The Whys

Every morning, I wake up with an existential crisis of sorts, wondering why am I here. But there are a few levels to this why. There is the why of how did I survive an addiction that killed so many others. Why did I make it through ten years of hard living when my friend relapsed and could barely make it through a month without tapping out/ nearly losing his leg. 

Why am I here as in what is my purpose.  Growing up firmly entrenched in codependency, I like to have a reason for my being. I am uncomfortable when I am choosing my own path, my own way. I like to have that decided for me because I’m needed. The kids aren’t little, my work life is fairly stable. The years of crisis management have settled into a place where my free time is nearly exclusively my me time. I fucking hate it. I don’t know what to do with myself. It’s hard to admit this but it’s a deep dark truth that I’ve lost faith in my own ability to navigate this ship. Anxiety manifests itself in “what am I going to do next?!” There is no clear path, no project. I am learning to sit with myself. It’s like when I first stopped using drugs. Everything is new again. I am learning how to adapt to endless possibilities. 

Why am I nearly 50? What the actual fuck? That’s probably the least of my worries. 

I also am lacking a spiritual center at the moment. I enjoy meditation. I like being out in nature. I need to revitalize my belief that my obsessive thoughts are actually not the center of this universe. I feel this medication slowly activating in my stomach. I want it gone. I want to be like my perception of “everyone else”. I got lulled into a false sense of security where I thought I was “normal” again but it talking with other humans, there is no normal. There is only what we do to get by. 

I relax when there is a crisis, a goal, a fire to be put out. Merely existing without these has spun my world into a different kind of crisis. One where new drama must be created. Excessive worry over my health. Examining every ache and pain. Recounting every conversation and pointing out my every error. Anxiety is the constant examination versus allowing things to just be without my assistance. I need that. I need to turn things over to the universe or the process or whatever order exists outside myself. This constant reexamination is painful. I want to have the freedom that comes with connection outside my own mind.