I have spent the last year or so scared of change… I had tried something, followed a dream, put myself out there and everything fell apart around me. It felt like… what was the point in trying, what was the point in picking myself up again if I could just fall down again.
I dealt with depression, and with that came the anxiety. Anxiety that I had never felt before, it was paralyzing. I couldn’t move, I couldn’t do anything, I couldn’t make myself press forward.
I was over taken by fear. Fear of the unknown, fear of failure, fear of success. I got to the point that I didn’t do much, I didn’t strive for anything, I didn’t make anything happen… I just existed.
I know what it is like to be so scared of change, that you won’t do anything even when the world around you is crumbling apart.
I sat in my apartment, and just existed there… not going out, not seeing people, not being social (except for online). I didn’t understand that it wasn’t healthy because it had become my norm, but everyone else saw it and tried to help.
I wouldn’t accept help, I was too stubborn. I didn’t want to admit that I couldn’t get myself out of the hole I was in. I didn’t want to admit that I was paralyzed emotionally and mentally. I didn’t want to face the place I had ended up cause it was too painful.
I couldn’t see it because the depression/anxiety clouded my ability to do so.
My parents put their life on hold, to wait for me to be ready (they tried stepping in and helping, but I just retreated more) and I am not sure I will ever be able to say thank you enough for what they have done and my pride (which can get in the way at times) might not allow me to do so anyways.
I didn’t want help, I thought I could fix it on my own. I didn’t want someone stepping in, cause i was going to get myself out of my hole and that was that… fuck everyone for trying to help sort of thing. I fought the help, cause I didn’t want to admit I needed it. I fought the help cause my anxiety and depression were happier in the hole I was in.
But in the end I caved in… about two months ago I accepted help from my parents and moved back in with them. Part of me feels a sense of shame cause I had to move back home, part of me feels a sense of shame cause I couldn’t figure out how to pick myself up… yet I couldn’t.
Since moving back to my parents house 2 months ago… there has been nothing but change.
- I moved
- I realized i was out of shape (badly) and started working out
- I lost 20 pounds … sigh but with Christmas I gained about 7 pounds back
- I got a part-time job
- I started making money instead of just spending it
- I am trying to work on myself and push myself to see the good in things, to change my thinking (they say it takes 90 days to change a habit, that is my goal to change my thinking, change my outlook)
- I am actively applying to full-time jobs
- I will be getting a car soon (living in the city before I didn’t need one so I sold mine)
- I am guessing I will be getting my own place in the next couple of months.
- I am treating myself better
- I am eating better
- I am being generally more positive
- I am believing in myself more
- I am sleeping better
- I am dressing better
- I am taking better care of myself
While I hate change, and fought it like a MF… it seems change is good.. but you won’t hear me saying that. I won’t admit it… sigh… cause I really don’t like change even when it is for the better. .
but in the end, I am striving for change…. I am striving to put my life back in order, and I think with everything that has occurred I have learned a lot of stuff through the bs that I went through/put myself through in the last couple of years.