Theater
We’re in Charleston for Shawna’s birthday. It’s never ceased to amaze me how much this town feels like Boston without the angry, scowling, jaded faces of the New Englanders. It’s not crowded on the streets, horns aren’t blaring, and you can park a block from a venue easily.
The theater with the murder mystery is small but comfortable. Perhaps the limit of my tolerance, but people have nice faces here. They smile more, so I don’t feel hostile. It’s a great show and I even participate, marveling at my newfound social energies.
Afterwards we walk down the streets to the ice cream parlor. It’s a whole group, and I know them all in some form. What’s more is the fondness I feel for them. More so than I would have believed a year ago. Snippets of their voices float up to me, and I’m holding Matt’s hand, grinning. We’re pointing out the things that look cool, things that looks charming. Things that remind us of a life before but so much more warm and welcoming here.
I could spend a multitude of weekends like this, with this group. This feels like home.
***
It’s Sunday and I am a bundle of nerves, channeling it all into housework while my brain rolls over the talking points for the meeting to come. I’m excited, and thankful that it appears we’ll be able to sit around the table to talk. Much more informal for the first.
I’m trying to keep things in my head separated. The Bs are going away next weekend, it will be a while before I see them again. When I start to think of how much I’ll miss them, I start to question my ability to hold this meeting and so I push it down and bury it. By the time people arrive, I can feel my pulse in my throat. I’m having a low grade panic attack now and it will carry through the meeting.
Oh well, this isn’t new territory.
The meeting goes well if I’m a little scattered. Anxious thoughts keep trying to break in, switching between not being able to talk and missing T over the next two weeks. During the talking, anxiety comes up a few times. Did I bring it up? Did someone else? I can’t remember, but it’s here. It’s always here for some of us.
I listen to what they are saying, and a light goes off in my mind. Support, discussion, helping us around anxiety. Those who have it and those who love someone with it. I decided then and there to create these groups in the hopes it could help.
I barely waited a full day to begin them, and on my end they were well received. I’m hoping they continue to grow from here.
But then it was time to say goodbye. The Bs leaving, everyone taking off. In a flash the house was empty and as the door closed on the final guests to leave, I broke down into tears. Dissolved. My body cannot tell the difference between good high energy and bad. It just reads it all as stress and anxiety. And so, often, I feel the need to let it out in tears.
But I am home, and I am at the start of some really huge adventures and changes. And even if it makes me cry sometimes, I’m ready.
The theater with the murder mystery is small but comfortable. Perhaps the limit of my tolerance, but people have nice faces here. They smile more, so I don’t feel hostile. It’s a great show and I even participate, marveling at my newfound social energies.
Afterwards we walk down the streets to the ice cream parlor. It’s a whole group, and I know them all in some form. What’s more is the fondness I feel for them. More so than I would have believed a year ago. Snippets of their voices float up to me, and I’m holding Matt’s hand, grinning. We’re pointing out the things that look cool, things that looks charming. Things that remind us of a life before but so much more warm and welcoming here.
I could spend a multitude of weekends like this, with this group. This feels like home.
***
It’s Sunday and I am a bundle of nerves, channeling it all into housework while my brain rolls over the talking points for the meeting to come. I’m excited, and thankful that it appears we’ll be able to sit around the table to talk. Much more informal for the first.
I’m trying to keep things in my head separated. The Bs are going away next weekend, it will be a while before I see them again. When I start to think of how much I’ll miss them, I start to question my ability to hold this meeting and so I push it down and bury it. By the time people arrive, I can feel my pulse in my throat. I’m having a low grade panic attack now and it will carry through the meeting.
Oh well, this isn’t new territory.
The meeting goes well if I’m a little scattered. Anxious thoughts keep trying to break in, switching between not being able to talk and missing T over the next two weeks. During the talking, anxiety comes up a few times. Did I bring it up? Did someone else? I can’t remember, but it’s here. It’s always here for some of us.
I listen to what they are saying, and a light goes off in my mind. Support, discussion, helping us around anxiety. Those who have it and those who love someone with it. I decided then and there to create these groups in the hopes it could help.
I barely waited a full day to begin them, and on my end they were well received. I’m hoping they continue to grow from here.
But then it was time to say goodbye. The Bs leaving, everyone taking off. In a flash the house was empty and as the door closed on the final guests to leave, I broke down into tears. Dissolved. My body cannot tell the difference between good high energy and bad. It just reads it all as stress and anxiety. And so, often, I feel the need to let it out in tears.
But I am home, and I am at the start of some really huge adventures and changes. And even if it makes me cry sometimes, I’m ready.
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