an-n-alyst - Tumblr blog

[an-n-alyst]

“When you act like this, it makes me not want you anymore.”

Something is wrong when you tell someone who you’re seeing and their eyes narrow. Something is wrong when they tell you to be careful. Something is wrong. Something is wrong.

Two years later and you’re sitting on your bathroom floor, remembering these instances, hands shaking and tears rolling out of your eyes so quickly they slide off of your cheeks and onto the cold tile beneath you.

Shame.

You feel shame for feeling sad. You feel shame for feeling happy. You feel shame for laughing at a joke that you thought was funny, only to have them tell you that you’re not funny at all. You feel shame for speaking your mind and you feel shame for not saying a word, only to have them tell you that you should have spoken up. You feel shame when they tell you “you’re acting crazy again, I don’t understand why you can’t just calm down and be happy” after you react to finding out they were unfaithful. You feel shame for holding onto feelings of hurt and mistrust because they only get angry if you bring anything up and demand that you let it go. You feel shame for hanging your head and staying, despite all the idle threats that you’ll leave and never look back. You feel shame for crying over the loss of your own baby, only to have him get angry and remind you that you need to just get over it and move on. You feel shame for allowing this to happen to you. You feel shame for being you.

You agonize over this because you can’t bear the thought of them not wanting you. You also can’t bear the asphyxiating anxiety, you can’t bear the weight of the words on your tongue. You wonder how terrible of a person you must be to make them not want you anymore. You fixate on how to win them back over.

So you apologize. You grovel and beg for their forgiveness. You ask them to forgive you for mentioning anything at all, for daring to speak up and to address the damage they’ve inflicted upon you. You promise you won’t make the same mistake. You’ll let it go and you’ll do what they say and be happy, no matter how unbearable it is to swallow the pain. You agree, you are exaggerating, you’re acting crazy, you’re imagining things.

They don’t listen to you, though. In fact, they don’t acknowledge you at all. They don’t even look at you. You’ve become completely and utterly invisible. They don’t turn their head at the sound of your voice. They don’t meet your eyes, even if you plead. They tell you to leave them alone. How can you leave them alone when every time you do, something bad happens? You feel like you’re screaming into a void. Finally, they snap and they exit. They mention once again how irritating you are, how you’re so difficult to deal with. They mention again that maybe things would be better if you were out of the picture. They leave.

You’re left in silence. The panic swells, the decibels in your chest make their way out. You’re desperate for relief, you’re desperate to know that your voice still works. You think that you’ve finally done it this time - you’ve pushed them away and now they’re leaving. You’re unlovable. Everything you know is about to fall apart. The children who you’ve been raising and loving and cherishing are about to be ripped away from you.

You have been so dehumanized that you begin to accept it. You begin to wholly believe that you aren’t worthy. You’re difficult. You’re nothing. All of your thoughts are wrong and you are wrong and you are crazy and you are everyone’s pun because of how crazy you are and you are dramatic and you are a liar and you are imagining things and you are wrong and you are a liar and you are wrong and you are a liar and you are wrong and you are a liar.

It’s your fault that you’re feeling this way. It’s all made up in your head. They said so, so it must be true. You love them and you want them to love you. So you begin to obsess over how to make them happy. You go out of your way to do everything in your power to impress them, to win over a crumb of affection, to keep their attention so that their eyes don’t wander once again. So they don’t get angry with you for not working hard enough on the house. So they don’t berate and belittle you for not earning enough money or doing enough with your life. So they don’t criticize you and judge you for feeling down. So they don’t punish you for going against them. You’re fighting for control. You never gain control.

And then you open your puffy eyes and find yourself on the bedroom floor of the girl he calls your daughter. You’re screaming and crying and choking, and you’re clutching one of her tiny pink shoes.

The noises you’re making are inhuman and you never believed yourself capable of such an emotional break. You’ve done things now that you would have never done before. You’ve reacted and you’ve bitten back, like a dog that’s been kicked just one too many times. You’ve shown up with no shoes on and no bra to a bar he’s at with another woman. You’ve gone through his phone. You’ve gone through his watch. You’ve gone through both and compared the text threads to find out which ones were missing conversations with girls he wants to meet in secret.

You get pushed off the bed when you won’t shut up. You get pushed into the street when you try to calm them down. You get pushed into a doctors office and onto a cold metal table while you sob uncontrollably. The doctors tell you that you aren’t in the right state of mind, but you know what will happen if you don’t do what he wants. You get punished for it. You’re just that crazy. You’ve always been crazy. You brought this on yourself. You regain some sense and wonder how the neighbors haven’t heard you and called the police, because it sounds as if someone were being violently tortured. You aren’t aware that you are being violently tortured, just not in the obvious way.

You’re thinking about all of the people who wouldn’t want this for you. You’re trying to remember what it’s like to feel wanted. You don’t remember what it’s like to feel right. You don’t remember how to believe yourself. You just want to fix the mess you made with them. They are the face every thought, and your stomach twists at the idea of what they could be doing right then and there. Your brain bites back and reminds you that you’re just crazy. You’re conditioned to have this response now, no matter how many incidents have validated you before. Your reality isn’t the rest of the worlds’ and you are overreacting. They said so. It must be true. It is true. They know best. They will love you if you believe them and just keep your mouth shut. You learn to believe them, and you forget how to believe yourself.

There will be a second in time, a blip, every now and then where they do love you. They shower you with expensive gifts, they write love notes to you, they actually reach for your hand and stroke your hair. They tell you they love you and they want you forever. They tell you that you’re the one and they can’t imagine this life without you. They tell you how happy you make them and they tell you how much they love that you love their children. Everything is right in the world during that blip. You’re over the moon. Things might be good from now on. Maybe they’ll stop hurting you. Maybe they’ll start listening to you. Maybe they will change like they’ve been saying they would. They said they were trying. That should be enough for you.

It doesn’t last, and it never will. You realize this when you’re having to explain to the children who love you through sobs that you won’t be around anymore. You realize this when they replace you with another within weeks. Someone fresh, someone healthy, someone strong. You wish you could tell them to run. You’ve lashed out enough. You bite the bullet and think about ways to end it all. They were right all along. You are unworthy, you are unlovable, you are alone. You are alone.

You are alone and you no longer believe yourself.

They aren’t coming back.

You don’t believe yourself.

You are alone

You are alone

You are alone.

You are so fucking alone.

“When you act like this, it makes me not want you anymore.”

Something was wrong.

[an-n-alyst]

To this day, there are still holes in my childhood bedroom door from where I ripped a mirror off of it in a melodramatic fashion after breaking up with one of my high school boyfriends.

Ten years later, I’m sitting in the same room, staring at the holes and trying to remember what the dispute was even about. I can’t even remember what happened. It was so long ago.

Next to my door, there is a pile of self-help books, some purchased by me, some given to me over the last several months by friends and family. I’ve managed to crack open a couple of them. Part of me was afraid of the words beyond the covers. I was afraid that it would spell out what I knew all along. I was afraid that they would call me out and force me to look at myself in the mirror. Not because I had been a bad person, not because I had done anything wrong, but because I had lost myself. I sat and I allowed myself to wither away, to become someone I’m not and to live a life that I convinced myself was meant to be mine. It was never mine to begin with and I see that now.

They say that the passage of time is the cure for a broken spirit. I agree with this sentiment to an extent, but I also think it takes a lot of self reflection to even begin to heal. I was afraid to go back and look at what I missed, what I should have done differently, and most of all, I was afraid to accept that what is in the past will remain in the past. The love you gave, the times you laughed, the times you cried and screamed in your car, the times you dreamed and planned out a future that never came to fruition - this is all to be left behind. It took me a long time to realize this, and even longer to accept it.

Two months ago, the metaphorical wool was ripped off of my eyes and my feet were kicked out from under me. The worst part of it all is that there was no self worth or love left to cushion my fall. I crashed through a cloudy, cracked glass floor. I lied there, bleeding out in the cellar of a dilapidated house that was no longer inhabitable. It was a house built by disillusionment and fear. The joists were worn and faltering. I became entangled in the vines that were overgrown and crept through the cracks in the foundation.

For thirty days, I felt breathless. I could not breathe, I could not eat or sleep. For thirty days, I had to untangle myself. I had to catch my breath. I had to lean on new people with love in their hearts and sunshine in their palms. I was finally able to stand.

You can stand up and you can begin your healing by loving yourself again. It took me time to rediscover who I was as an individual and to celebrate those very things about me that I had shut away. I love to write, for instance. I love how I laugh at my own jokes, because I think I’m one of the funniest people I know and that’s okay. I love the spunk and zest I add to everyday tasks just to make life more colorful. I love how I love others, and how I cherish others. I love that no matter what happens, no matter how wounded I get, I will always leave my heart open, even though I joke never letting another soul inside. I know that I would be doing myself a disservice if I shut myself off from the rest of the world.

The next thirty days, with many therapy sessions, many trips to the gym, many hours spent talking, laughing and crying with my friends, I began to understand that in order to truly grow and be okay again, I had to let go. The past will forever remain in the past and it will remain a chapter of a book that has now come to an end. And as I stood outside of this house I built - my house - I understood that it had to come down. This house was not who I was anymore. The weak foundation, the emptiness and squalor inside was not me, only a symptom of the pain. A mirage. I no longer felt the urge to sit in my crumbling manor and wonder about what if. The what if’s don’t matter. What matters is what has become and what will be.

All of my cuts and bruises are healed now. My legs are strong and steady. I have life in my eyes and pink in my cheeks. My spirit came back to me, and together we drifted away, down the road, the house fading into the distance and turning to dust in the wind. I’m ready now to take this journey on my own. I won’t be afraid anymore and I won’t conceal the parts of me that make me who I am. I think it’s time to become who I’m meant to be, even if it means walking alone. I love and trust myself enough now to know that I am strong enough to move the mountains that call to me, and I am content with the quiet.

I am whole again and I am happy. And I can say with every ounce of spirit in me that I am happy with myself. I am living for myself again and it’s so wonderful. Things are not perfect by a long shot and I still have many chapters to write and roads to travel. But I am strong enough now to walk my own path, to see the world through clear eyes and feel the sun on my back as I leave the past where it is meant to be left.

I will never forget the figures of joy and beauty that I was fortunate enough to have in my life for the time that I did. I will carry a piece of them with me down the road as I move forward. But I won’t look back anymore.

To truly let go, you can never look back. My eyes are fixed on the sky now.

I’m free.

[an-n-alyst]

June 8, 2021

Dear Reader,

It’s been a very long time since I’ve sat down and opened my notes app to write. I wouldn’t say it’s due to lack of motivation - my brain has just been spinning in circles lately what with the switch in my career and the new opportunities I’ve been pursuing. Things are off to a slow and steady beginning and for the first time in a very long time, I’m beginning to have a clear vision of where I want to be in 5 years.

I’ve made new friends and met some of the most wonderful people. It seems like everywhere I turn, there’s someone who’s willing to help, teach and support me. It’s only reinforced my belief that the world is full of kindness and love. This belief I hold close to my heart, even on my darkest of days.

I’d originally started this blog as a way for me to explain my own personal journey overcoming generalized anxiety and OCD and advocate for those who also experience this. In true Anna fashion, I’ve definitely veered all over the road with the topics I’ve rambled about on here. I think that at the end of the day it’s just cathartic to express myself, share my feelings and exercise my voice as a writer.

I’m going to be 24 next month. I’ve seen articles and posts shared on social platforms where people explore the integral life lessons they’ve learned as they reach their milestones in age. I wish I could tell you that I have the patience to sit down and map out my big 24 life lessons. As I reflect now, I think I still have so much to learn that I would be better off saving the introspective endeavor for a bigger age milestone. Maybe in 5 years I can revisit this and have a better idea of what I would say.

I’ll tell you one thing I’ve learned, though. As someone who has never done well with change, I’ve really leaned into it this year while examining the facets of myself that I’ve now decided are non-negotiable. One cannot grow without change, and this is known. I’m beginning to figure this out for myself, and as my life changes course, I’m also gaining clarity on who I am to my core.

There has always been an air of uncertainty surrounding my own self-interpretation. This is something I especially struggled with while I was in high school, and even in the transitional period of my life between then and now. I know I’m not anywhere close to where I want to be, but I’m fairly confident now that I can figuratively charge into the fog of ambiguity that lies between myself and my goals, dauntless and gallant, knowing that whatever I face and whichever direction I follow, I’ll remain true to myself.

In the meantime, I’m going to continue growing, evolving and learning. I’m going to be kind and be a friend to others. I’m going to build my voice and my confidence. I’m going to keep pursuing what’s best for me, and most importantly, I’m going to keep my own promise to love and trust myself at every turn, twist and bend in the road. I hope you’re able to do this on your own journey, Reader, and I hope that you lean into change and grow with every passing day. Treat people with kindness, smile and love yourself. I’ll see you next time!

- Anna

[an-n-alyst]

January 29, 2021

Last night I was prompted by my boyfriend to write about something that made me happy. My brain was too tired and too worn to come up with anything at the time, but as I sat and watched the snow melt this morning I was reminded of a page in a scrapbook from long ago that my mom had created from one of our snow days when I was a little kid. My mom used to spend hours scrapbooking family vacations, trips to the zoo, birthdays, holidays, you name it. I’ll still leaf through them occasionally and smile at the corny captions or meaningful paragraphs my mom would always write underneath the photos and at the end of the books.

When I think of growing up, I think of how fortunate I was not only to have a roof over my head and access to private education (which didn’t come without sacrifice), but the extensive system of support that I had to provide me with all of these privileges. There was never a moment where I doubted that I was loved. From all of the times my Grandmom picked me up from school and got me my favorite snack wraps from McDonald’s, from all of the times my Granddad played the same game of hide and seek with me and found me over and over in the same hiding spots, from all of the many hours spent with my mom traveling and in the gym day in and day out for my competitive volleyball, I knew I had an unwavering and unrelenting foundation of support and devotion.

I’m trying to think of the best way to sum up my family. We love to hug. We love to stand at the end of the driveway, wave and sign the words ‘I love you’ when someone is leaving. We love to talk and perform acts of kindness for each other. My grandparents were soft spoken, kind, wise, and they were paragons of virtue and patience and people of God. Naturally, it trickled down to the rest of our family and I was lucky enough to experience this in my upbringing. My aunts, uncles and older cousins were always loving, supportive and have helped me out in so many ways. My Grandmom taught me what perseverance was, to be extra considerate of others, and how to learn and uncover things and their meanings myself - even a few Greek and Latin roots of words I didn’t know, after many trips to the dictionary every time I would ask her what something meant. My Grandad taught me how to laugh at anything, be silly and always find the humor in things. He *tried* to teach me how to play golf. He helped teach me how to swim and then would always pretend to be a shark chasing me around the pool. He taught me how painful it was to lose someone when he passed away. I drive around with his picture now and I always try to talk to him and ask him for signs.

At the end of the day, my mom was always there to reflect these wonderful qualities in her own upbringing and make sure that I received that very same love. She gave my brother and me everything she had and she never ever let me think for a second that I was alone in the world or that I didn’t have my mom there with me. To this day I cannot fathom what it is like to not be loved unconditionally and without pause, exceptions or breaks. I can’t picture what it’s like to not be close to my mom. I can’t picture what it’s like to not have a surplus of words of affirmation to comfort me and envelop me in a warm, metaphorical embrace. Not to mention the amount of times I’ve convinced myself that I was dying and my mom had to remind me that no, I’m not.

My family has a lot of symbols and motifs that we carry with us throughout the years. Bluebirds, cardinals and strawberries. Most of these symbols I have tattooed onto my body to hold them close and give me daily reminders of how loved I am and what they mean to me. While my favorite story to tell is the strawberry story, instead of telling that one again, I will leave you with this suggestion: if you are lucky enough to have a family like I do, never ever take them for granted. Give them a call. Write them a letter. Or a blog post. Whichever one suits you best.

I hope everyone has a wonderful day; stay safe and be well!

[an-n-alyst]

10.6.20

Dear Reader,

Another month has passed and here we are, nestling into the leaves of October. A fan favorite month, no doubt. Times are spooky and the coffee is spiced. The weather is cooling off and those of us with an affinity for leather jackets and heeled booties are itching in anticipation.

Today, I wanted my topic to be something that hopefully could provide some more insight into something that not everybody gets to experience, and that topic today is the joy of being a step parent! (More specifically, a young step parent with no biological children of my own).

I mentioned this briefly in one of my previous posts about my relationship with Shawn, but before I had met him, kids were a deal breaker for me. I’ve never been absolutely certain if I wanted them of my own, but at the time I was convinced that I did not want to be responsible for someone else’s kids, and that I probably couldn’t handle always coming in second to somebody else. The notion is immature and fairly selfish, but those were just my boundaries for a relationship and it was a personal choice that I’d made.

Along came Shawn, and one of the first things I learned about him was that he had kids. Let me remind you, Reader: I didn’t really think twice about the possibility that I could be a part of their lives one day. It was disappointing to hear at the time and I had figured that our relationship, if we had any semblance of one, would not be serious enough for that possibility to occur.

However, he was so charming that it was almost criminal, and I found myself a few weeks later turning the idea over back and forth in my head. Would I really meet his children? Would I really become a maternal figure in their lives? Did I even have the ability to be a good maternal figure for them?

The first night that I did meet them, I was so nervous. I remember debating on whether or not to take out my nose ring to appear more professional, as if I were going into a job interview. I admitted this to Shawn and he pretty much told me that I was being a weirdo and to just be myself and they would love me in return. Ok, easy enough.

I met them in the lobby at the movie theater. Ava was shy, and Caiden casually addressed me with a “Hey, Anna.” I told them both hello. And that’s pretty much it. We were off to a great start.

Once the movie was over, the three of them walked me to my car and we bid farewell. I remember going to my mom’s afterward and telling her that I was a goner. I met them one time and they had my heart and will hold it forever.

I won’t recap the entire year, but I will say that growing a backbone is probably the hardest thing I’ve had to deal with as far as being a parent goes. It’s a really, really weird feeling when you discipline or chastise somebody else’s child, at first. I think one of the first times I did it was when I suggested to Caiden that perhaps he should put on his shoes since we would be leaving soon. I was horrified that I would be so bold as to give him instructions when he barely even knew who I was. Who gave me the right?

Yeah, all that’s pretty much out the window by now. It definitely took a long time but being a no nonsense kind of parent has come easier to me here lately. A large part of it is probably due to me picking up almost all of my parenting style from Shawn. I can confidently assure you that I keep them in line and cleaning up after themselves. I can also promise that I no longer take them on extravagant shopping trips to TJ Maxx, even though picking out clothes for them might in fact be one of my favorite parts of being a mom.

I’ve gotta tell you, though, my favorite part of being a mom is at the end of the night when one of the two looks up at me and asks me if I’ll sing them a song. I climb up the steps behind them as they excitedly clamber into their beds and eagerly look to me for the song. Sometimes I’ll bring my guitar upstairs and *poorly* strum along while I sing quietly. I sing these kids the same songs that my own mom and Grandmom sang to me when I was a little kid. They know the songs now and sing them under their breath sometimes. Sometimes they sing along with me.

I’ll then tuck them in officially once we finish the song, and we have a routine called ‘One, Two, Three, Four’ where I rock them back and forth from their shoulders down to their ankles into the covers so that they’re nice and burrito’d in. I bid them farewell and goodnight. They tell me they love me and my heart swells to heights I never knew possible.

It’s so silly to me now to think that I ever could have opted out of being with Shawn because of the fact that he had kids. I would have missed out on knowing what maternal love feels like. Yeah, I get that it’s not entirely the same as having children of my own. Sometimes I do feel an ache in my heart that reminds me of the fact that at the end of the day, they aren’t biologically mine. They aren’t legally mine. I have no obligation to be a mother to them. It was a difficult thing for me to process and sort out for a very long time as my love for them grew. I had to find a balance of not only knowing how to raise them but how to accept that no, they are not biologically my children, but that does not make me any less of a mother, and my love for them is indeed that of a mother’s. I speak of them as if they were my own. When I talk to clients at my job I refer to them as my kids. Because to me, there’s no issue anymore. They are my children to love and protect, along with their mom, dad and stepdad. It’s so cool to think that they have double the love. They surely do deserve it. Their hearts are made of gold.

It gives me peace and warmth to know that love is reciprocated and that they love me, too. They don’t have to call me ‘Mom’ and they don’t have to call me ‘Anna’ either. I’ll accept whatever their little hearts tell them to call me. Hearing Ava’s constant ‘Hey, Anna’ interjections throughout the day makes me feel whole. I could be ok with being just Anna to them for the rest of my life as long as they know how much I love and cherish them, and would do anything for them, just as a mother would. I feel a new purpose in my life and I’ve grown as a human being just from loving these children with everything I have. It’s an incredible thing - being a parent. Maybe one day I’ll have one of my own, maybe not. But I know in my heart that the two I have now are more than enough.

If I had to give you one final thought that encompasses this entire post, it’s that being their step parent is undoubtedly one of the best things to ever happen to me. Should you find yourself with a similar opportunity to love and be loved in return, take it. I promise you won’t regret it.

[an-n-alyst]

9-16-20

Dear Reader,

Today’s prompt is brought to you by: Stupid Decisions You Make as a Young Adult. I figured I’d just go ahead and throw that out there.

I’ve talked about this before on my social media but I’ve never really gone into detail and I saw a writing prompt that gave me a little jolt of inspiration: Talk about a time that you had to be brave.

The year was 2018, I was only 20 and I was going through a transitional time in my life. I’d just gotten out of a four year relationship with my high school boyfriend and I was feeling a bit claustrophobic here in Louisville. I’d ended up going to have lunch with a friend who somehow managed to convince me that it was a good idea to pack up and get out of town.

I’d never really had the college experience of either going to live in a different place or even live on campus, so at the time, it seemed like a really good idea. I think the controlled and routine environment that college provided would have been a lot better for me mentally, in retrospect. In my head at the time, though, this seemed like an awesome plan. I had a couple of friends that lived there, I could easily transfer store locations at my job, and I could find a room to rent somewhere via some facebook groups that I’d discovered with the help of my friend.

Nashville was my new destination. I’d visited several times before and loved the dynamic of the city. It wasn’t terribly far away, but far enough that I felt like I could really start over and reinvent myself. It seemed like a place where I could find other people with similar interests and similar personalities. I was optimistic through and through. I didn’t really allow myself to be nervous about it. This was something that I would have never imagined myself doing, due to my anxiety and the fact that I’d never really lived anywhere other than home. I’m not sure that I could do it now. There’s something to be said about the resilience you harbor when you’re young and inexperienced with life. I think it’s a natural defense mechanism so we don’t flop and drown when we take a leap.

I found a townhouse to live in with three other strangers, who all turned out to be very nice girls. I moved in the beginning of February 2018 and the first night I was down there, I went to a show in the basement of a local music venue that my friend was performing in. I remember feeling like I was a different person. Now a resident of Tennessee, I leaned up against the outside of a house in a drizzle with two friends and some new acquaintances. I felt invincible.

The bravado wore off quickly after this night.

I began work the following Monday and between this and my friends having their own lives established, I fell into a routine of waking up late, going to work second shift, coming home in the dark and being alone in my room. My house key wouldn’t work for the first few days I was there, so there were a couple of nights of me being stranded outside the house until I could get ahold of one of my roommates. Most nights I would smoke cigarettes in my beat up Dodge Stratus and listen to songs that made me feel even lonelier. (Sorry family, but I don’t smoke anymore!) Also, why is it that when we feel low, we listen to music that makes us feel even lower? What a masochistic habit.

Unfortunately, it was at this time that I had a falling out with one of my friends down there that really hurt me emotionally and isolated me even more. I tried using Bumble and Tinder to find friends that I could find some common ground with or spend time with, just to get me out of my room and around other human beings. I’d never in my life gone on a Tinder outing or even used Uber services alone, but Nashville had me taking a Lyft out to Broadway street (mind you, it was 25 minutes away from my house) to meet up with a guy who seemed nice and had invited me to grab something to eat in a sandwich place near all of the bars. That was all fine and dandy, and after eating and hanging out in a coffee shop for a couple of hours, we essentially were out of things to do since I was still under 21. I jumped into an Uber home after telling my new friend goodbye, which was some older dude in a van and very sketchy if I might add.

I made it home with no issues, though, and stepped out of the car, walking up to the steps on my porch. Something willed me to turn around, and I retreated back down the steps to go pace up and down the sidewalk of my street. I came to a stop under one of the street lamps on the corner and stared down all of the adjacent streets. This moment I’ll always remember because everything felt surreal. I was 20 years old - just a kid. I was standing under a street lamp in the middle of a neighborhood that I lived in but did not feel like mine. I was hundreds of miles away from anybody that gave a shit about me. I was utterly alone in this minute of silence, and I felt my heart beating in my chest in the seconds that crept by. I realized that despite my original intentions, I was not happy here and it wasn’t where I needed to be. The world is a very big place and I was far from home and any type of security or familiarity. I couldn’t go home and I couldn’t go to a friend’s house. Here I was. I had to be my own security. That’s something I’ll never forget. It was a pivotal moment in my metamorphosis from child to adult.

If you haven’t figured it out by now, I went home a few months after I left. It was embarrassing and my pride was definitely hurt. I never made any friends, I never reinvented myself. I felt like I had failed my big quest to find myself.

Here’s the thing about that, though. I was wrong. I had very much reinvented myself. Never in a million years did I think that I would have done something so brazen as to pack up and move to another city, into a house full of strangers, completely alone. Yeah, it didn’t work out and I needed to come home for the sake of my mental health. I was fortunate to be able to have that option. But I didn’t realize just how much I’d grown from even having the guts to pull the trigger and go out there on my own. I explored a city I barely knew and I took care of myself. I tried to get out there and I tried new things. I survived in a place that had no sympathy for me and had no traces of home. I grew EXPONENTIALLY. I became more aware of myself, my surroundings and who I was. So maybe I did have a victory mixed into that defeat.

I guess my whole point is that I had to be very brave and I had to pull myself together and get through it. I was not a kid anymore and I was not dependent on a soul. I was a human out in the world. Infinitesimal, but significant.

I don’t regret this decision to move because of the experience and confidence that it brought me. I know now that I am capable of greater things and that I’m able to be self sufficient and survive hardships in isolation. I’m just fortunate enough to not have to do this, anymore. I have a newfound appreciation for home and family. I have a newfound appreciation for MYSELF.

So maybe the next time you find yourself alone at night, standing under a street lamp, look around and take it in. This is you, this is your life, and you are in charge of it. Be happy where you are and be aware of change and welcome it. Choose to grow and progress. Be present in the quiet moments. The may seem unimportant, but you just might remember them forever.

[an-n-alyst]

“I always endowed madness with a sacred, poetic value, a mystical value. It seemed to me to be a denial of ordinary life, an effort to transcend it, to expand, to go far beyond the limitations…”

— Anaïs Nin, from The Diary of Anaïs Nin: Volume 1, 1931-1934

[an-n-alyst]

8.18.20

Dear Reader,

I’m coming to you live, perched on top of a wooden palette with a coffee next to my foot that I absolutely do not need. The past few days have been a little difficult for me but I’m trying to regroup and squeeze out something that may or may not inspire me. Maybe it’ll inspire you.

Probably not, but wishful thinking never killed anybody.

I was thinking of prompts to write about so I could actually construct something cohesive and with a clear direction and message but today might just be one of those days where I ramble and jump from thought to thought. To tell you the truth, it’s the most honest form of writing, since it reflects my real brain.

I’m not really thinking about OCD today. I mean obviously, I am, because it is a disease that doesn’t take days off. But I’m preoccupied today with another topic - the butterfly effect.

Life really isn’t something that I like to talk about in cliches or similes. None of it is accurate to me. How are you supposed to summarize something so enigmatic? Part of being alive is not being able to grasp the vast, endless possibilities and timelines that emerge from a single choice. My best friends, my boyfriend, my job, my lifestyle....all of it has come to be because I made a choice, and that choice was the result of another choice that came from a choice that came from a choice that came from a choice. Some of them weren’t even my decisions.

I would never have met my boyfriend if it hadn’t been for my decision to move in with my two best friends last summer. I would never have had the opportunity to grow to love him or his children. I would never have met my best friends if I hadn’t decided, back when I was 19 and unemployed, to apply at a tanning salon on a whim because I needed a job and I had just dropped out of school. I would never have dropped out of school if it weren’t for the sudden hardships that emerged in the period of time where I had to decide whether or not to re enroll. I can go on, and on, and on.

I guess the point that I’m trying to make is that I, probably like many others, get so wrapped up in the day to day that I forget to appreciate the tiny, impactful choices that were made for me to get here. I’m a timid believer in fate, but I do feel as though I was meant to be where I am. I’m nowhere near where I would like to end up, and hopefully I can climb more mountains and get to where I’m supposed to go without any tragedy.

I can tell you one thing that I do know, though. I am exactly where I need to be when it comes to love. My family has always referred to me as an old soul, and as the days go by and I physically age I’m starting to understand why they feel that way. I have always felt an endless capacity for love. I feel it physically, much like I do my OCD! It’s hard to describe, but I’ll give it a shot.

When I love somebody, I feel it rooted in my chest. I feel it grow like a powerful oak tree. I choose to embrace the feeling instead of shying away from it. I can tell you with complete certainty that I would do just about anything for the people I love. I would protect my friends and my family, I would sacrifice the last shred of my happiness to see them flourish and be happy.

There’s something similar about the way a breeze touches your cheeks and the way you can feel love emanating from somebody. Everyone has energy and light. I welcome it into my body and I absorb it in my chest. I actively choose not to turn away from new opportunities for love and growth because of things that have happened in the past. The reason we’re here is to build connections and relationships and it’s so beautiful that I think it would be a travesty to close yourself off and miss the chance to feel something so special - the essence of why we’re alive. It’s a scary thing to embrace but I think it’s so important.

At the end of the day, your job is your job and the cards fall where they will fall. But if you can look in the mirror and see love reflected in your eyes, maybe see it reflected in someone else’s eyes, and know that today you loved someone so deeply it made you ache, then I would say you had a great day.

To my friends, my family...I love you! It’s a beautiful day to be alive and feel it. Be safe and be well and love somebody from the bottom of your heart today.

- AV

[an-n-alyst]

8.14.20

Dear Reader,

Hello again! I hope everyone’s been safe and well since my last post. I got positive feedback from my original post so I figured I’d hop back on here and keep this thing going.

Today I wanted to talk about OCD itself and the misconceptions and/or stigmas that surround it. I also wanted to touch lightly on my own interpretation of it.

Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder is a mental illness that causes a person to, as the name would tell you, have compulsions, obsessions or both! Compulsions are what I would describe as feeling the need to perform certain routines, rituals or actions for reasons that don’t always make sense. I, like most adults with OCD, realize both during and after the compulsions that they are irrational. However, this understanding doesn’t change the outcome. I still have to complete my rituals and routines.

One of the most prevalent rituals in my life currently is my water drinking, which I mentioned briefly in my first upload. I am only allowed to take sips or gulps of water (or any drink) in intervals of 3 or 5. Typically, if it exceeds 3, I will only drink in intervals of 5. If I feel that I’ve swallowed too much or too little in one of the sips then I have to continue on for another 5 sips. I never lose count and I never drink any beverage without hearing numbers in my head. So there’s that.

The water-drinking is actually one of my more recent routines that I’ve developed. The sock thing has probably been around for about ten years, by now. That’s a big one that I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to grow out of. It’s almost like a joke to me at this point, despite still having to blindly adhere to these rules that my brain has put into place.

Probably one of the oldest compulsions that I have is the compulsion to touch and put pressure on the center of an object if I touch it. Now, this doesn’t mean I run around touching EVERYTHING in my sight. It also doesn’t mean that I have to do it with every object I touch. Typically it becomes a compulsion when I pay attention and realize that no, I’m not touching the very direct center of that object. By center, I’m referring to what I would consider to be the middle point in the space. I have to touch the center of the couch cushion I’m leaned up against. I have to touch the center of that piece of paper I just picked up. I have to align my arm with the center of my chest when I sleep on my stomach because if the pressure on my sternum even feels remotely off-balance then I completely lose my composure and become very uncomfortable.

Let me tell you, I have woken up with COUNTLESS tingly arms due to them falling asleep while underneath me.

It’s also a really big inconvenience when I realize I’ve touched something off center, and I can’t go back to touch the very middle because I’m in public or other people are watching and I would look like a total wack job. Typically I’ll find a way to do it and try to look casual so that nobody notices. I think if I tried to explain to them what was happening, then they wouldn’t quite understand. The public tends to have a different idea of OCD than what it actually is.

Okay, this might sound preachy and cliche, but I gotta emphasize that these thoughts and opinions are my own and don’t represent anyone else with OCD. This is just my experience.

It doesn’t necessarily bother me when someone who very obviously does not have OCD says something along the lines of “oh geez, I’m so OCD, I have to keep my house spotless.” More often than not I just shrug my shoulders and go about my day. Some people tend to think that OCD is just a need to keep things very clean and organized, which is the case for some with OCD! Hand-washing is one of the most common compulsions.

I completely get it if you do feel some type of way about keeping things clean and tidy. I even get it if you feel the need to organize things a certain way. The politically correct way to express this is not by saying “I’m so OCD about xyz” but by saying that you experience Obsessive Compulsive Behaviors.

OCB is very different than OCD. OCD is a mental illness that is so pervasive into the mind that it negatively affects the quality of life for its sufferers. I would guess that most people who organize and label their kitchen pantries don’t ride the same struggle bus as those of us with clinically diagnosed OCD. But who knows, I’m just making assumptions! I could be wrong. It all very much depends on the person and I couldn’t possibly know what everyone is going through. This is sadly just the case as society has surrounded OCD with a stigma of just being someone who likes to keep things clean.

If you feel like you may have OCD, or are experiencing Obsessive Compulsive Behaviors, then I really can’t recommend therapy enough. There are also so many resources out there that can help us better understand how this disorder functions in a person and what we can do to overcome it. Medication is something that’s helped greatly with me, and there are several options that you can discuss with a doctor for treating OCD. If you’ve read this and now think “okay, I don’t have OCD but I definitely experience some behaviors” then great! (Or not great, maybe, but good for you for coming to terms with this!) That’s absolutely fine and your feelings are valid. I hope that I at least cleared things up for a couple of people and you either walk away from this post with a better understanding of what this disorder is, or what may be going on with you or a loved one in your personal life. If you do relate to some of what I’ve been describing and suspect that you might suffer from OCD, please reach out to a medical professional for a diagnosis and a treatment plan!

That’s really all I have to say on the matter and I’m sorry that I didn’t have any funny jokes or stories this time to break the ice but I wanted this post to be a little more informative and also to express my personal opinion on people romanticizing/generalizing the disorder. If you feel like I got something wrong or would like to offer a rebuttal then please feel free to do so! Leave me a comment or reply. Like I said, this is all simply my opinion shared from my own experience with Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder.

It’s pretty late at night so I’m gonna sign off here now, but thanks for hanging with me for post 2 and let’s hope that there are many more to come! If you’d like to give me a follow or reblog then I wouldn’t object. Or, like I said, feel free to leave a comment or begin a dialogue! I would love to talk more about it and share more of my experiences, and hopefully even hear about others’ experiences, too!

Until next time, stay safe and be well.

- AV

[an-n-alyst]

To quote Drake: I mean where the *heck should I really even start?

Today I accidentally vacuumed up a bug and I probably agonized over it for a good five to ten minutes. I’ve killed many a bug in my day but for some reason, this one made me sad. He had just been crawling around minding his business and I saw him too late. The suction from the hose swept him into a dusty abyss.

I contemplated if he had a family and if they would miss him. And then I remembered that it was a literal bug and I’ve been staring at the same spot on the floor for an unusually long period of time.

If you’re new here (which we all are, because it’s a new blog), welcome! My name is Anna and I’m 23. I don’t have a college degree yet but I do have moxie and some stories to tell. I think the whole purpose of this project is really to act as a coping strategy for me, and also because I simply need a hobby, what with the whole pandemic thing going on.

I suffer from clinically diagnosed OCD and a panic disorder. It’s not so fun, and it tends to affect my day to day life. So I guess I’m hoping the outcome of this blog is to spread awareness, maybe help some people figure out what’s going on with them, and maybe make some people laugh. MAYBE.

If it’s cool with you I’d love to move past the awkward introduction and onto why I even mentioned the bug in the first place.

To most people it’s nothing - it’s just a bug. To tell you the truth even I’m like yes it’s a literal bug on the ground that I swept up by accident, BFD. But sometimes there’s this little person in my head that hangs onto irrational, random things or incidents and prevents me from moving on and forgetting it like a normal person. This is kind of a wacky example but I figured it was attention-grabbing enough to be the opener. It wouldn’t seem very exciting if I just kicked it off by talking about how sometimes I have to touch the center of objects if I touch them at all, or how I have to take sips of water in either intervals of 3 or 5, or how I have to park my car in a certain way and in a certain spot, or even how I have to wear mismatched socks on a daily basis because if my socks do end up matching something catastrophic WILL happen and the fate of my life and the universe depends on my socks. SOCKS. Socks.

This is life, though, and that’s the way the cookie crumbled for me. Sometimes having OCD feels like someone having their hand up your back and moving your mouth for you to talk. The rational part of me knows that it’s the dumbest thing ever to think that my socks could possibly affect the outcome of my day, but the disease always puts the ‘what if’ back in there and has me rifling through the drawer looking for a pink footie to go with my green footie.

Meeting new people is hard, because my OCD makes me so painfully aware of the movements of my body that I end up focusing on the way my mouth moved when I said ‘hello how are you’ or the way I smiled at that one person and ‘did they even see me smile or should I do it again’? I can safely assume that nobody noticed the obscure movement of my mouth muscles but here we are, thinking about it over and over again until I can physically feel tension in my jaw.

I think this is something that’s impeded my ability to meet and greet people, or even to make friends. Ever since I was a little kid I can remember having certain routines or worries like those I’ve mentioned and it’s a disease that’s definitely grown with me.

I continue to live my life, all things aside. The show goes on and something I’ve always worked toward is to not let my anxiety or my fear ruin what I have. The sun still shines, I still manage to laugh and smile and love. I even have the privilege of being loved by many other people, too. I can only choose to be the best version of myself and to weather the storms that blow in.

I’m pretty content with the human I am so far but I still have a lot of growing to do. My hope for this blog is that maybe through writing it all down, I can figure things out along the way and make the best of any bad or strange situation. You’ll definitely get your daily dose of weird, here.

That’s all I really have to say for now, but if you’ve stuck with me this far, thank you for bearing through that awkward-first-post-introduction-and-random-anecdote-about-a-bug thing I just did and I hope you’ll stick around to hear what else I have to say. Until then, be safe out there and be well.

- AV