Finding the Balance

I think there's a fine line between replacing old memories and creating new ones.

After a loss, especially one of those that devastate you, there's so many different ways to respond. I have a tendency to both surround myself and yet still bury the memories. I surround myself with their things and things that remind me of them. And at the same time, my instinct in the past as been to try and never remember them. There's so much pain wrapped up in those memories - even the happy ones now - that I had put great effort for years into shoving them so far down that they have only recently been resurfacing, and only in bits and pieces. I'm glad they're resurfacing - and I was always told they would when I was ready for them - but they're still hard to maintain.

And on the other hand, going back to the idea of surrounding yourself with them, I assume sometimes you want to just wrap yourself in those memories and you live in fear of forgetting.

I've been thinking about this lately, and it struck me today as I put up a new (and recent) photo of my aunt and I on the wall. I love it, she looks so stunningly happy, and it made me smile as I sat on the couch and looked up at it. I looked at the other photos in the nearby vicinity, one taken just a few years ago with another aunt, one taken about ten years ago now but with someone I had lost. But I noticed them all mingling together. And so I started thinking about it again.

When I first moved in, I didn't have a lot of things that were purely mine. That sounds really dumb, I definitely have more things than I need, but so many of them were keepsakes or inherited items. And I loved that, I love that I have these sweet items and I'm grateful I didn't have to purchase a lot of things, please don't misunderstand any of that. But one day I looked around and realized it was almost like my whole apartment was a shrine to those I had lost. It didn't even feel like mine, it just felt like a memorial to everyone who had passed away.

And there's nothing wrong with honoring those you love and wrapping yourself in the warmth of their things, but.... at some point, when is it your life? When is it your personality injected in there too? After all, you live there. You come home to it every day. And I noticed some days it just felt like a funeral all over again.

And to be fair, I didn't have the headspace or the desire to change that for a few years. You don't realize, until you've been through it a few times, how long grief can last. That first year, for me, is always just shock. That second year is hell. And the third year, it seems, I finally start to gain a little ground. And I don't think it's just me, I think there's some substance in that. That first year you're just trying desperately to stay alive. The second is when the shock has worn off, and yet somehow you're still here, and the pain and the misery hits you in full, with no protective shock barrier anymore. And  somewhere around the third, you've started to develop a few new memories to ease some of the loss.  

And, to be fair, in those first couple years, you don't want to develop new memories. Why would you? It just means you're creating new things without someone you love so much. Why would you even want that? I had zero desire, for anything, for about two and a half years after grandma died.  I have just, within the last few months, felt some ground steadying beneath my feet. I didn't even feel like I knew what my personality was anymore during that time. I didn't know who I was. I didn't know even what I liked. People, so sweetly, kept saying I should find something I enjoyed and do it. But I didn't enjoy anything. I didn't realize how much pain I was in, I just know whatever was happening I had no idea how to navigate it.

But this year, I started splurging a little bit more. I bought a few new things I realized I did like. I made a point to buy a few seasonal items throughout the year, because I discovered that tremendously helped my depression. (I think it helped me feel like I was moving through and actually celebrating the year, instead of constantly coming home to the same thing every single day.) I decided I was going to try plants, even though I didn't really know what I was doing at the beginning and had the lowest of interests in it - but it was interest and I desperately clung to it. Now it's turned into one of my favorite hobbies. While I still don't have a lot of things I do outside of the apartment to fill free time, I've noticed enough growth and change and development now, that I'm less worried about it at the moment.

Which brings us back up to today, when I noticed the mix of photos and began to look around my apartment and realized the new and old now happily mingling together. It is now less of a shrine and more of a home. My grandmother's old mirror stands among my fall decorations and my ZZ plant. Next to it is a new lamp, that is one I love but also happens to be reminiscent of one she had. :) On an old table, one that I've never known life without, sits photos of new children added to our families. New experiences with loved ones, like the carnival with my aunt, are hung next to a birthday party from two years ago and a get together from my grandpa's years ago. My mom's sunflower coasters now hang out with mine from the Plaza District and McMenamins. Tickets from art exhibits. A new Halloween costume created sitting at my grandma's dining room table.There's a little bit of life here now, and it genuinely makes me cry, but they are happy tears. Finding the balance. Learning that we're not forgetting, and not replacing our old experiences and memories with loved ones. Just adding to them.

Better

This is really not a completed post. Well, it sort of is, but it's not very edited or cleaned up. I'm just tinkering with things, still working them out in the written form too, and not trying to feel too locked down by getting it just right at the moment.

I've been doing really well. Surprisingly, gratefully well.

That's not to say I don't still struggle with anxiety, but within the last several weeks I've been managing it better. I haven't felt like I've been paralyzed by terror, I've actually felt quite significantly lighter.

But last night late it did hit. I was in bed, reading, with the back of my mind half-working on some combinations to question I had when suddenly I realized it was all over me. My breath was tight, my body was tight and my mind felt like it was building up in layers of fear and I immediately began telling myself "It's okay, it's okay, you're okay," which seems to be my immediate response anymore - not that that alone does a lot of good, ha - but it's an impulse reaction. No, no, no, don't panic, you're fine, you're safe, don't freak out, don't fear, but it's too late, you are already afraid. It doesn't matter that there's not really a reason to be afraid, that you're seemingly not in immediate danger. What matters is you're scared.
And actually, realizing that alone has helped me a lot, in a couple different ways.

1) It changes the question.
A couple years ago when I first started realizing what I was struggling with was anxiety, which did take awhile, and I finally started trying to work on it, I started asking myself "What is causing your anxiety? What are you thinking about?" when it would strike up.
But truth be told, I wasn't able to answer that often. I mean, I usually had no clue. Sometimes I could point out things. Oh, I'm going to this event. I'm about to talk to someone. I've got a lot going on at work. This thing is stressing me out. But usually, I was left feeling clueless and frustrated. Beats me, really, I was just standing here. I was just sitting here. I didn't even think I was stressed. Suddenly I'm just overwhelmed.
But when I realized anxiety was primarily fear based, I started asking myself "What are you afraid of?" And that question I can usually answer in spades. I'm usually highly in tune with what I'm absolutely terrified of in that moment. Oh, I'm definitely terrified of hanging out with a group. I'm terrified of making terrible financial decisions. I'm terrified if this is morally wrong. I'm deeply afraid right now that I'm going to get hurt.
It doesn't sound that different, but it often changes the mental conversation for me. And it clues me in to what's flaring up beneath the surface. Even if the fear isn't necessarily "realistic," it doesn't matter, I'm still living in fear of it and it's still eating me inside out.

2) It's like emotional inflammation.
One of the first ways I really started to visualize anxiety was massive red, infected tissue. All I could think of to call it was inflammation, it just felt like everything was highly inflamed and irritated and when I went to describe it it was often as this massive, red infected....blob....or tissue or something that was in my head. Later I realized that was actually pretty true, my emotions were inflamed. My therapist, in a previous conversation, had told me that he had worked with cancer patients on pain management about imagining their pain as blue, as it cooling off and calming down. So.... I tried that. I began to envision that red, pulsating inflamed mass as cooler, in blues, as getting smaller and smaller and.... it helped. It didn't solve it. But it was a trick that helped calm me down.
My emotions were inflamed. My fear, my anxiety, my grief, everything was ripped open and left raw. And then they felt like they were getting raked back open every moment of every day. They needed to heal. But first that inflammation had to come down. My anxiety needed to come down.

Again, imagining things as blue, it doesn't always help. It sounds absurd. But now that it's a trick I've gotten more accurate at using, it often helps a lot.
And, if you're anything like me, a lot of tricks and tools do sound ridiculous. I never got on board with how I was told about grounding, "You sit in your chair and feel the arms of the chair and describe the way the arms feel to you. And then move to another part of the chair."
I just could never do that.
But I've learned I do ground myself in similar ways, but ways that are just tailored more for me, and therefore work better for me. I personally love blankets. I've become a very tactile person and so I started using that to my advantage. I often ground myself by wrapping up in soft blankets and being very aware of it on my skin. That's really soothing for me.
Last night when things flared up and everything felt suddenly intense, I pressed the backs of my fingers against my headboard. It felt cold. It was something I could touch that brought me back into the moment.

3) The more tricks, the better.
Look, you're smart. And you know yourself pretty well. And you're going to outwit yourself. Your anxiety knows all the ins and outs of your system because it's you. It knows just how to play you. I feel like you are essentially fighting yourself.
So learn all the tricks and learn to use them. It doesn't matter if they feel silly, if they work use them. Because certain tricks aren't always going to work in all situations. You'll learn how to attack your anxiety with tricks and you'll get to a point where you may be able to quickly tell if that particular trick/ tool is helping in that moment. And if it's not, try another one. Try another one. Try another one. Don't be afraid to attack it with every tool in your belt. Because one alone may not work, but several of them combined together just might. Pick away at it until it gives way, or at least until it gives enough you can continue on. And the more apt you become at using these tools, the less energy they often take from you. They'll become like any accomplishment that gets easier as you practice. And practice! When it hits, and it probably often does, practice, practice, practice. Begin to look at those times as chances to practice. It puts you back in control instead of letting your anxiety have free reign. Build up that muscle and push back.
And don't expect to always win. You probably won't. Anxiety will win. But they're just battles, just skirmishes. They're not the war. Give yourself the grace to fall down, because you can get back up. There's probably reasons, and possibly very good reasons, why you have full-fledged anxiety. It's going to take some time to reduce that fear and smooth things out. And that's okay.

4) Do something you can control.
As I sat there, stunned, trying to process that it had hit me so hard and came out of nowhere, the very first tool that came to my mind was do something.
It was late, all I had left to do was brush my teeth, but I got up and did it. And even that tiny action helped get me started pushing back.
Do something that makes you feel productive or accomplished or puts you back in control. It doesn't have to be a huge, heroic action. Do something small. Sometimes I clean a counter. Sometimes I get outside the house. Sometimes I do jumping jacks. It doesn't have to be a huge declaration or goal. Just check something off quick that lets you feel like it's not running you, that you're back in control and then begin to pick at it from there.

In the end, I brushed my teeth, laid back down, curled up under blankets, buried my head in my hands and cut out a lot of stimulus and pressed my hand up against the headboard. After about twenty minutes, I came out of it, almost giddy with relief. I still don't often win quite that well, nor am I usually in a position where I can actually lie down. But that's why you need lots of tools. To help you in whatever situation - work, home, out with friends, wherever - you may be in.  


I'm clearly not a therapist, I'm clearly not a doctor. I'm not professional help. I'm not someone who knows what they're doing, really. I'm just somebody who currently lives with anxiety and is in the process of working out their own kinks and thought I'd mention some things that helped me, in case they help you.