It’s post-hurricane, and I’m feeling even more convoluted than I was before. I was diagnosed with generalized anxiety disorder (GAD) back in 2008 as a result of a car accident, and my claustrophobia and agoraphobia (as well as fear of the storm and fear of losing power/something happening to my husband the EMT when he was out on his shift Monday night) made me a complete ball of anxious mess Friday – Monday. Yesterday I crashed, and crashed hard. When I crash, I go through a depressive low, and all I do is cry. It’s really, really productive (/sarcasm).
Fortunately, the due date for my pre-thesis rough draft was pushed back from Tuesday, November 6th, to Tuesday, November 13th. Happy news. So I was able to just take a night off and try and recollect myself. I took a hot bath, put on pjs, knitted more mitred squares, and watched Tudor documentaries on Youtube (because that is how I roll). I don’t feel 100% better today, but I feel somewhat improved from last night.
I got my official moving date this past weekend. November 10 – 11. We made the decision to separate on September 11th, and now, almost two months later, I finally have a date. And though I knew it’s been coming…for some reason, now, I’m scared, and I’m sad. I feel like I’m walking away from everything I’ve spent four and a half years working for. But I know in my heart that there is no other choice. My husband and I are stagnating in our current living situation. Though we care for each other very much, and I am still in love with him, he has no passion for me, and something has to give. We can’t fix anything by living together in this incessant zombie-walk through life. I told him (through yet another bout of crying last night), that if nothing else, at least we know that, by my moving out, something is going to change.
This weekend I need to go shopping for the few things I need for the new place (TV, bathroom and kitchen essentials, etc). And I guess it’s time to start packing. The good thing is that I don’t need to get everything out of the house at one go. So there’s no need to hire a moving truck and pay extra money. It’s going to be okay, I can manage this. The practical side, I have under control. The emotional side…I’ll get there.
Lately my sleep has been plagued by horrible dreams of death and sadness. I wake up crying more often than not. Sleeping alone hasn’t bothered me in months — David has worked overnight shifts ever since he was first hired as an EMT almost a year ago, so I’m quite used to sleeping alone three to four nights out of the week. But the sad dreams, of destruction and loss and death, are plaguing me. I’m sure that it’s not my anti-anxiety medication; I’ve been on it for almost two years and it really does work. I’m guessing it’s more related to the changes in my life that are coming up.
I am so scared that I’m going to fall apart like I did in July when we first attempted separation. That was horrific. I was having five or six panic attacks a day, I cried all the time, it was awful. Granted, I am much more resigned to the situation at this point; plus, it was my decision this time, not his. But I have to be more careful this time. I can’t afford to fall apart again. My semester of college — not to mention my self-respect — can’t withstand another bout of that.
Tonight I am back in class (blech, I was hoping we’d have it off for Halloween), and then I’m off to my friend Jess’s annual Halloween shindig. I’m going as Rosie the Riveter, as I’ve said before (little shout-out to my love of history, I think from now on I’ll only do history-themed Halloween costumes), and although I’m not in costume, here’s a picture of my head wrap and the button I made that Rosie wears on her lapel in the posters:
Happy Halloween, everyone! Stay safe.