new home

When I do something that really scares me, I go to a dark place for a while. I notice that it tends to happen when I move to a new town. Having done this recently, I am documenting this occurrence in hopes that it will help me with the inevitable next move that will happen in six months.

This dark place is a cave that houses my innermost insecurities and deepest wounds. Everything I have ever been certain of is pried from its foundation. It unraveled over several days in the latest instance. The friends I have maintained–in my mind at least–seem to call less. Why? Why wouldn’t they want to check on me? Don’t they know how scared I am? Relax, they have their own lives too. Then the worrying takes a sharp dive. What if I’ve misread our whole relationship and I’m actually an outer circle friend whose calls they simply tolerate? What if I don’t stop stressing about it and become obsessive like that one time? My chest begins to constrict.

Worrying about worrying. Wonderful. (I am not my mother). After this comes the anxiety about family. I call my mom much more often when brought out of my comfort zone to such an extreme. And she calls me. Because she knows this is how I am, without us ever talking about the fact that this is how I am. And I love that about her. I am extremely needier of motherly attention in these situations and she always has energy and love to give. But then. I start to stress about how when I fully adjust to my new home, I will be calling her less, which to her is equated to me loving and needing her less. This hurts her. I do not want to hurt my mother, but this is how I am. The conflict makes my chest constrict further.

Then, as illustrated in my previous post, come the demons. Regrets surface like a corpse in a lake. Old wounds are picked at, a stony quiet sets in. I become mechanical, as if by controlling each mo(ve)ment I may shift focus onto something simpler and emotionless. It takes concerted effort not to spend all day in bed. The social anxiety becomes more pronounced as I put off going into town and running simple errands. Public radio is constantly humming in the background, mainly so I can have conversation starters. Will I ever have a job that I’m not constantly paranoid I will be fired from? All of this concerns me. I can barely breathe.

It’s midnight. I tiptoe outside for a smoke. Thoughts drift away and I head upstairs for bed. I already decided I’m calling mom tomorrow.