Apparently what you don’t do to someone who copes one day at a time, sometimes one hour at a time, is get them to move house. To a whole new part of the country. The outcome is not pretty. Having spent months living with all sorts of emptiness, my anxiety has come back full force and is waging open warfare with my depression over who can mess with me the most.
We move in 8 days and counting. And I am not coping.
Part of me feels like it couldn’t care less. Is in denial. Loses itself in other things.
Part of me is panicking. Feels on the edge of tipping over, like I can’t cope. Like huge body-wrenching tears are seconds away.
I am at war with myself.
I know that I need to go, to leave here. I have let myself drown in the isolation and remoteness that once I craved. Lost myself in the awareness that I do not fit in, that I could never fit in. I don’t regret moving here, I do wish I hadn’t stayed so long. I need stimulation and I need to be unable to hide away from the world around, at least not all the time. This move and all the changes it will bring are crucial. I need to stop drowning in the open air.
Yet I want to stay.
You see I am scared. I am scared of the changes. Of how much more fighting there will be to do. That it might not make a difference. And a big part of me doesn’t want to go. For all the damage living here has done to me, to my confidence, self-belief and mental health. For all the feeling of not fitting it. This feels safe. It is my home. It is where I hide when it all becomes too much, it is my security blanket.
So as my life here packs up around me, there is panic and there are tears. My walks are filled with goodbyes at what is so familiar yet will soon be out of reach. I wish I could gather the open skies and keep them with me. That I could take the spots where I have stopped time and time again to think, where I have gathered strength to face the black dog walking with me. The gnarled tree by the river, the bench in the graveyard. I ache with what I will miss.
There is deep sadness and anxiety. And there is beneath that deep darkness there is something that keeps me going.
Part of me wants to move.
Photo by ColobusYeti