[writing prompt 9-1-23 – cruel summer]

My summer began in the middle of May, right smack dab in the middle of May on the coast of Ireland.
May has always been a disinclined month for me in the past.  Everything happens on the edge of May or right there in the thick of it.  There are years that I think that the malevolence of May will find a gentler way to execute the plans it has for me, but that never happens.
In 1998 I had a great May and since then, May reminds me that I am a mortal and I will need to feel the discomfort of life.

I live with anxiety on a daily basis and I have managed to find ways to navigate through a panic attack and how to have my dark passenger ride shot gun as I work my way through the day.
The reminder that it could be worse is always right there, until it’s RIGHT.FUCKING.THERE.
It was RFT for a month and a half.  That feeling of disbelief in my chest that hit every single moment of every single day.   I was mindful of my breathing to get through that chest cracking feeling, but then my stomach felt nausea even as I tried to sleep.  I was suffocating while walking around town, smiling and pointing out Ireland’s attractions.
While masking that I wasn’t crumbling, a sharp pain would shoot up the center of my body, ripping at it and taking my breath away.  Many times I had to run off to the bathroom and gasp for air and scream in my head, “GET IT TOGETHER!”  There was never enough air for my body to function.  I was ready to be done with this silly life of mine.

In the past I found comfort in something small and insignificant.  Eating a peanut butter and jelly sandwich in my very own first apartment was one of those.  Walking back after my first solo skydive carrying a giant parachute behind me…knowing that no one will EVER be able to take that away.
There was going to be something that broke me out of the every second of every day anxiety and I just had to wait for it, look for it, expect it to be there.
There have been moments, but the majority of the healing has come from working through the grief and mourning the loss of my mother.  She died a year ago this month and you would think that one would have been able to process all of that.  I’m not sure what stage I am currently in to be honest.  There were things that I did to try to feel something other than the pain, there were books I read.  I reached out and BEGGED for help, but was told that they were unable to help in the way I needed them to.  While  moving I found that note and I took it with me as a reminder why I don’t ask for help.  If people can’t help in the way they want, they won’t help at all.  No one would see me beg again.

July came and I sidelined anything that wasn’t about creating the peace I needed.
“What will this bring me? Peace or Drama?”  If I had to question something more than 1 minute it was set aside.
Reading brought me peace.  Writing brought me peace.  Creating the best fucking apartment brought me SO MUCH peace.  Locking myself out of my apartment TWICE did not bring peace.  It was fucking funny the second time because my sister was there, it was midnight and we laughed like we knew this was going down as a core memory.
This August was learning how to breath again.  It was untangling all the good from the bad.  It was looking at the good for what it was. It was too many questions I had to ask myself. It was too many answers I was afraid to believe, but with therapy, reading and getting it all out I came through this summer with one foot solid in healing and the other in an abyss of sorrow that I still need to work through.

My favorite things from this summer:  Being alone. Being with my sister and working through our grief. Being alone. Being alone.  Not having anyone in my life. Being alone. Hozier releasing his album.
The worst things from this summer: not a fucking thing.