-Experienced such profound levels of anxiety, stress, fear, heartbreak, and relentless confusion.
Having now been home for a week, I’m faced with a reality I’ve spent every second of my adult life trying to avoid.
I need to find a new place to live, and run my business, and I don’t know how to begin to do that. With every box I pack, or move I make to uproot, I’m crushed under a fairly expansive emotional collapse spinning out about every other single aspect associated with it.
Will I make enough money to live in a place in the Bay Area where I can exist comfortably, run my business, or is there a second, or third job on the horizon? If so, what? Where? Will I even have enough energy to operate my business, or do I scrap AHTBM entirely, and leave the state to live out my years bagging groceries? Where do I keep my camper long enough, so I can fill the back of my truck with whatever I can fit to take it all to Goodwill? Do I even keep the camper, or will that ultimately be the refuge that I’ll eventually rely upon for shelter? If I leave the Bay Area, what does that look like? Do I want to travel that far from the coast where my mom, dad and sister all live? Do I ever see this life again? Where do I sell my bikes? How do I even get them all there? Do I schedule an open house and just have a fire sale? And how do I face the conclusion of this thing I banked on being forever, because had I known it wasn’t, I would have walled myself off a long time ago. And what would that have looked like? How do I redefine what looks to my eyes like a spectacular failure to just being another chapter of life? How much therapy is it going to take before I am no longer vigorously and constantly running my hands over my face and through my hair in some sort of impulsive and subconscious attempt as wiping myself into a different reality? And for at least a few months I thought I was on a pretty good path. How is it that I now feel so completely wrecked? Like, all I want to do is either run until the wheels fall off, or crawl-out-of-my-own-skin, wrecked? And then, when all of those thoughts return to their usual dull roar, the knot in my throat swells back up and the cycle starts all over again.
Where am I going to live? I don’t want to be homeless again. I don’t want to live in a crawl space under the stairs in a flop house again. I don’t want to live in a condemned bar again.
I’m forty-nine, and starting all over.
Self doubt, over-analyzation, heart break, disappointment…
Jesus Christ, I dislike every second of every minute of every hour of this, yet I know it ultimately, and eventually will make me a better, stronger, more self reliant person.
Or do I sit with that hope, completely immobilized by this indescribable discomfort, and face daily nausea, and move methodically, and mindfully for however long it takes, into whatever phase of my life is next?
That seems like the wisest answer, but not at all one in which I’m prone to engage.
I tell you what, my first two days back were real nice, but then, upon packing up my books, and removing all of the artwork from the walls, my monkey mind took over and to an unprecedented degree, has absolutely fucking leveled me.