I have spoke of this before, the albatross that lives within, waiting for an opportunity to remind me that it thinks we are the best of friends…

I deal with this all the time, in varying degrees. I had it before Jesse and Bella died, but at a minimum, and it showed up intermittently. Almost what I would call “normal,” whatever that is. Actually, if I am honest, it started before they died, when Jesse had his manic episode that January and was in the psych ward for almost two weeks.  It introduced itself then.

A simple example of what this looks like in my brain, I send an email to someone. They don’t respond right away.  A normal brain says, hmm, they probably have not checked their email.  Me, no, I run through the million different scenarios in my head, usually focusing on the catastrophic ones. I recall the last time I saw that person, what did I say, what did I do, did I say anything off?  Was I dealing with anxiety which makes me act weird? Maybe this person is just sick of me and my “stuff” meaning my trauma crap and just does not want to deal or respond and maybe I will just go away.  Then I convince myself of that and then say, damn, they are so right, and go through all the lovely thought processes associated with that (sarcasm implied). That is one scenario.  I then have to engage in CBT (Cognitive Behavior Therapy – thank god for whoever invented that!).  I have to walk through with a somewhat (haha) rational mind to work through to get back to that “normal” reaction.  This is all while my heart is racing, my body is freaking out, and I feel like I am going to pass out in any given moment. Again, there are varying degrees of this, but you get the picture.  I wonder sometimes why I am tired all the time.

Then there is the funny aspect, kinda. I am a control freak (and have worked on that), and the relationship between my stubborn/control freak and the anxiety could have their own comedy routine. This just happened this past weekend, but is at the end of a long line of examples. F and I went backpacking.  I have not been true backpacking since about 2007, but back in my 20s used to do it often.  I love nature, I love hiking, I love camping in the middle of nowhere, away from boomboxes, RVs, noise, etc. When we decided to do this, a part of me was like, absolutely.  And, without missing a beat, that traveling companion anxiety said, yippee. I tried to crush it through a stressful week before this adventure, it knocking at every door I slammed in its face. It grabbing on to every possible outcome, especially the nefarious ones and parading them around on a billboard sign, much like at the many marches I have done in the past year, yelling at the top of its lungs inside the cavernous echoes of my brain. We left super late because I needed to take my kid to the airport for a fun filled weekend with his Aunts, Uncle and cousins down in LA and San Diego.  We arrived at the trail head around 820 and started hiking in around 830ish. The whole ride in, I kept looking at the car camping spots along the way, and F said, listen, if you want to stop, we can.  Which brings me to the comedy routine, the stubborn said, no, we planned on going backpacking, and that is what we are going to do. The anxiety was like, ummmmmm, we are going to get there at dusk, you have no idea what kind of campsites will be available, if any, and how long you will have to hike in before you find one, and it will be dark, and you have never been on this trail, and, and, and.  My anxiety likes the word “and” versus commas. It also was freaking out about mosquitoes. By the time I put my overweight pack on, I was exhausted from the back and forth between my stubborn control freak and my anxiety, I felt like I was the ball in a championship tennis match.

As we hiked, it did not get any better. To his credit, F asked me before we left, in as compassionate but direct way he could, can you do this with how you are feeling.  Of course I said yes, I can, as the control freak piped up and shouted with certainty. It was like it was standing on the anxieties head saying, me, pick me, yes, yes we can!  Much like the Bob the Builder cartoons I used to watch with the kids. Anyways. We are on the path, darkness rapidly approaching as the sunset peeked with vibrancy through the woods. We approached the first set of lakes and realized that all the spots were most likely taken based on an overflowing parking lot and lanterns twinkling in the distance, so we did not bother to try and find one in the dark and kept on.  The mosquitoes were thick, attacking without mercy as I bat them away with the maps that I held on to for dear life in my hands, much like a child’s lovey or security blanket. We climbed, and climbed, then hiked, looking here and there for a spot that did not exist in the flat areas we found. The flat areas either had a lake on them with no spot for a tent available, or a sheer cliff on either side. Time passed, sweat rolled off giving the mosquitoes more to be excited about, and I was rather grumpy.  I kept my mouth shut as the stubborn that showed up earlier who said an emphatic yes, reminded me that I agreed to this, and that complaining was not allowed. Yes, I know, I am a shrinks dream. And I say shrink with such affection as I have the utmost respect for them.  At 950, we got to a place where we said, do we turn back? Again, the comedy routine resumed, a cat fight of sorts. We decided to give it 15 more minutes. At 1004, we came to a grassy area to the right.  No signs of anyone camping there, but upon a head lamped cursory inspection, it looked like it was a marsh land normally, but because we have had no rain in forever, it was dry. I said, this is it, we are stopping, and I am going to bed. Did I mention I was grumpy?

The sleep I had that night was much like the twilight sleep I have on planes.  Not quite awake, but not quite asleep.  Filled with the weirdest dreams possible, good and bad. The light eventually came through with raindrops pattering on the tent.  Good thing in our exhaustion we put the rain fly on. F went to get water and came back and said, guess what, there is a site a minute from here, literally across the trail.  But of course we could not see that in the dark. We moved quickly, and had breakfast. Once that was done, a quiet in my mind started to boot out the exhausted participants of the previous nights entertainment. A quiet that is so rare for me, a slowing of my mind and body as I breath deep the pines surrounding me, the air filling my lungs with a cleanliness it forgets about in the city.

I forget.  I forget how much stress my body and mind have been under for so very long. I forget because the rare times it has these moments, they are so foreign, and literally are the exception, which is why they are so glaringly in my face.  I have learned over the past year plus, especially with F, how to embrace these rare moments. How to just embrace it with a long and satisfying hug, know that it is temporary, but enjoying it while it lasts.

We hiked after reading, came upon a beautiful lake with various shades of blue, appropriately named, Blue lake, skirted down side paths that led to nowhere or another lake. And enjoyed the mist that we encountered on and off. It was chilly most of the day, and we were trying to determine whether to stay another night, or hike back out. By the time 4pm rolled around, and I was still in 4-5 layers, we called it quits.  The stubborn tried to pipe up and say, hey, we were supposed to be out here two nights, and that is what we are going to do, doesn’t matter, tough it out. F in his wise yoda like calmness gently reminded me, hey, we don’t owe it to anyone to “tough it out.”  We are here for our enjoyment, and if it is not enjoyable, why do it?  Did I mention he was the calm to my spazness that I am grateful for everyday?

We hiked out, got back late, and collapsed into a soft and inviting bed to both have a good and long night sleep.  Sunday, we putzed around, not knowing quite what to do with ourselves with no “to do” list, and I cherished and relished that.

I am trying to hold on to as much as I can from that break in my norm. With all the rest I got Sunday, the past two days I have been awake, coherent, productive, and alert, even in a decent mood, not bogged down with the intense worry from the past few weeks. I know that anxiety and I have not broken up. Sadly, from the trauma, is now part of my fabric and circuitry.  I know some days won’t be as bad, and some days will, and work on self compassion with those. I also need to periodically, well, as much as I can, pepper in the days that we had on Saturday, in nature, breathing and being, slowing the flight and fight aspect of my body, reminding me of the beauty that exists in the world still.

The view from our tent, once we found the spot that was designated for camping

Blue Lake

The view across the trail from our tent

On our hike, the rare blue sky that peeked out