel guilty for being anxious. Like me accepting my anxiety and learning to live with it, isn't God's best. Like I'm letting God down. Like I can't have faith in Him and be anxious. Why not? He knows how I'm feeling, what I'm thinking. I pray when I need it, pray when I'm just saying thank you. I give shout outs daily, and I send up tiny "fix it Lord"s daily.

She tried to make it seem like encouragement to work for more, but it felt like admonishment. Like I'm just letting anxiety run my life and I'm pussy footing around. I work damn hard to fight against it. And it's fucking hard. It's hard. It's just hard. But I'm still making an effort. I'm still buying the eggs when I could easily just put them back and walk out of the store. I'm not letting it hold me back. I'm swinging it over my shoulder and making my way. I know what God can do. I know He's able. I have seen deliverance. And it comes in all different shapes and sizes. So while I'm on this journey, walking this walk with Christ, I'm going to make it fucking count. (Sorry, God. My bad.) But I'm going to make sure this journey is worth it. I'm going to bare this weight until it's taken away so I can let others know what it's like. So I can encourage others without being judgey or pushy.

I'm going to be blessed so I can be a blessing. I'm walking through the fire and I refuse to allow my spirit to be singed. I may pull my hair out, I may touch and rub my face in angst, I may grind my teeth. But I will still praise God for carrying me through. I will still get up every day and do the best I can. I will still try. I'm going to make an effort. It's the least I can do. And even if it's the least I can do, it's still me doing something. It reminds me of when I first started working out. My coach didn't yell at me for not running until I passed out. She encouraged me. She told me to breath in through my nose and out through my mouth. She told me to walk the rest of it out when I couldn't run anymore. She told me to just keep moving. And that's the mentality I want. Because I was in a class with some bad ass women. But when I made it around our running area, and back to the group, they could not have been more excited to help cheer me on. Because they understood what it took for me to even keep walking the rest of the way when my muscles and lungs were screaming for me to give up. That is strength. Pushing past what is hard and getting to the finish line. The victory is only sweeter.