Are you even working on yourself?

I've read so many books, fiction and nonfiction and a few self help books/discovery books, trying to figure out some sort of formula that explain what the hell I'm doing, because I seem to be the last one to know.

When I left LaPlace I didn't have any sort of real plan besides get in the apartment, get your shit straight, concentrate on your job. Survive. And now I've done that. I got in the apartment. It's fully furnished and decorated. I have food in the fridge. I have a TV, a bed, a pool key. My bills are carefully notated in a little book I keep on my desk-what I owe, what's being paid, if the money's been transferred to the correct account. My rent is paid early. After a year and some change, you'd think I could say to myself-"Would you chill? It's under control."

Back before I moved out, in those final horrible months, I kept on thinking, "I just have to make it to April, and by then I'll have it figured out." So I do that. April rolls around, and I haven't been evicted yet, so....yay. But in April I'm still constantly freaking out, having anxiety attacks that prompt me to go out and spend money I'm supposed to be saving on shit that I figure will make me feel better. I love decorating and I have a whole apartment of my own to do it in. Great. Awesome. I can distract myself. But by April, I'm still getting used to living on my own and caught between being cowed by my new circumstances and being terrified that I'm going to lose them.

So every month, I tell myself-"Next month, you're going to be okay."

And every month, I can't relax. It wasn't until I started working over time and made a few tweaks to my bills that a part of me said, "Hey, you can do this."

Throughout this process, I'm supposed to be working on myself. I'm trying, but I'm still somewhat paranoid that everything I've worked for is going to dissolve in a moment of total stupidity on my part. If I am changing, it's like the subtle shifting of tectonic plates.

Before I know it, there's barely any room for the person that I thought I was-just a robot whose primary function is to contain and control. The more of a grip I seem to have on my circumstances, the harder I seem to worry about them, and if I don't worry about it, then I'm going to commit this act of stupidity I keep worrying about because I'm not focusing on it. It's a vicious circle, and after all is said and done, I'm exhausted.

The plates shift slowly but it's a big shift and before I know it, there's no patience or time or room for anything else but managing and lassoing this anxiety. It makes me cranky and impatient and I don't like it, so I go to the doctor. Again. And again. And again. Trying to find the right combo of drugs to manage this because dammit-I want to live, not just survive. It's a full time job, keeping my head straight, and I feel like a automaton. Sure, I feel things and I care about people, but if anything disturbs the fragile resemblance of calm that I can sometimes find, I push it away. Not to be cruel, not because I necessarily want to, but it's like an automatic downshift for me. And the worse thing is-I see no end in sight. How do you work on yourself if your anxiety steps in front of you at every turn?

I don't like who I am, who I've had to become out of necessity. Even if I somehow find myself in a relationship that evolves to the point of cohabitation, I think that getting rid of this singular 'I'm all I have' mentality is going to be extremely difficult. Most guys, when they love you, they want to help. Guys see solutions. If a girl wants to talk about her problems, she just wants to talk. Guys want to solve. But there's nothing any guy can do to reach into your head, flip the switch labeled ETERNAL FREAKOUT, and break it so that it never hurts you again. It's up to you to kick your own ass and say, "Look here, stop fucking freaking, you're fine!"

But anxiety does not work that way. And if someone doesn't have anxiety, it's not easy getting them to understand how insidious it is, how powerless you are. How you have a voice in your head who tells you that you're fine and that you're doing great and in the same breath, there's another one who tells you that if you mess up on one more patient, you're getting fired. And if you get fired, unemployment won't cover your bills. You'll fail. You'll have to move back in with your parents. You suck. The door is closed to your boss's office? She must be thinking about firing you. You're never going to get rid of your debt. You're an asshole. What if you lose him? What if you hurt him? What if you ruin your friendship? What if? What if? Have you worried about this yet? What if Jack gets sick? Oh, you're hanging out with friends? Look, the walls are closing in on you. It's too loud, you can't stand the weight of conversation. Escape. Go home. Sit there and worry about offending your friends. How are you going to manage all of your events this year? What if you're cooking and you catch your apartment on fire? What's going to happen when Jack dies? What if. What if. What if.

I have an enormous amount of pride. I don't like to ask anyone for help, and it'll be a cold day in hell before I ask my parents, my significant other, or anyone else for money. I don't even like asking people for emotional assistance and only do so when I feel like things might get super dire. I know that people want to help, and I have to learn to ask for it, but in my head, if I know how to get along by myself, I never have to worry about being too afraid to leave a relationship if it's not working. I'm scared of leaning on someone and depending on them and having some stupid fucking issue come up to where it splits us apart, and then I'm left with all the parts that used to make me work but no longer fit together anymore. What do you do with a box of nonworking parts? You fit them together to fit a single piece. It may not be pretty, but it's solitary. It depends on nothing but itself, and it may work like shit, but it's working.

I took this leap, and this leap took everything out of me. Do I have another one in me? Not now. Maybe not ever. So when I decide to let someone in again, I need to be as sure as I can be. I need to be emotionally ready. I need to have a room carved out for them where the anxiety cannot enter, and anxiety can slide through keyholes and under doors. When I cannot construct this room, I feel terrible. I feel guilty. I believe in a relationship that there needs to be a give and a take, and maybe one person gives 50% one day and the other gives 30%, but at some point they need to even out.

I don't know how to start this process of working on myself. If I could corral my anxiety and control it, I would have, a long time ago. Love, no matter how encompassing or real, cannot save you from yourself. You have to find the balls to do it yourself. How?

If I knew that, I wouldn't be writing this bullshit journal entry. I'd be out there, doing it.

-Rae