You're cogniscant that you probably behaved out of character, but because the anxiety disorder comes with its own 'interpretation' of the sufferer's personality it's almost as if you were a different person. Thus you tend to go through a process of retreading your steps to see if there's anything you need to apologise for or fix. Did I snog anyone I shouldn't have? Did I break anything? Did I take a dump in anyone's tuba? That sort of thing.
Embarrassment is often the dominant emotion on such mornings. An hour ago I felt embarrassed for what I said on here about Sarah, for that - allegedly - is the invisible woman's name. However, I've come to realise that my embarrassment is more to do with allowing myself to get into this whole situation in the first place. After all, if anyone behaves in such a way as to incite anxiety in someone who has an anxiety disorder then, well, this is what you get. As a physicist would say, for every action there is an equal and opposite reaction. Alternatively, if you're feeling all comfy and philosophical this morning because of the extra hour in bed, then perhaps the words of the Merovingian from The Matrix Revolutions will seem more apt:
"I have told you before, there's no
escaping the nature of the universe. It is that nature that has again brought you to me. Where some see coincidence, I see consequence. Where others see chance, I see cost."Anyway, I specifically used the word "Nexus" when I alluded to this blog entry a few days ago. A great many significant things are happening inside and around me, all culminating in a nexus of change. The stalker is gone, and good fucking riddance. I finally got the feedback on my job performance - something I specifically hunted down because I knew I would feel anxiety without it. In the review, I was described as:
- Having a bright and shiny demeanour and attitude;
- High-energy;
- Having a fun and personable approach;
- An 'ideas' man;
- Attentive to detail.
This is the real me, emerging from beneath the cloak of depression and anxiety. I do have things to work on, as anyone would, but this feedback is a far cry from the cognitive distortions that would have me believe I'm utterly inept - a walking, talking disaster.
I've also found a new place to live, signed the lease, and yesterday brainstormed my 'moving' plan. As a result I have a list of 27 to-do items, but that's far less intimidating than just trying to remember everything I need to do. I'm really looking forward to it too - not the moves themselves but that moment when the movers finally leave. And, whilst I'll probably be surrounded by an ocean of cardboard boxes and bags stuffed to capacity, it will still be my mess in my home. The next thing to do will be to crank up the house music, and walk around naked indoors whilst smoking a joint. Why? BECAUSE I CAN!!!
Whilst everything else was going on at the same time, my housemate/landlord got fired. I was pleased to see that he raised his arms in victory as he told me, rather than moping. I think it's been a long time coming, and I genuinely believe it's the best thing for him. He hasn't liked his job since I moved in a year ago, and they really seemed to pile the pressure on. I've been there before - in that work mode where you leave the office so late that you're too tired to shop or cook. You grab a burger on the way home and eat it in your suit, and then fall into bed. In the morning, you put the same suit back on and go back to work. Then repeat this non-stop for month after month. This, I suspect, is how the term "burnout" came to be part of the vernacular. I was not only impressed but genuinely pleased for him when he left the house for a run the following morning. He even did the dishes. Not mine, unfortunately. He hand-picked only those items of crockery and cutlery that he'd used but, well, one step at a time. For him that's a huge leap forward. He's practically Martha Stewart.
Then there was the epiphany about how to deal with the situation with Sarah. I'm using her name now because I'm pretty confident there's more than one 'Sarah' in Toronto with a daughter. Anonymity is assured. In short, the realisation that I've been attempting to act and think as if I were already part of Sarah and her daughter's life has enabled me to negate hundreds of anxieties I experience daily. The crux of this was that I felt she expected me to know many things that I don't, about her and her daughter, and their lives. But she has no such expectations.
That said, we do both still have rudimentary expectations. I cannot speak for her, but I expect her to be honest with me. I expect her to be open. I expect her to communicate when appropriate and respond to my communications when appropriate. It works both ways. I even had the expectation that, because she knows what an emotional minefield holidays are for me, that she might manage to communicate proactively at those times. Unfortunately it would appear that this expectation is an unrealistic one.
Most of all though, I expect her to behave in the wise, mature, adult fashion that's really the lowest common denominator for a 35 year-old woman. Alas that expectation appears unrealistic also. It is this, more than anything else, that causes me anxiety on a daily basis: being kept totally in the dark. I have no idea what's going on with her. I don't know where she is. I don't know her intentions. I don't know what proportion of the things she has told me are true, and what proportion is either bullshit or indicative of someone fighting their own personal issues. She selectively answers 'smalltalk' questions but whenever I ask about something that's really important to me (and should be to her too), I get only crypticism in return. In short, I no longer have any idea where she's coming from, or even whether she plans to honour a single one of the many promises she's already made to me.
Right now, even cigarettes are better for me than Sarah. They're freely available, not unreasonably priced, and most important of all they provide a reliable high every time I light one up. Yet I will be using my imminent change of home environment in order to help me give up smoking. Apparently once a smoker associates a particular place with smoking, then the body starts to respond to that environment automatically - lowering the blood pressure in order to pave the way for the stimulating biological effect of the cigarette on the bloodstream. Unfortunately that auto-anticipation is the same biological change that incurs craving. So, I won't ever be smoking cigarettes at the new place as soon as I make it there.
But now I'm wondering whether I should also use this life change as an opportunity to go cold turkey with my Sarah 'addiction'.
At the moment she knows where I live, where I work, my phone number, and my e-mail address. However, each and every one is a source of anxiety for me. I get anxious when the phone doesn't ring. I gawk at the laptop screen waiting for e-mails from her that rarely come these days, especially compared to the first few months of the *cough cough* relationship. And I am SO sick and tired of doing a double-take whenever a fucking red F-150 drives past the house, and then feeling the inevitable disappointment when it isn't her. So, as I continue in my quest to terminate those aspects of my life that feed my anxiety disorder, I could simply not divulge my new address to her.
My phone number and e-mail address will also both be changing so, similarly, I have the option not to divulge those to her either. The trouble is that I'm torn between cutting her off completely and leaving some olive branch so that she could reach me if she wanted to.
But does she really want to? The last time I asked her whether she was waiting to meet me or waiting until I gave up and went away, she wouldn't even answer the question. It makes my heart ache to say it, but I suppose if nothing changes for the better before I move house then I'll probably have no choice but to put and end to it all. If one thing's for certain, I will not stand for this relentless, merciless, anxiety-causing farce of a relationship in my own home. And why the fuck should I? Most people's eyes bulge when I reluctantly tell them that I've been hanging on for a year, patiently if excruciatingly hoping for some sign of progress. I seem to be the exception to the norm, which is circa one month.
But there has been no progress. Indeed, Sarah has neither said nor done ANYTHING in months that gives me any reason to expect that there ever will be.
That, alas, is the inconvenient truth.
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