I really will tip anything into my art journal!
A few weeks ago, I started having dizzy spells, a racing heartbeat, and chest pains. And as the daughter of a man who had heart surgery in his thirties (as well as having all four grandparents die of heart-related things), I was Freaking Out. I ended up getting an EKG and seeing a few doctors; things have cleared up since then, and I may be persuaded I was just having Epic Panic Attacks, if not for the head rush and dizziness that comes when I stand up.
Getting that piece of paper that showed a strong and steady heartbeat helped quell most of my fears. There are deeper things at work, here, just like life. There are layers. And mysteries. And you can't let either of those things keep you from filling your living moments with anything short of steady calmness and positivity.
While working on this spread, I came across the word énouement:
The bittersweetness of having arrived in the future, seeing how things turn out, but not being able to tell your past self.
And yes, it IS misspelled in my journal!
I thought about all the fear and worry and self-doubt I had. About how I felt like my art was silly or just bad, about how I let my fear of imagined pain keep me from even trying at times. About my uncertain future and days wasted on rest. About those ten years I spent in and out of bed, measuring myself against "normal" instead of just trying to do my best. How scared I was, how petrified I was. How I was (am) plagued with anxiety.
How I wish I could travel back in time and gather that scared and shattered girl into my arms and tell her it would be okay. That it wouldn't be easy, but it would be okay. That she is so, so much capable than she thinks. That there's a deep well of inner strength. That it's okay to cry and feel and be. I hope, in whatever way time truly travels, that I can write these words and feel them in the past.
I think of all the turmoil I've gone through in the past five months and then look at that strong & steady heartbeat - on I very nearly extinguished - and think yeah, it sucked, but I'm still here.
I am. I lived through it. And every day, yes, I have to wrestle with my anxiety to get it under control, push through it to go to work and not think people are talking about me or think (insert blank here) about me. I go to therapy. I take medication. Is it easy? No! But is it worth it? I think so.
There is so much more I want to write about, but I'm out of time. Work starts in an hour. Maybe I'll stop procrastinating/being afraid to write a blog post (because I'm sure all the things I want to say come out stilted -- not really, but this is what I push through!) and share more tomorrow. I want to write every day. I want to draw and paint and laugh with co-workers and hang out with friends and volunteer and go to church and pet my dogs and hug my family and live.
(The pencil case is here - I've had lots of questions about it!)
