Hello and happy Thursday. This isn’t going to be a particular story of my past, but just something I’d like to address and I hope at least one other person out there could benefit from reading. I am all sorts of messed up, but I especially suffer from anxiety. Now, this is not the cute and hip social anxiety many teenagers claim they suffer from. I mean the kind of anxiety that prevents me from falling asleep some nights because the recurring thoughts will simply not go away and leave me alone.
If you know me, I think at least part of my general behavior in life can be explained through I’m sharing in this post. I’m anxious in the way that I don’t like question marks or blank spaces in my life. I like to have answers for everything, and that makes me come off as controlling. I plan everything to the detail because I am seriously afraid of what would happen if something didn’t go right, and more often than not it ends up backfiring because I’m not really used to acting or thinking on the spot, so I basically sabotage myself.
I hate when there’s a change in my routine because I hate not knowing how it’s going to affect my entire day. I think part of the unconscious reasons why I chose to be a teacher is the fact that the workday is all scheduled. I don’t have to sit down and think about what I’ll be doing for the next eight hours: even my lunchtime has already been determined.
Of course, that means I’m a planner, and I don’t know how many times I’ve had someone jokingly tell me “I forgot you plan everything.” When it comes to guys, I’m usually drawn to those who are the opposite of me, guys who want to see where things go. That, in a way, forces me to relax, to be okay with not being in control of everything.
In 2015 I made a plan. I would move to the States in 2018. Well, now that plan is underway, and it was during one of those preparation trips that I decided to write about my anxiety. Part of it is the cute hip type I talked about at the beginning, you know? Part of it is “I really want to go out and buy something to it, but what if the cashier doesn’t understand my English?”
The other part is the one that reminds me of every little thing that can go wrong, and I mean, every little thing: “what if I don’t wake up on time?” “what if I wrote down the wrong address and now I won’t be able to make it?” “what if there are no buses for me to ride?”
Being by myself has made me push through some of those thoughts and just do what I have to do. Some days I’ll look back and tell myself “see? That wasn’t so bad,” and some other days I’ll go “okay, I’m not going through that again.” I still have to live, I still have to wake up in the mornings, make my bed and get ready. I still have to go to work and socialize. I still have to go to a restaurant and hope that the cashier understands my Colombian English.
I want to end this post on a lighter note, so tell me a joke or a funny anecdote in the comments below.
Love, Miss Camila