I had an… interesting weekend.

Majority of Saturday was moving day. Luckily I had quite a crew to help me out, so the initial settlement was quick and painless. Afterward I went by my old apartment to pick up the last remnants of my broken relationship. That did not go so quickly, or painlessly. I fear, though I expected this, that I am now drifting into the “he hates my guts” phase. It hurts. Like everything else, it just hurts. Because I don’t want to be hated for being unable to effectively justify my feelings into a cogent argument. My heart is not a member of the debate team, I’m afraid. All I can say is I’m sorry. Over and over. And that’s it.

Saturday night was karaoke, as per usual. I needed a break from unpacking; namely, my kitchen. For some reason this is the hardest room for me to organize. It doesn’t make sense to me. Not only am I a closet OCD neatfreak, but I was a goddamn line cook for years! You’d think it would be second nature to arrange my kitchen. But it’s not. It stresses me the fuck out. So I went out and got drunk instead, and had a “Laura’s apartment is a mess let’s drink!” Afterparty.

I was excited to be somewhere new, finally all my shit in one place. And yet I woke up (laaate) Sunday morning (afternoon) with that unwelcome/familiar sensation of a racing heart and a cold lump in my stomach. I suffered through that minor panic attack as I got ready to leave for a family dinner in J-ville.

These episodes have been few and far between since I got on the meds, but they’re not completely gone. And I hate them. There wasn’t even a catalyst for this one, per se. Maybe it was just looking around at all the unpacking that hadn’t happened yet, and knowing I wouldn’t get to it until the following day. It escalated like it always does, to shaky hands, hyperventilation and streaming tears. Depression/anxiety is frustrating that way. Your emotional state is always uncontrollable, sometimes volitale. I will literally talk aloud to myself in a vain attempt at self-consolation, and 9 times out of 10 I can feel the futility before I even begin. There’s no point in trying to suppress, you just have to weather the storm.

And, like storms, they eventually pass. I calmed down. I had a good time with the fam, although I was a lame party guest. I passed out right after dinner, dead to the world until my sister sweetly roused me at the evenings end. I had a good day yesterday. My apartment is tidy, finally shed of boxes and newspaper, with the exception of my homeless mountain of books (I’m still waiting on a bookshelf from my mom).  And I finally slept.

Sidenote: I love songs that make your heart ache, whether they’re happy or sad or indifferent. It’s just the way they… sound. Band of Horses, Of Monsters and Men, Ray Lamontagne, etc. Maybe it’s a minor key thing…

Current Jam: “Won’t Back Down” Tom Petty

2 thoughts on “Pit

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