I find that my happiness is based less on who I am and more on who I was. As I get further from the past I feel dissatisfied with my future.

My future is full of love and laughter but I dread it every step of the way. As the things I treasure spiral into oblivion I feel crushed.

Anxiety about my future cripples me. “Cold feet,” I suppose. I’m not where I thought I would be. I’m in a better place.

I made these tweets this morning and I could have gone on, but I decided to use my blog before I got ready to get my windshield replaced. I’ve come to the realization that my life is nowhere near what I thought it would be. Then again, I didn’t necessarily have very high hopes for my own future. I never saw myself as a writer. I never saw myself as married. I knew I wasn’t going to have children. Hell, I’m surprised I even finished college. You could say that my expectations for my own life weren’t very high.

As I think about my life now, I realize that my expectations haven’t risen much. My anxiety, on the other hand, has multiplied. Part of me feels as if it’s leftover from the traumas that I’ve happened to experience through random happenstance. My anxiety has caused me to separate myself from all the things I love. I withdraw from others and find excuses, reasonable and logical excuses, to exclude myself. I feel lonely even though I’m not alone anymore. I don’t pretend to understand it either.

Part of me thinks that I just can’t be happy with happiness. I’m so used to unhappy that I can’t find solace in happiness. I look at the lives of my friends and wonder if I fit into them at all. I want try to wedge myself into their day-to-day lives, but can’t do it. I feel rude and anxious. I don’t fit into their schedules and activities. My own life lacks the things that I need to join them.

I always felt like a third wheel to everyone before I started dating again. Having a significant other was like one of the keys I needed to get back into everyone’s fun. I wasn’t the lonely girl anymore. Now, I feel as if it’s the same thing as before. I’m torn. I’m happy to be with someone who understands me so completely and cares for me so deeply, but I’m even more excluded from things now. My single friends see us as a group-entity and it’s either both of us or neither of us when it comes to invitations. I think that’s why marriage scares me so much. I lose “me” and become wholly engulfed into “we.” I trade one set of circumstances for another and, in the end, I still feel bad.

I’m not the only one that struggles with these feelings. My man feels as if he’s always alone. He has no close friends and, while I’ve tried to introduce and include him in everything I do, he feels as if they are only inviting him because we’re together. He feels awkward and sad. He shares these with me and, while I want to sympathize with him, I find that it only makes me sink lower and feel as if I’m trapped in hopelessness. His depression makes me feel depressed. There’s nothing I can do to help him feel better and that, in turn, makes me feel even worse. We thought our lives would be better together and they really are, but both of us are struggling with things that we’re not sure how to change.

As a Sagittarius, I want to help him fix the things that need fixing, but I can’t even fix myself. As my anxiety has slowly ramped up, my binge eating has done so as well. As I notice this more, I get embarrassed by it. I don’t know how to stop it or fix it, a horrifying revelation for a Sagittarius. When you want a cookie, you eat a cookie. When I want a cookie, I eat cookies until I either run out or make myself sick. I try to set limits, but that only makes me want more. I can’t stop thinking about that cookie until I get one. I’ve literally thought about cookies for four days until I finally bought some to have. I thought about them every waking moment unless I was distracted by something else. That’s why this is so hard for me. Sometimes it’s ice cream. Sometimes it’s tortillas. It’s always some kind of food. I eat until I’m sick and still want more. The shame is overwhelming and makes me hate myself even more.

Of course, my brother is going to read this and tell me I need therapy. He always does. I know I need therapy, but my anxiety stops me from trying to find some. It scares me and I don’t have the money for that. Besides, I can’t stick with anything. Why in the world would I stick with that? I’d get uncomfortable and quit going. I know how I am. Terrible excuses, but I’ve got plenty. It’s the one thing I’m really great at. Were it not for the fact that I have to meet my dad to get my windshield fixed, I’d continue, but I think I’ve gone on enough. Maybe I’ll write about something better later. If not better than at least something that’s fiction instead.

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Comments
  1. Bubby says:

    You know me so well. That’s exactly what I would say and I say it again because it’s true: stop going through it alone. Get help.

    And if you have insurance, it should cover it. Randy goes every week and it’s a $30 co-pay. You could ask mom. Remember when she sent me to therapy?