I am so effing restless right now I’m driving myself bonkers.
I think I used to feel this way a lot, and because of medication and life changes and therapy and all that good stuff, I just don’t feel angst-ridden and tortured very often anymore – or at least not for very long.
But it’s winter. And tomorrow, a giant snow storm is blowing in. And it’s the holiday season, so there’s no routine, or normal daily anchors – it’s wonderful and it’s disorienting.
I feel like I’m blindfolded and gently spinning, with a pointing finger, outstretched – and when I uncover my eyes, I have no idea what I’ll be pointing at.
Meanwhile, life is happening. It doesn’t stop just because you have butterflies in your stomach, and you can’t make a decision that lasts more than five minutes. Can’t decide what to eat. What to “do”. What to wear. It doesn’t stop, just because you are trapped in a pocket of existential pondering. Or whatever it is. I’m making the thinnest of attempts at putting on a face for the world outside my house. Answer a few messages. Make a few posts. Wander into the kitchen – then wander back to the livingroom. Yearn for a place to go, but recoil at the thought of leaving the house.
I feel like I can’t stay and I can’t go. I can’t act, react, or avoid. I can’t stick with a decision, yet feel compelled to make them. I don’t know that I would call it anxiety – at least not in the terms that I would usually define it. It’s a fight between kinetic and potential energy, a strained paralysis.
Right this minute, I’m stuffing chocolate chips into my mouth. I’d do it straight from the bag, but I thought it might feel more special if I put them into a pretty little handmade bowl first. So I did. Net result – they’re still getting stuffed in my mouth. They still taste pretty good. Nothing has been accomplished. Maybe that’s okay.
I’m wearing my hard core winter boots. Felt-lined badasses. And I’m wrapped in my heated blanket. It’s 10 degrees farenheit outside. But I’m freezing from the inside, out.
At midnight, we’ll all be subsumed by white flakes. White flakes will be subsumed by white flakes, insulating us from the air, from sound, from sight. Layer, upon layer, upon layer.
I’ll still be here. Whirling internally. Wondering what happens next.