Healing is a Process

It’s been two months. Two months since things changed. Two months since I had to reassess my life. I am doing well. Really well. I created friend groups. I have gone on adventures. I really love my job. I’m starting graduate school in a few weeks. On paper, my life is moving along. I am content most of the time. I can see why my relationship ended and why he wasn’t “the one”. I can see why it was for the best. Most of the time.

Then I still have moments when all I want is for him to tell me it’s going to be okay when it all feels like too much. He was the only one I ever believed. There are still moments when I wish I could tell him about my day or hear about his. These moments happen not because I want to be back with him, but it’s because he was my person for so long. He was my confidant. He knew everything about me. I no longer have that. Yes, I’m creating new friendships which I love, but I miss having him too.

But he also kind of messed me up a bit. I have a hard time expressing my anxiety to new people, in fear of driving them away. I’m worried that when I have anxiety in a group, I am going to ruin everyone’s time so I just leave. I’m scared to show any person my true self again, in fear it will never be enough or too much.

When it came crashing down on Friday night, it was about something pretty silly. I over thought about the situation, because I was so scared of something changing. I wanted it to stay the same so I wanted to control it. Yeah, I guess I can be a control freak sometimes (thanks anxiety). I literally left the bar and cried. I tried some retail therapy and after a new backpacking stove and three shirts later, I wasn’t that much better. Then I was driving to where I’m living and ended up at my safe place instead.

It’s a local outdoor park. I grabbed my notebook and pen. I sat on the boat launch and wrote. I wrote how I didn’t know how to be normal or act “right”. I wrote about creating make-believe scenarios that I sometimes take as truth- like everyone hates me. I wrote how I hated myself because I couldn’t just be happy and be present with people, I have to second guess myself and think I’m not worthy of being there. I wrote how I didn’t know how I actually feel and think about things in my life. I was scared of everything changing. I just wanted things to be the same.

Once I knew what was at the core of my anxiety, I was able to get ice cream and head home. I felt better. But I knew this weekend was going to be difficult. Today was another off day. It was a day where nothing felt right. I felt like too much. Life felt like too much. When just last week, I felt like I was heading down the right path and felt really positive.

Healing is a process. It’s not going to be easy, especially with anxiety and depression thrown in the mix. My wounds are going to open time and time again. I am going to feel gutted. They are going to feel fresh. They will heal again, and they might open up again. But they are going to get easier and easier to heal. They won’t take as long to close. Eventually, they will be scars. They may serve as reminders of the life I lived. Hopefully, I can keep remembering the life I will continue to live. That it will be okay. That this is a process. That I’m doing pretty great.

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