You know in the Sex and The City movie where Charlotte is helping Carrie pick out a desk for her flat re-furb following her scuppered wedding to Big? And they’re walking around stroking desks and Charlotte is pregnant and discussing how scared she is about life?
She talks about how happy she is, how she has everything she’s always wanted and so she’s terrified, absolutely effing terrified because something has to go wrong, because that’s how life works. You get lots of good things and then you get some bad things, and when too many good things come up in a row, surely something bad must be on the horizon to balance things out, y’know?
That’s me at the moment.
Freaking out, full of anxiety, and struggling to sleep, because I am scared of what’s to come.
Go on, laugh at me. Tell me how ridiculous I am. Tell me to think of all the people who have real problems to deal with, whilst I lie in bed, wide awake and staring at the ceiling because what does it feel like to die in a car crash and will it be painful or will the adrenaline take over my body and goodbye world the end.
This is a morbid post I know, but I wanted to talk about it because it’s something that’s been creeping into my life every now and then for the past year or so.
I don’t talk too much about my childhood on this blog or across my online world, partly because there’s so god damn much to say that it needs chapters and chapters, and partly because the truth hurts, and I don’t know how much pain I *reaaaaally* want to throw at other people who might read my words.
But I spent a lot of time pining for a good future, a lot of time dreaming about stability and feeling like I was good enough and feeling like I was doing the right thing. I wanted people to be proud of me, to believe in the path I had chosen. I wanted to feel happy, safe, content and – this is gonna sound a bit weird – but I wanted to feel like people cared enough about my happiness and how I felt emotionally, to put in effort that I could see. I wanted to feel important to people. I wanted to mean something.
And so here I am now. There. At that place. Drinking a cup of tea whilst listening to songs from Step Up whilst a rose-scented candle fills my room with heavenly smells, and the hot water bottle I’ve stuffed up my top feels like I’m basically being hugged and held tight with love from an invisible friend.
I’m thinking about a massage I’m getting later on in the week, I’m wondering how reckless it would be to put flights to Bali on a credit card for a Christmas trip, and I’m wondering whether I’ll have time to take photos of the fave parts of my bedroom for a post I want to get up tomorrow.
Life is, as good as it could ever possibly be and I feel like I’ve hit some weird jackpot. Like someone is going to jump out at me and scream lol jk bitch, back into the hole of despair for you. None of this was supposed to be for you, there was a mix-up in the life outcome agency and we dished you out the wrong path. We’ve got to take it back now. Soz.
I want to bottle everything as it is right now, because I am terrified of change. It’s not that I don’t want to grow up, it’s that I don’t want to deal with the negatives of growing up – of the new difficulties I’m yet to know anything about.
I started watching the second season of Catastrophe last night and honestly, I was like maybe I’ve been planning my whole life wrong. Maybe I don’t want kids. I can’t handle being alone at home with just the cats for more than a day, how could I ever cope doing that with a baby?
And what if Chris dies and I am left to fend a house and two cats and a BABY on my own? Or what if I get seriously ill? Or what if one of my best friends die? I sometimes get completely overwhelmed by the fact my 88-year-old grandad died of natural causes over three years ago – so much so that I had to go and stand outside his old house for a few minutes yesterday – so how in the world, could I ever handle anything harder?
This post is negative and sad and whiney and full of unlikely scenarios, but it’s also me rambling the thoughts as they come into my head.
It is a post not written by logical Hannah, it is a post written by anxious Hannah.
A post written by the person I become when life overwhelms me out of nowhere and it feels like there is a very heavy, very large man sitting on my chest eating a chip sandwich on his lunch break.
I know his lunch break will soon be over, I know he will leave. But trying to breathe, trying to function with that crippling weight on your chest, feels almost impossible.
I know that in a couple of hours I will be pottering about Sainsbury’s with a Diet Coke trying to choose which fresh flowers will work best as a blog photo prop this week, completely oblivious to the anxiety episode that scuppered me this morning. Because life goes on, and these flare ups don’t hold me down forever.
So I guess what I want to leave you with, and what I want to say most, is that sometimes your brain doesn’t work in a sensible way. Sometimes it doesn’t gather all the relevant life information around you and digest it in a way which makes sense to normal, every-day you. Sometimes it screws it up into a paper ball and throws it onto the floor and rocks silently in the corner instead.
It is OK to be unreasonable, it is OK to feel like your own head doesn’t make sense, but it’s not OK to feel embarrassed or ashamed by it.
Everything you feel is legitimate, everything you feel is important. But when it all gets too much, remember that it will pass.
Life will go on and life will be great and despite all the bad shit that might get thrown your way, you are stronger than you think and you have absolutely got this.