A year inside

 The global pandemic has been a year without parallel in my life. First of all, to those who have lost someone to covid, my deepest condolences. To those with long covid, I hope you get relief soon. And to those who have lost someone to an overdose in the past year, I see you. It has been a long road to a place where I even see a glimmer of hope. That does not mean we should look past the pain the last year has caused. 

I started having panic attacks in Jan of 2020. I can clearly see now that this was related to two items: One was the lack of adequate treatment for a hormone balance. Two was fear of coronavirus. The type of anxiety that I have makes any kind of medical fears related to death or disease spiral into a monster that is unmanageable. I remember the Lyft ride home from the ER when they pumped me up with benzos because I was shivering alternating with having trouble breathing. I was so fucked up, I really should not have traveled alone. As I was riding, I realized I was not in control of myself. I was barely able to keep my eyes open. When I went into the house, I made a pledge to myself that I was going to find the root cause of what was ailing me. The attacks were just a symptom. I had let myself completely go into a state where I was not performing the daily maintanence to keep this machine running. I agreed to get on buspar, sought the help of a therapist. And I made a commitment to myself to see what was happening with the pandemic before relinquishing control of my present mind. It sort of worked. Then I got sick. 


In late Feb into March, I got sick for two weeks straight with an undiagnosed illness. Maybe the flu, maybe corona. I will never know. That illness snapped me back to reality. I, in fact, wanted to live. I wanted to protect my health. So I did. I spent March and April and May hiking and walking with a mask on. I sat outside to listen to the birds. I had a friend spiral into active addiction where he died in a firey car accident. I started going to online meeting. I maintained. I started to overeat like a motherfucker. I refused to acknowledge my sadness. I started to thrive in my solitude. I took up the hobby of whale watching. I learned a bit about the stars. 

My children have alternately had issues this past year. One in particular started saying the same troubled things I sad when I was just launching into my journey of self harm. I started praying to any God that might listen to please let my child be free of the mental illness that has plagued my family line for generations. I started reading articles. I started building in quality time. I binge watched and I floundered. I occassionally asked for help from friends. I would sometimes text a therapist. I went kayaking twice. My fat ass did things I never imagined were possible. Because I was alive. Life is painful and beautiful at the same time.


Please excuse typos because right now IDGAF. Thanks


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