(no subject)
The best writing, people tell me, is when you write about what you know.
So I am writing tonight about being afraid.
It is the easiest thing in the world, when you don't have much, or much hope, to be afraid. Things come clawing up out of the dark to worry at me, and I cannot really turn them aside. It is one thing, rationally, to know that, for example, it is unlikely that my planned move is probably going to continue as planned. It's quite another for me to, though, when asked what to do if a particular detail goes wrong, NOT PANIC.
That little detail is, tonight, whether or no our application is accepted. Rationally, I know that Alex has been living under this rental agency's particular umbrella for a couple of years, and they'd probably rather have more money from him than none at all. Unfortunately, now that he's introduced doubt, it's just -gnawing- at me, and I can't set it down.
I've never been able to set any of them down.
If it doesn't come together, Matt still needs me out by the first of the year. Trying to sort that out and get a place at that time while starting school is just going to be a disaster, at best. It's also conditional on Alex' end that I am able to pay some rent, and doing something with myself, such AS the school, so it disrupts his plan, too. Which gets all circular.
I can't set it down. I can't not worry at it.
Eventually, I find myself short of breath, gasping, clawing at the pillow in hopes that it will tell me everything is all right. I can't breathe. I can't do anything but worry and panic and try not to shriek. Everything is wrong, and terrible, and horrifying.
I come out of this with tears running down my face, and a terrible ache going in my skull, and sometimes my kidneys. Adrenaline ain't pretty.
It's not the only thing worrying at me. There's a lot of little things. Like I had to wait late on dinner tonight, for various reasons. It's not any easier when I'm frustrated and hungry. I don't have enough project right now, and the free time is letting the parts of the brain that let this stuff all slither out have more play. I do better when there's more going on.
Looking over this, I can see the feelings in it. The strength in the words. -this- is what I have trouble expressing to people about what I go through. -THIS- is why I still call myself troubled. It's actually hard for me to re-read back over, without calling it all up.
Granted, I'm writing this minutes after the fact. I'm looking for catharsis, release, something. It needed -out-, and so I'm letting it find that path.
I just wish I could tell everyone, and find a way to make it better.
So I am writing tonight about being afraid.
It is the easiest thing in the world, when you don't have much, or much hope, to be afraid. Things come clawing up out of the dark to worry at me, and I cannot really turn them aside. It is one thing, rationally, to know that, for example, it is unlikely that my planned move is probably going to continue as planned. It's quite another for me to, though, when asked what to do if a particular detail goes wrong, NOT PANIC.
That little detail is, tonight, whether or no our application is accepted. Rationally, I know that Alex has been living under this rental agency's particular umbrella for a couple of years, and they'd probably rather have more money from him than none at all. Unfortunately, now that he's introduced doubt, it's just -gnawing- at me, and I can't set it down.
I've never been able to set any of them down.
If it doesn't come together, Matt still needs me out by the first of the year. Trying to sort that out and get a place at that time while starting school is just going to be a disaster, at best. It's also conditional on Alex' end that I am able to pay some rent, and doing something with myself, such AS the school, so it disrupts his plan, too. Which gets all circular.
I can't set it down. I can't not worry at it.
Eventually, I find myself short of breath, gasping, clawing at the pillow in hopes that it will tell me everything is all right. I can't breathe. I can't do anything but worry and panic and try not to shriek. Everything is wrong, and terrible, and horrifying.
I come out of this with tears running down my face, and a terrible ache going in my skull, and sometimes my kidneys. Adrenaline ain't pretty.
It's not the only thing worrying at me. There's a lot of little things. Like I had to wait late on dinner tonight, for various reasons. It's not any easier when I'm frustrated and hungry. I don't have enough project right now, and the free time is letting the parts of the brain that let this stuff all slither out have more play. I do better when there's more going on.
Looking over this, I can see the feelings in it. The strength in the words. -this- is what I have trouble expressing to people about what I go through. -THIS- is why I still call myself troubled. It's actually hard for me to re-read back over, without calling it all up.
Granted, I'm writing this minutes after the fact. I'm looking for catharsis, release, something. It needed -out-, and so I'm letting it find that path.
I just wish I could tell everyone, and find a way to make it better.