It’s the end of the year and it’s usually time to reflect, but I spend countless hours in therapy doing just that and I am ready to look forward.

I had an anxiety attack in the dentist’s chair on Friday and it shook me as It’s been about 6 months since I had one that strong that it took my voice and made it small and filling my lungs with air felt like I was setting off a time bomb in my chest.
God, I felt like I was falling apart into pieces and there was no way to come back from it.  Of course, I did. I was able to express my needs and then I took the time to recover.  I called my friend and talked through it while my hands were wrapped around a hot coffee in a red paper cup. The adrenaline in my system took too much time to finally dissipate, but it did.  It’s times like Friday that I keep asking myself, “When is this all over? When is this over?”  not the anxiety attacks, but all of this life.
I guess the battle for me isn’t over just yet.

This morning I woke up sad.  I was looking at my walls and how I have surrounded myself with my familiars and someday I will pack up these things and move again.  I don’t want to do that ever again.  That wave of sadness doused me and I tried to bring enough air into my lungs to stay buoyant as I rode the waves.
My sister is in her struggle to. We count down the days before we will see each other. We talk about the beautiful things we saw in Ireland and both express how we don’t want to ever forget it.  She’s finding her footing after years of taking care of Mom and I don’t envy her journey as I am still trying to get through mine.  Greif is a fucking weird emotion that I have never felt at this level.  Give me a map and I will follow it if it means that this will get easier.  Yes, it’s been a year and it should feel easier, but it’s not.

As I am going through this I am also working through my past and the people I allowed into it.  How they changed me to who I am today.

I am finding that for the first time in my life that there are some things that are just mine, not to share with anyone.  If no one knows about these little pockets of my life, they can not judge, point and talk.  This last bit of my life is a mystery which allows me to wrap it around me like a cloak and be mysterious.  The damage I do is mine and mine alone, I don’t have to hurt and I don’t have to say I am sorry. This alone part of my life feels like a song I have never heard, but a chant that my ancestors have been singing and I can finally tap my foot to and say, “this is a part of me.”

There’s a old me inside that I have been dreaming of and it’s time to let her out.  It’s time to wear purple.