Why does it seem like this phase last the longest? That in
between feeling. In between jobs, in between growing up, in between lives. It’s
a dreadful feeling. You’re apprehensive. You’re on edge. You’re terrified of
what is to come and yet you urge it on just to get it over with. It’s
suspense.
Suspense in the movies and in books enriches the experience.
I try to tell myself that. Remind myself that the length of time is just an
illusion. It’s much shorter than it feels. Like the seconds ticking by just
before school's out or quitting time at work. Time always seems to stand still.
Yet it feels inescapable. How do we deal with it?
As I feel the anxiety rise up in my throat, I take a deep
breath. Breathe. Just breathe, I tell myself. It’s not that bad. Only it is. I’m
unemployed, my husband’s contract might run out in two weeks, and my
mother-in-law (my other housemate) could be fired any day. I’ll have to run
away to Tennessee and file bankruptcy, but still be in debt because of student
loans. We won’t even be able to support ourselves further south because it’s
only a couple hundred dollars cheaper than Connecticut. But those
couple hundred dollars are a couple hundred dollars and its cold up here and I’m
just terrified that I’ll actually have to do something I love now that I’ve
finally taken the leap and jumped off the 9-5 employment bridge.
That about sums it up. I read somewhere that this is
one way to get over your fears. To paint the picture of the worst possible
scenario. And then look at it and decide if it really is that bad. To be
honest, my picture isn’t much different than my life right now. In fact, some
of it sounds better.
I did this once when I was thirteen. I was moving across
town and felt like I was losing the only friends I had. I was on my bike for
the last time, riding a forbidden two streets away down a busy road. The thought
of jerking the handle bars out into oncoming traffic crossed my mind. And I wanted to.
But something strange happened. The handle bars wouldn’t move. It was as if
someone had their hands over mine in a vice grip and wouldn’t let me turn them.
This gave me one more moment to finish the thought before
the cars passed by. It wouldn’t kill me. I would end up severely injured instead
and in the hospital. My mom would hate me. I’d be grounded. They’d
think I did it for attention. I’d never be allowed to ride again. I’d have my
freedom taken away. All these thoughts ran through my head at once.
And so I continued on. Instead, I decided a better
punishment would be to make myself live through it. Live through the
loneliness, the isolation, the fears; and it was terrible. I cried myself to
sleep every night. I wrote poetry that sounded like suicide notes. It was a
good thing no one ever saw them back then. They wouldn’t have understood the vow
I’d made to myself to live through the pain.
Turns out, it was worth it. Life is full of pain and joy.
Freedom and cages. It’s our decisions that influence the path of our lives. It’s worth the adventure, the journey. It’s worth it
all for one breathe of joy.
So write. Write down your fears, the terrors that plague
you. Get them out. Don’t let them eat you up inside. You’re not alone. Let your writing sift your soul. Don't be afraid of what's inside. Because you're not the only one.
