Anxious As Nails

One way I have always been able to temperature-check my mood is by my desire to paint my nails. I know that sounds silly, but when I am happiest, for some reason, I like to see that reflected in my nails being painted pretty colors. However, of late, I have been painting my nails while still being incredibly concerned about the world around me. I mean, my anxiety is sky high! 

I know that somehow people are able to build their social media algorithms. Many of my friends go to their social media accounts and only see beauty tips and crockpot recipes. I see people building bunkers and talking about how we are going to run out of power and will starve to death unless we learn how to turn our urine into drinking water and preserve peppers. As scary as this sounds, and it sounds really scary, at least to me, I still have been painting my nails, excited about the variety of pinks and reds I have. 

What is the moral of this story? What, am I like happily worried or something? I think that in my old age I am finally digesting the fact that you can't change what you don't have control over. The world could end in a few days. So, I can either go into complete panic mode or pray that God has mercy on us while I oil my cuticles. If I am going to meet my maker, I am doing so with a full, polished set. 

Sleepless in Atlanta

I am exhausted, but I can't sleep. I close eyes, and all I see are job descriptions and my resume. There is this overwhelming feeling that there is work I need to get done, so I can't relax to sleep. I look up potential jobs to apply to the next day, but that's still not suitable to get my body to chill. And as if that isn't enough, the to-do list of everything else I need to get done plays in my head on a loop. It's times like this that I really want to talk to someone but, of course, everyone is asleep. They are asleep and I am awake. 

They say when you can't sleep, God is trying to tell you something. I'm no theologian, but I think God is trying to tell me to get off my a$!. And I get it, but I know God also knows that I'm nothing, nothing without sleep. Yesterday, I checked the time and it was 11am and I had my computer set up to work. Before I knew it, I was being woken up from a two hour nap I didn't intend to take. I feel like I'm all over the place, probably because I am. Once I finish blogging, I guess I will sweep my floor. Why not? It's not like I'm sleeping. 

Angry and Awake

Today I woke up pissed, again. Is this going to be life in my 40s? Waking up upset? I was full of agitation and nervous energy. I didn't sleep well. I tried to go back to sleep and start over, but that doesn't work anymore. The thought of applying to more jobs just to get a Dear John letter in a week or so made me want to cry. I had so much to do today that I had no idea where to start. My phone didn't charge during the night. My skin is dry. My brain is toast. The good news is that I was able to get up and get in the shower before the downer mood took over and my whole day was shot. With these types of moods, if you don't act fast, there is a point of no return, and you might as well throw the whole day in the trash. I'm trying to learn how to be more optimistic. Perhaps tomorrow I will wake up in a better mood. 

Nervous

Has anyone else been feeling nervous lately? I've been watching YouTube videos about having an unregulated nervous system and I think I have one. I have been feeling unusually uneasy. I just can't shake this feeling that the world is ending, the aliens ARE NOT coming, and we're all gonna die. Not really been feeling optimistic. It has been suggested I need sunlight and exercise. I think I need a cookie. If I took all my anxieties out of my head, I think there would be enough of it to reinforce my roof. I don't feel like it. Suggest a task and I will tell you with confidence that I don't feel like it. Tired. Nervous. 

The Homecoming Crumble

I asked Bells yesterday if she had ordered any new dresses for our college homecoming. She said that she hadn't because she wouldn't feel comfortable in a dress. She hasn't been going to the gym as much, and she is not 100% on her body right now. I was surprised to hear this because Bells has a great physique, and she eats right. I think that she is simply experiencing what I call "The Homecoming Crumble". That is when you are about to go to homecoming, and then all of a sudden you are too ugly and too fat to exist, forget about ordering an outfit for the day party. Other girlfriends have confided in me about this, but I have not heard any men mention having any anxieties around their appearance before homecoming. 

"You never hear a guy say that he isn't going to come to the tailgate because he put on ten pounds and won't look good from the back in his cargo shorts," I pointed out to Bells. 

"That's because they either are not talking about it or are not talking about it with us," she replied. Man, if my college brothers are suffering from The Homecoming Crumble, I wish they would talk about it. Then all of us girls wouldn't feel like we were losing our minds!

I do feel that I have gone into my Hillary Clinton era early when it comes to my appearance. I love my college family, but they will be lucky to catch me with earrings on. No big money was spent on new clothes. I will be wearing my hair the same boring way I have worn it for ages. I am excited to see everyone, but the desire to do myself up just isn't there. I am finding that when you begin to give up hope on ever finding a man, you no longer waste time thinking about if you have on the proper bra or if your shoes match your handbag. That may be a post for another time.

Crumble or no crumble, I plan to enjoy myself at homecoming amongst the sexy ladies that decided to give a d*mn. Maybe I will be able to grudge up a pair of new underwear for my 20-year reunion. 

Mammogram Part 2

The day of my mammogram, I prayed that God decrease my anxiety so I could go, get it done, and not reschedule. I was feeling antsy seeing that I'd had a weird dream that I was afraid could be a foreshadowing. I dreamed that me and my grandma were at the park and I was telling her how I was afraid of my mammogram results. She then reached over, squeezed my left breast, and a thick, red, waxy material came out of it. I woke up, not believing that could be a good sign. 

As the time rolled around to go to my appointment, I felt oddly calm. I credit this to my aunty and nephew coming with me, even though they stayed in the car. The doctor's office was oddly quiet. It was towards the end of the day. I was apprehensive, but my anxiety was at bay. 

Let me just say thank you to the sweet Jamaican woman who performed my mammogram. She was patient and kind to me as my anxiety eventually showed up and took over the show. With my left breast awkwardly compressed in the mammogram machine, I started crying and had the urge to rip my boob out of the machine (which would have been painful and possibly would have left me maimed) and run. 

Once it was over, I was told my results would be available in a week. So I was shocked to get an email the next day saying my results were available online. I immediately rolled over and called my gyno office. 

"I can interpret your results, but moving forward,  we probably aren't the appropriate place to call to get your mammogram results," a doctor who wasn't my doctor said before putting me on hold. Uh, okay. After about 30 seconds she popped back on the line and told me everything was fine and to get a mammogram again in a year. That's when I started crying. 

You want to talk about literal tears of joy?! I was so grateful to God. I truly didn't have the bandwidth to deal with more bad news or another health issue. I'm already overwhelmed trying to lose weight and keep my marbles.

A few moments later,  I dried my eyes and took a deep breath. Another fine crisis avoided to be readdressed next year. 

Skeez Louise pt. 1: The Story of Holls and OnlyFans

Tomorrow, I have my medical procedure and I am really, really, really scared. I think that this may be the most scared that I have been, ever. I have told my friends this, and they have given me the typical "Oh Holly is being dramatic again," response, which has made my fear and anxiety skyrocket to new heights. And I find that when I am scared, I default to my old reliable coping mechanisms: eating nonsense and looking at hunky guys on Instagram. So, the night before last, as I ate some gummy bears, I allowed myself to go down an Instahole, looking at every post of a man that we will call DreadHunk. Child...when I tell you that I was invested! If you have never seen him on IG, you have seen men like him. He's a tall, dark-skinned man with dreadlocks that likes to cook and clean his apartment baby oiled and wearing a towel. He is a total tease, and just like the thurstbots in his comments, I needed to see more. So, high on fructose corn syrup and horny, I went to his linktr.ee page and found that he has an OnlyFans page. I know. The story only gets worse from here. 

I am aware that I may be the only person on earth that had never been on OnlyFans. As the good Christian I tell myself that I am, I recognized this site for what it is: the devil's playground. Yet the other night, chewing a fist full of gummy bears and hypnotized by DreadHunk, this didn't seem to matter. Guys, I was saturated in adrenalin. Like a skeez, I sat in my room in the dark, my face illuminated by my cellphone light, trying to start an account. I comfortably slid into the sexual underbelly, putting my card information in, literally thirsty to see DreadHunk's content. Long story short, my phone glitched, the info didn't go through, I got spooked and deleted my account. I had an OnlyFans profile for 15 minutes. Scared at how far I had slid down the pike, I put my phone down and went to sleep. I was done with the nasty stuff...until the next day, which was yesterday. 

Yesterday, my anxiety was even higher than it was the day before, which I didn't think was possible. I cried on and off all day, and I could feel God telling me to turn to Him for comfort and relief. Yet, after coming across DreadHunk's latest post, I slid on sin right back to his OnlyFans. This time I subscribed, paid, and went to DreadHunk's page. Confused, I looked at his uploaded content. It was even more PG than what was on IG. What? I asked myself. Then I looked at the comments on his profile of women letting him know that they had sent him a "tip" and were excited to receive their pic or video or whatever. A tip? A. Tip? A tip? A TIP?! I swear, audacity must be on sale someplace! Have single women driven to OnlyFans for action not already paid the price?! For the second time in less than 48 hours, I deleted my account. As a punishment, I now have to wear the scarlet letter of OnlyFans being on my banking statement. 

So, I got duped. Looking back on OnlyFans, I figured I got what I got for being gross and thirsty. It was then that I saw Chocolate Chuck's page and realized that I am not thirsty. I am, in fact, dehydrated. 

Happy

The other day, I was talking on the phone to Kinfolk. He is one of my oldest friends. Just a little background: I met him in college. He married one of my closest girlfriends. He's really southern and grows vegetables. Anywho, I was talking to him about the weightloss drugs I have been prescribed and depression meds and he goes, "You do seem a lot happier Clay." (insert eyeroll). I then ask, "Uh...was I ever happy?" And he says, "Yes."

Listen, if regular people could get an Emmy, I apparently would have one. Winfrey said something similar a long time ago about my having been "happy", which left me confused and scratching my head. I spend most of my time screaming in my head and gripping my edges. Looking back, my whole life has been riddled with fear and anxiety and functional depression. I didn't know that I was exhibiting these symptoms as a kid and young adult. I was just being Holly: the overemotional fat girl that liked to make mountains out of mole hills. The ho that was COVID revealed to me during quarantine that people around the world who demonstrate Holly-ness are typically medicated. Apparently, crying multiple times a day to "relax" isn't really a thing. 

Yet, to Kinfolk's credit, I was able to camouflage these issues in college with parties, study sessions, optimism about my future and excitement about being away from home. I know longer party. I have nothing to study for. I'm about as optimistic as a man in the electric chair. And my future...don't even get me started! In my defense, it was easy to laugh and smile in my 20s because I didn't see the avalanche of BS that was coming my way. Seem a lot happier. Give me a break. When I meet people my age who are grinning like they are 22, I assume that they are either drunk or that they have accepted the fact that they have lost their minds. One thing I don't assume is that they are happy, and as glass half empty as I am that makes me sad. 

COVID Brain

Question: has society become completely inept?

I only ask this because, as I go through life trying to handle business and participate in adulting, I notice that those that I am communicating with seem to have no idea what is going on. They never know what I am talking about. They can never find the email. Everyone at the call center has different info on their screens. Nothing is being shot with troubleshooting. All the agents are giving is the verbal equivalent of a shrug, whether your warranty is up or not. WHAT IS GOING ON? There can't be something in the water because there has been something in the water. I have noticed that there has been a significant lag in humanness since COVID. 

A long time ago, a breast cancer survivor came and spoke to the organization I volunteer with. She said that, because of the chemo she had gotten, she was very forgetful. She said that people would walk up to her, tell her about times when they'd gone out together and hung out, and she could not remember them. This is called Chemo Brain. I think that working America is suffering from COVID Brain. A mixture of being allowed to chill too hard for too long mixed with the nostalgia of receiving stimulus checks has made those required to be even mildly produce completely unproductive, and let me tell you something, I CAN'T! 

Sadly, I do not have the temperament for the neverending runaround that has become trying to get something done in the post-COVID world. This means that I have a frustration-induced anxiety attack whenever I need to contact the bank or anyone's customer service line. It's like walking on eggshells! I hope that the flow of life straightens this...situation out naturally. Every professional interaction I have can not continue to end with me screaming. 

Love and Middle Age 3: The Story of Stupid

In my recent conversations with TAFKAS, he told me stories of his friends and their unrequited loves. And the message that I took from these stories is that you should let people know how you feel when you have the chance. This is a very, very dangerous message for me because I just might do it which, in my case, is the easiest, quickest, safest way to embarrass myself. 

When I was in college, I had a crush on this basketball player and literally wrote him a 4-page letter and enclosed it with a kiss. Well, I didn't actually kiss it. My friend AJ did because my lips were chapped. I then doused the letter in Victoria's Secret body spray before putting the letter on this windshield. Luckily, God woke me up in a panic the next morning and I was able to run outside and retrieve it. THANK GOD! If he would have gotten that letter I have no doubt that he would have HUMILIATED ME! I would have had to move back to Atlanta and live under an alias. 

Then there was the Sigma that I wrote an erotic poem for. I read the poem to a couple of my co-workers and they gave me positive feedback which should have been my first clue that I was spearheading into a no-bueno situation. Luckily, Tortilla was there to bring me back to life, back to reality. "Don't message this to him. Don't," she said in a very stern voice which was odd, because her voice is usually so sweet that it sometimes sounds like she is singing when she talks. "If you ever get the urge to send this to him, send it to me, and I will respond like I am him, okay? Promise?" I promised, and again thanked God for having good friends. 

And then there are these two men at my church, I will call them Thing 1 and Thing 2. The Things are so nice to me and they love God and they are both hot in their own way. When I talk to them it is very, very difficult not to kiss them. This should tell you how hard I am crushin', because I think that kissing is disgusting! "Don't kiss him", my friend Ken said about one of the guys. I didn't tell her about the other one because I assumed the response would be the same. Again, thank God for good friends. 

But of late, I have been depressed, hungry, tired, sad, alone, and feeling like I am on an island. All of these things are the recipe for me doing something potentially stupid. I mean 4-page letter kind of stupid. Today I fell asleep while I was working and dreamed that I was making out with new crush (Do you see how kissing of some sort is usually the foreshadowing to these crises?) at my dead Great-Grandmother's house. It felt like I was really there! Family Matters was on the TV. Nana loved that show! This is not good because I believe that dreams have meaning...I am just not equipped to tell you what they are. If I had to guess what this dream was telling me, it would be that my deceased Great-Grandma was on board with me reaching out to this man that I don't really know and who doesn't know me. My inner me, which is consistently wrong, is telling me to reach out to him. 

Y'ALL PLEASE PRAY THAT I CAN MAKE IT TO THERAPY NEXT WEEK WITHOUT MAKING A COMPLETE ASS OF MYSELF!! If I can't get a grip, I will become one of TAFKAS's tragic stories. I am well on my way. 

VDay the Hard Way

By the grace of God, I made it out of another Valentine's season alive. 

What a nightmare. What a f*&king nightmare, as most of life is for the terminally single. 

I made the mistake that I make every year, which is trying to combat the horrors of Valentine's Day with a positive attitude. Bad. Idea. There is no way to combat VDay! It's like a long, brutal period cramp. You just have to grit your teeth and get through it without losing it and ripping out your own uterus with your bare hands.  

The BS started as soon as I put on my Positive Patty Valentine's Day hat. I decided to organize a Galentine's Day/Gift Exchange to try to get ahead of the inevitable VDay depression. I was actually excited! The person I chose in the exchange is really nice and I was eager to get her something cute and festive. The Galentine's party turned out nice and everyone had a good time except me of course. As it usually goes with every gift exchange I have participated in since Girl Scouts, I was the only person that didn't get a gift. I guess no one picked my name or the person who did just didn't care. YAY! 

So the Galentine's celebration was all the proof needed that Valentine's Day was going to be a no-bueno situation. Yet I chose to power on, RSVPing to go to the single's mixer at my church. I wasn't going to go, but I had ordered these beautiful velvet heart earrings and as we all know, once earrings have been ordered, you have to go! And to my surprise, the event was beautiful. The single men at the church organized it and it was awesome. There was music and cocktails and food and entertainment. But who had a panic attack and had to go home before the party really got started? THIS GUY! I spent the rest of the night crying that good cry where your head hurts and you end up feeling hungry and like you are going to gag at the same time. I called Winfrey and sobbed in her ear until I was sure that I really was going to puke. It was the type of magical night that all girls dream of. 

Yet the finale was the actual Valentine's Day, as it always is. I found myself spending a large part of the day daydreaming about all the unrequited love I have experienced in my life while laying silently on the floor, staring into space. Ah, good times. 

An Aunty at my church challenged me to reflect on how I can make Valentine's Day a more positive experience. I told her the only thing I could honestly think of, which was taking enough sleeping pills to keep me asleep from February 11-February 16. She told me to pray about it🙄. And honestly, I do owe God a shoutout. Somehow, I was able to bypass all the engagement announcements and "look at what he got me" social media posts, and we can all agree that was a blessing. 

Well, until next year.

Money Talks

"I made bipityblahdumpity this year in sales," Mary said. She was sitting on a bar stool, sipping on a cocktail that matched her lipstick, wearing a pair of glasses from her own collection. She, me, and Carolita were reunited for our quarterly supper club outings which took a hiatus during COVID. We were at one of those Atlanta dives where the waitresses have fat asses and visible lace fronts. The music being played was suitable for a middle-tier strip joint or, in this case, waiting over two hours for overcooked, oily fried green tomatoes. "Twipitiydobitty sustainable business model," she went on to say. "...investments with a poopity return over a 12-month minimum."

I could feel my eyes glazing over, so I looked to Carolita for clarification, only to become even more lost. 

"Me and my sister do a yaddayadda."

"What's that?" Mary asked. 

"That's where you twinkletwinkle on a star for a diddybop," she explained. 

I just stood there, my eyes bouncing between the two of them. What were they talking about?! And why didn't I know what they were talking about? And how did they have money to do all this stuff? Oh right, they have real jobs, I thought to myself. That and some deep well of knowledge around money that I just do not have. I am literally two years away from 40 and know as much about investing as a newborn! I guess I should start hoarding the canned goods now for darker days. 

I read somewhere once that how you were raised has a lot to do with your attitude toward money. Carolita was raised in a solid two-parent home. Granted I don't know all the details, but I don't think that she ever had to sell water on the side of the expressway to make ends meet. Mary is the daughter of hardworking Nigerians. My grandmother was literally scared to spend money while I had witnessed my mom write checks for food at the Winn-Dixie with her fingers crossed. I guess I fall someplace in between the two of them. 

"If I had a thousand dollars to invest, where would you advise me to put it?" I asked Mary. This was a serious question. 

"That's a hard question," she said, sipping on one of those really skinny cocktail straws. I am assuming that this is a hard question because a thousand bucks is the equivalent of five cents in the investment game. 

This conversation lingered on my mind, even after the dinner. I want to be a lady boss too! How can I be down? 

"Well, I am not balling like them," Tasha assured me when I told her about what we had talked about. For a split second I felt relieved. Maybe I could have a roommate who I knew in the low-income nursing facility. But then she went on to talk about how her grandparents were leaving her property when they die and how her mom hand been saving and investing for her since the womb! 

I got off the phone and just stared at the wall in silence. How did I allow this to happen to me?! I can't be the little old lady who lived in her shoes because I only have one good pair! I am going to be the angry old lady who fashioned a tent out of her plus-size maxi dresses to squat under a bridge. I should have been more motivated! I saw how not having money stressed out my mother. And it's not like I ever deluded myself into believing that some man was going to come a long and support me. Men have always picked over me like rotten fruit and the ones that didn't wanted money from me! Now I am skidding towards middle age without a pot to piss in! As you know I am a writer; I love a good story. But not even I want to know how the story ends for the almost 40-year-old that didn't prepare appropriately for life. 

I can't whine about this anymore. My anxiety is rising. Plus, time is money. 

Homecoming Post 4: Anxieties

I am so happy that I went to my 15-year college reunion, but I had a lot of anxiety about going beforehand. Right until the day that I was supposed to leave to go, I was thinking about staying home. Something about seeing the people that I came of age with after not seeing them for a long time makes me want to roll under the bed and hide. I have an issue with comparing my life to that of others, which is truly a recipe for failure. Luckily, I would not have gotten a refund on my Air B&B if I hadn't gone or I would have missed out on a good time. I hear that other people have anxieties too. They have the dignity not to talk about them. Luckily, that's not me. Next year, if you are considering missing out on your homecoming because of your anxieties, just take a gander at mine, then pack and leave, knowing you are not the most neurotic person in the room. 

My Weight

I am fat. I was fat when I started college at 18. This is not news. What may be news, however, is how fat I have gotten since. It's a bit ridiculous. And embarrassing. And dangerous. And shocking. And incredible. These are the adjectives I am choosing, so I was very nervous about what my judgemental ass peers were going to say. Thank God fakeness is real. I knew that no one would say anything to my face. That didn't stop me from daydreaming about arriving at the school only for everyone to point at me and scream.

I'm Broke

So many of the people I went to school with are rich or on the bus to get there. I would get on the bus too, but I don't have enough change. 

The Old Me

Once upon a time before life happened and before I decided to try to be more like Jesus, I could have been perceived as somewhat of a jerk. It depends on who you ask. I was the worse kind too. I was the kind that could dish it but could not take it. I would not be surprised if there was still someone out there with an ax to grind that they would so beautifully chop my head off with at homecoming.  

Chin Hairs

I am scared that I will soon be growing a beard. I see the tiny pores under my chin that look like they are fixin' to sprout hairs. This keeps me awake at night. I spent most of my spare time as a child plucking my grandma's chin hairs. I am too young! 

These are just a few of the anxieties that pollute my mind. Do you feel better? Thought you would.  

Homecoming

So this year marks 15 years since my college graduation and I have decided to go to my homecoming, as I did for my 10-year anniversary. On the one hand, I am excited. Excited to see old friends, excited to see New Orleans, excited to go on a trip. On the other hand, the very idea of seeing my peers makes me want to hurl. I'm not ashamed to admit that I am obsessed with my old college peers. I follow them on social media and take in their lives like junk food. Me on Instagram on any given day is the equivalent of eating 22 Big Macs back-to-back, inhaling without chewing images of weddings, gender reveals, promotions, home and car purchases, partying, traveling, etc. Sure, I understand that social media is simply an endless stream of someone's best moments. No one is posting images of eviction notices, being served divorce papers, or being diagnosed with a disease. However, I can't help but feel behind. I am 2.5 years short of 40 and single. The only thing I own outright is my debt. I am just now getting a MA degree. Once I receive it I will finally get to live at some standard of living...in middle age. A part of me wants to attend in a disguise but I have been told that my voice, figure, walk, laugh, and general energy is very identifiable. Everyone will know I am me, in a mask and black hoodie, trying to tiptoe through the crowd. I have seen the advertisements for the club parties that will be taking place. Honestly, the very idea of going to a club and standing for hours while watching people twerk makes me want to go lay down someplace. I'm hoping that my anxiety melts away the moment I get some gumbo in me and hug someone I haven't seen in years. If it doesn't, I can always post up in my Air B&B, watching my friends enjoy homecoming live through their Instastories. We'll call that a seclusion and chill. 

30s No Bueno

Is it normal to lose your mind in your 30s? I ask because all the 30-somethings around me are cracking like walnuts. Broken romantic relationships. Loneliness. Lost friendships. Work drama. Finance freakouts. Sick parents. A GLOBAL PANDEMIC. You could fill a swimming pool with the tears from my friends alone. On top of all of this, I am trying to lose weight after being told to lose weight since I was about five. This is happening at a time when I have about as much metabolism as a foam cup, but that is another post entirely. 

You will be happy to know that P has dodged the 30s anxieties that are crippling the rest of us. While we all are doing everything possible to get into virtual therapy, he is self-soothing by holding true to his age-old motto: Toughen Up. Man, if ever there was a guy with a stiff upper lip it is P. Right now, I am about as tough as melting ice cream. 

Oh, and have any of you noticed what I am coining as Social Media Contradiction Disorder? On Instagram, everyone I know is partying on boats or eating brunch at fancy home rentals. Yet, my Facebook reads like a trail of tears. Posts are paragraphs long outlining disappointments and heartaches. Maybe my Facebook friends could brighten up if they took a lesson from my IG friends and spent their spare time taking photographs of their outfits and lunches. 

So what is the solution? I am not sure, this is my first time in my 30s. Hang in there I guess? Hang in there. Please. If ever there was a piece of useless advice, it's hang in there. I imagine us 30 somethings have to continue to be a support to each other. Or maybe we can just keep crying until we eventually dehydrate and our minds, bodies, and spirits go into some type of automatic renewal. Whatever is easier. 

Therapy

Well cool cats and kittens, I am finally in therapy. 

And not in a cute way like athletes or celebrity racists that get caught doing something bad. I mean really in therapy doing work. I always thought that I needed to be in therapy, but when you begin crying multiple times a day and losing it over minor things, you kind of don't have a choice. So my therapist is helping me to get my anxiety under control, anxieties that were on their way to becoming phobias. This is a good thing, because I was only a few days away from going completely nuttybags, yelling obscenities at people from the roof of my neighborhood grocery store.   

The thing is, I thought that anxiety was new for me, but after talking with my therapist, I realize it has always been there like an ex-boyfriend that can't take a hint, waiting to get on my nerves. I remember being at a reggae club in New Orleans with my friends and having to excuse myself to cry in my bestie's Honda while everyone else ponned the replay inside. Thinking back, my anxiety journey has been a literal trail of tears, having private crying fits before, after, and even during events in my life. 

My whole life I have been branded as dramatic and emotional because I am dramatic and emotional. So when I would get so worked up over things in college that I would race back to my dorm room, fall face-first into my twin bed, and cry into my bedspread, even I figured I was just being emotional and dramatic again. Feeling sick when I had to be around folks. Wanting to hurl at the thought of going out. It has been anxiety this whole time. Who knew?

I have to say, talking things out with someone who actually knows what they are talking about has been BEYOND therapeutic, and I would recommend it to anyone. Life has been stressful and we are finally seeing a possible end to a pandemic. If you need to talk to someone, do it. 

Socialite Anxiety

Once upon a time, Holly was a we bit of a socialite.
I was that girl that you would see shivering outside of the club in a sleeveless dress with no coat because she just had to go to the party and be cute, even though it was cold and windy.
When I first started blogging I would go to the opening of an envelope if there was going to be a VIP pass and food involved.
I enjoyed dancing and mingling. Many a night I came home hoarse from trying to speak over the loudspeakers at an event. There was just something cool to me about waking up with a club stamp still on my wrist.
On NYE as I got my wallflower on at a NYE party, going through my phone while everyone socialized, I realized that I may not be that girl anymore. These days, I have taken a liking to watching reruns of The Golden Girls on Youtube while giving myself a pedicure. Although it was good seeing everyone, I just felt tired and like being a loner. Dare I say, the energy I once had to be a social butterfly  has dwindled significantly. Having to hang out with about 50 people in a space makes me want to lie down and take a nap.
I can not tell you if this is a sign of depression or of getting older. But at this really fun NYE party, I came into the door ready to go. And it was so much fun! What wasn't fun was me. I felt uncomfortable and out of place, which has never been me socially, ever!
I hate to use the word anxiety because everyone uses it loosely, throwing it around like a frisbee. But that is how I felt at the party: anxious. As soon as I walked in, I just felt in the way, and noticed immediately that everyone looked better than me and was just generally better than me. Can you keep a secret? At one point during the night, I snuck into the room where they were keeping the coats and laid down, and by the time the new year came in, I was already walking to my Uber.
I don't want to lose the fun me. I like fun me. She's...fun! But she was not in the building on NYE and I am afraid she may leave the building for good if I don't do something. But I don't know what do. I will keep you posted on either my progression of regression.

Mortified

I have been pretty scared a few times in my life. One time that stands out in my mind happened when I was an undergrad student in New Orleans. I had gone to a parade with my friends and I was NOT in the best of moods. I was so immature back then. If I was unhappy, everyone had to be unhappy. So, eventually, my mood was so fowl that me and my friends decided to leave and go back to campus soon after the parade was over instead of hang out. Slow dragging behind my friends in a black hoodie with my lip poked out, I heard a man talking about how fat I was to his friend. I turned around and they both laughed, so I shot them both the finger. They stopped laughing, and the tall one who had made the remark motioned in his jacket the way that gangsters do in movies when they have a gun.
My heart started pounding so hard I could hear it over the band playing in my ears. I started to walk quickly, dipping in and out of the crowd, only to look behind me to see that the dudes were pissed and hot on my trail. I sped up, which should tell you how young I was. I am so out of shape now that, if this would have happened yesterday, I would have just stood there and taken the bullet before I tried to run from it.
I dipped behind a float alongside the train tracks. From my position, I was able to see the thugs racing down the street looking for me. And just when I thought I couldn't get even more scared, I saw the man who called me fat turn my friend Tiesha around quickly. I held my breath thinking, Oh God, please don't let this moron shoot my friend over something stupid I did. He looked her up and down, realized she was not me, then continued on the hunt. When we got to campus alive and safe I was so happy that I collapsed on my bed and screamed in my pillow. My mouth had gotten me in tons of trouble before, but that was a close call.
I say all this to say that this weekend I ran into an older woman in my life. She has been diagnosed with colon cancer and is doing chemo to shrink the tumor so that it can be removed. She got so upset while telling me about her treatment and her infusions that she started crying. I gave her a hug and that is when I felt it. This woman was not scared, she was mortified. This far surpassed the mere fear I felt when I thought that I was going to get gunned down in the Big Easy. Hugging her, I could feel the nervous energy bouncing around in her body. She was trembling and secreting a panic that sat in the air, making it warm, thick, and uncomfortable. You could literally smell her anxiety. I felt that if she could have, she would have screamed.
What could be scarier than knowing you are going to die or having good reason to think that you might? What could be more agitating than going over the list of things you want to do and get done over and over in your head? Is it possible to even explain in words the fear of not knowing what the afterlife holds in store for you and if you are spiritually ready to find out?
I thought these things as she left to go run errands. As someone who is often afraid to go after what I want in life, she helped me to remember that there are worse things than being scared.