saml

I had an anxiety attack last night. A repression that had been developed by my minds careful denial system had suddenly been lifted. A terrifying reality escaped into the for-fronts of my consciousness and haunted me into despair. Luckily my parents were there and helped to guide me out.

I have had only two other anxiety attacks in my life. The first occurred at my friend’s house when I was alone in her room. I was 11 years old and it was a few months after my grandmother’s death. For the first time, I comprehended the fact that she was gone- dead. Every routine in my life that once included her was forever altered. She would never again make me my favorite soup and I would never again be welcomed by its familiar scent. “She’s dead, dead, dead, dead…” kept repeating in my head. I’m not sure what it was that jarred loose the repression of her death. I think it had something to do with the fact that I was sleeping in her old neighborhood and not going to see her.

I must have a really well-developed denial system, (I probably get that from my mother) because my next anxiety attack didn’t happen until the 5^th (or so) time I took ecstasy. Actually, I had also taken ecstasy the day before and was warned not to do it two days in a row. But I am retarded. I’m also a perfectionist. So If I commit to a life of retardation- I’m going to do it 100% percent. It’s funny because my brother is actually (however mildly) retarded and he has already informed me that he will never touch ecstasy. I love ironies. Anywho, I was on a roof top with all my usual badass druggie friends and it occurred to me that none of them really knew who I was. It occurred to me that I didn’t know who any of them were. And somewhere in that I had come to the conclusion that I was screwing up my life and that I knew better than this. That is the only time I ever confronted that truth until well into my stay in Utah. See, my denial system is so strong that even two days of mind-fucking ecstasy was not enough to fully remove the repression.  “Nothing’s real” kept repeating in my head as in these friends aren’t real, this life isn’t real… what am I doing?

And last night….

After writing last night’s blog, I was still shaken by the surreality of it all. My old therapist approached me almost as if I were… almost as if I were an intellectual equal. It was scary. Someone who had once had so much influence over me no longer radiated with that same authoritarian presence. All too fast I became aware that I bear my own reins. This is real…

Sam’s brain thinks: ***…I’m in trouble.

Sam’s subconscious asks: How the *** am I supposed to trust that I’m not going to run myself into the ground? I don’t exactly have the best track-record…

Sam’s conscious feels: Anxiety, Anxiety, Anxiety, Anxiety, Anxiety….

Sam’s Mom asks: What are you going to do tomorrow?

Sam: Not now mother… I am having an anxiety attack.

I want to lie down in the closet-turned bedroom my grandmother made for my “special” visit. I want to lie down with my friend from rehab and cry and figure out how we’re going to get through this. This!! This new sense of independence; this aloneness. This making of a new life in a new place with new people. I know her task is harder then mine in so many ways. Maybe crying with her might make me feel some gratitude. I love her and I don’t know her and I know her and I don’t love her. But I really truly feel for her. I want her to be happy and for once I know it has nothing to do with me wanting to be the one to do that. And I want to be happy, but right now, I don’t ever want to get out of bed. That’s the first step isn’t it? Getting out of bed and then creating a routine that’s going to get you where you want to go. Not getting caught up in the anxiety of the unknown. Figuring out what’s important to you and constructing a means of getting it. That makes life seem worth living. That makes life carry meaning. That makes hard-work seem relevant.

            My friend from rehab doesn’t have a college to imitate a little world for her. No student run organizations no get to know each other games, no meal points, and no student support center. She’s in the real world and she’ll have to work harder to suppress the anxiety of uncertainty. She’s much more alone in a much bigger world.

I want to hug her because to an extent I know what she’s going through. And if she asks I’ll tell her to cheer up. If she asks I’ll take her to focus on the positives; on the things in her control. And if she asks I’ll tell her to take advantage of the opportunity that I’m jealous of. But inside I’ll feel her terror; inside I don’t feel ready for that challenge either. Inside I know that I am still limited to the mentality of a spoiled teenage girl. One who may not love herself enough, value her future enough, and believe in herself enough to cope with the pain with out the instant gratification of self-destruction. I need you so badly right now.

I need someone I can trust to encourage me not wonder from the right path however tempting. I need someone who will give up the façade of teenage bullshit for me and not marvel at the idea of hard-core. I need someone who loves me enough to truly want what’s best for me.

I know my parents are a good resource but it might help to find someone who is lost in the struggle too. I don’t want to remind my parents of how small they are in the context of the whole world- I don’t know that they can afford to feel that anxiety again. I know they know what I’m going through but it’s so distant to them now… at least I know there is “light at the end of the tunnel.” At some point, something makes sense, something clicks, or more likely, new repressions are formed. I hope that whatever it is- it’s more satisfying than the idea of suppressing my anxiety with routine. Maybe that concept will be more satisfying when put into action.