Fear

Fear.

“All we have to fear is fear itself.” “Do not be afraid, just believe.” “Your largest fear carries your greatest growth.”

Well, aren’t those pithy little sayings that look good on counselors’ walls. Actually, “Do not be afraid, just believe” is from the Book of Luke. So I put a little more stock in that one. But he never had to live in my head.

I have not worked since October of 2014 when I had a shaking spell so bad, my mother had to pick me up from the school where I was teaching. After that, I never really lived in my house again—although I pay for it and keep it.

I think the biggest part of depression for me is fear. It incapacitates you.

I got a job today! Three days a week and maybe Saturdays. I ought to be happy. No teacher evaluations (I had a nightmare about teaching last night), no product to produce, no five page syllabus with every possible contingency written down in case parents’ claim they didn’t know that plagiarizing was wrong, no common core pre-tests to make kids fail, no bullshit regents to prepare for, no having to lay down the law, no being told that the way I have taught the better part of my life (like my best teachers did) is wrong, no data-driven bullshit, no principals, no progress reports, and no calling eighteen parents in a day because their kid (11^th and 12^th grade) didn’t turn in his homework.

I am going to be working in a wonderful little shop that has been around since the 1850s. Its current state has been owned and managed by one family since WWII. Over the years I have bought hundreds of dollars in that shop. Faeries, angels, jewelry. I have actually day-dreamed about working in a shop like that when I was teaching. I have a three-day a week job.

Shit. I am terrified. What if I:  pick up all those germs that are out there in the real world, can’t make change, don’t dust well enough, have a really bad episode, make a mistake, break something, can’t find what a customer wants, piss off the prickly long-time employee to whom even the boss placates, my UC flares…

What if I don’t do a good enough job?

Everyone has fear. But those of us who suffer from clinical depression, OCD, and anxiety—fear is a lot more like the biggest, meanest bully yelling in your face “YOU SUCK!” The fear grips me like an anaconda (great movie) and will not let go. My fear is like slogging through waist deep snow for miles. Giving up would be so much easier.

I know exactly why I have episodes or panic attacks. They keep me safe from the outside world. They keep me isolated. It’s scary out there. And now I am going out there. I have to get back out there or just accept at 39 that I will be on disability for the rest of my life. But what if my disability gets taken away and I really need it?

People function and face stress and fear every day. But, in my brain, the demons say, “No fucking way can you go out there; you will get hurt and stressed and fail. Or what if you succeed and you’re expected to do even more and you can’t do that. You stupid bitch, just stay home. You don’t have anything to offer to anyone out there. You can’t make it out there. So just forget it. Dumb bitch.”

The Nuclear Option would be so much easier. Unfortunately, I can use the Nuclear Option on G-Pa’s couch.

Saint Michael help me slay those demons, please. I beg of you. St. Jude?

Smoke ‘em if ya' got ‘em. God Bless.