‘Cause I fear I might break
And I fear I can’t take it
Tonight I’ll lie awake
Feeling empty

I can feel the pressure
It’s getting closer now

Some things I’ll never know
And I had to let them go
I’m sitting all alone
Feeling empty

This isn’t necessarily the song I had in mind when I realized today would be a day I’d write a blog. Writing is a nice treat for me, it helps me sort my thoughts, Share with some people who are maybe also trying to sort theirs. Ironically a bunch of shitty things happening today is what led me to this moment of joy.

Obviously anyone who reads this consistently knows my battle with agoraphobia recently, and I’ve been doing well. I don’t think there’s any cause to raise the alarms or anything, but I struggled with it today. I hadn’t left the house in a couple days. I woke up, I went downstairs and went out to the back yard bare foot and stood in the dirt, took a deep breath, felt the sun on my face, and felt a burst of energy, so I decided I’d shower, get dressed and run a couple errands. When it was time to leave the house I got in my head and got a bit nervous.

When I haven’t left the house in a couple days I always have this panic moment that when I go to leave again the agoraphobia is gonna be back. So being my own worst enemy, I tricked myself into that mindset, I kept leaving and turning back around.

To go back to what I think was my last blog, I fell a few times today. I got back up, but it was hard. I tried to go to the store, got nervous and went back home. Fall. Tried again, fell again. Made it to one store, struggled to the other, fall. On my way back from the store I had a full blown panic attack, I mean an absolute 11 of a panic attack. I set my stop watch and just waited for it to hit 3 minutes, then I knew I’d be fine. I got home and was a bit out of sorts because it’s been a minute since I had one that bad. I decided to start prepping dinner to distract myself from it, turns out my brain worked the other way around. Instead of distracting myself from the anxiety I distracted myself from what my hands were doing, and like an unexperienced jackass, sliced my finger with a knife. The moment the knife sunk in I knew it needed stitches, but it was so bloody I couldn’t see, so I ran it under water and sure enough, I could see some tissue and tendons. I grabbed a paper towel and applied pressure. It truly didn’t hurt, and I wasn’t panicked.

I turned and looked at my sister and said I have to go get stitches. At that moment, the only thing on my mind was “what if driving to urgent care I have a panic attack”. For a moment I cared less about my physical well being and more about a what if. Regardless, I grabbed my water, and sunglasses(for anxiety purposes) and got in my car.

I have this weird thing that I’m thankful for, where in moments of actual danger, I remain calm, and my instincts are good. Doesn’t make any sense consider when there’s no danger I’m an anxious lunatic.

I got to urgent care and wasn’t experiencing anxiety, or pain, I was annoyed mostly. I went in and was seen quickly. The usual, the cleaned the cut, numbed my finger, came back 10 minutes later and stitched it. The whole time there was no physical pain, only concern over anxiety and having it. Aren’t I in the safest place to have a panic attack? There’s a hot nurse outside my room and two doctors tending to my finger, I’m safe.

As I was getting my stitches, I realized that if I didn’t put so much pressure on myself, most of the shitty things that happened today, wouldn’t have happened.

If I didn’t put so much pressure on myself, I wouldn’t have been as anxious.

If I didn’t put so much pressure on myself, I wouldn’t have had a panic attack.

If I didn’t put so much pressure on myself, I wouldn’t be typing with a middle finger right now.

My therapists and doctors have always told myself I need to give myself grace, which truthfully I don’t believe in. I believe in giving others grace, I don’t believe in giving it to myself. I don’t think I deserve it, and I hold myself to a higher standard than I do the people around me. It’s this fucked up mentality that doesn’t really make sense to me.

I think I hold myself to a higher standard, and put the pressure on for a couple reasons. First, under the right pressure, I perform very well. Second, as a kid, I was the poor kid whose parents were drug addicts who lived with his big sister. It wasn’t ideal. I remember going to school in 6th grade at rumney marsh academy in revere. Didn’t really have friends because my home life was so beyond fucked them. 7th grade I moved to Saugus, which was definitely an adjustment, and I never felt like I fit in.

In hindsight, fitting in as a kid means nothing, but it does cause you to develop these habits that are hard to break. I got made fun of a lot growing up, by friends and family for not being good at things, so as I got better at things, and found things I was good at, I became competitive, but I was only competing against myself to see how good I could be, if I could be one of the best. That has led me to a handful of useless skills. I’m good at math, bartending, cooking, combining flavors, baking, I’m handy, and I can throw a frisbee better than anyone I know.

It took 16 years for me to realize, maybe it’s time to put a little less pressure on myself. Give myself the benefit of the doubt, instead of the self doubt. Give myself some grace on the days I’m not myself.

It’s more gratifying when you give others the benefit of the doubt, and give them the grace they can’t give themselves, and help them feel better, but I need to learn to do both.

I can feel the pressure

But a little secret, that pressure isn’t real.

Don’t tell anyone.

Where the skies are gold not gray,

J.

P.S. Any more typos than usual will need to be excused, I can’t move my pointer finger on my left hand til tomorrow.