It is hard for me to remember the events of late 2006 with any degree of precision or accuracy. However, I highly doubt my memory was any better at the time.
In the span of time from October to December of that year, my relationship with Adam suffered considerably. The resurfacing of my ex-boyfriend and the arguments that swiftly followed, kicked off a miserable chain of events that Adam and I never quite came back from. With a quickness, we were thrown into a revolving door of accusations and low blows.
When I was a small child growing up in Southern California I would ride in the backseat of my parents’ car.
Quite often we’d drive the 50-60 miles through the valley to visit my grandparents in the LA suburbs. All along the way I’d press my bored little nose up against my window with “Are we there yet?” on my mind, but pure vapor on my lips.
On and on we’d drive, whizzing past buildings, signs, cars and towns. It was all so dull to me then. I mean, if you’ve seen one scraggly palm tree, you’ve seen a dozen. Though I loved visiting my grandparents, I greatly disliked having to seemingly trek halfway across the galaxy to reach them. If it weren’t for the graffiti scribbled across the trains, I don’t know what I would have done.
The wealth of a prosperous man or woman should be measured not by the money lining their pockets, but by how much peace they have. If this was truly how society measured wealth, I would have been marked as destitute for most of my adult life.
You see, I used to suffer from debilitating anxiety. I’m talking 3-5 full blown panic attacks per week. It didn’t matter where I was, what I was doing or who I was with; anxiety would hunt me down like wounded prey on a daily basis. This (quite unintentional) tendency to be a bit high-strung left me held for ransom by anxious thoughts and habits for many years. Panic and worry made my day to day life far more difficult than it ever had to be.
Aside from wasting the majority of my days fighting back invisible bogeymen and straining to achieve even the slightest semblance of normalcy, my chronic lack of peace bled into every area of my life that meant something to me. My health, relationships, career and finances all took significant hits, leaving me with feelings of discouragement that couldn’t be overcome no matter how hard I tried. But this was then.
Today’s throwback post is an unwelcome reminder of my history with disordered eating. For as long as I can remember I have dealt with cyclical bouts of binge eating and bulimia (with or without some form of purging)—yet another thing I’m not particularly proud of.
I’m sure I will someday talk about how this whole issue got started, but for now, I can confidently say that I am mostly recovered. Anxiety-induced binges are still a problem from time to time, but I am currently doing my very best to offset them by eating normally and losing weight the “right” way.
Life can be such a dizzying enigma.
At the best of times, it can bestow us with beauty and jubilance of poetic proportions. Yet at the worst of times, life’s circumstances can administer lashes so severe that we’re left limping for years. When I was a child, I never could get a firm grasp on the concept of life’s fickle ways. From time to time I would hear people retort, “Life’s not fair”, but it wouldn’t be until much later that I would learn just how true that adage was.
Thinking back to early youth, I now realize just how fortunate I was. With the exception of a few minor hiccups and one major death, I enjoyed a fairly charmed childhood. No major illnesses, no serious injuries, no instances of bullying and no family turmoil. In comparison to many of my schoolmates, I was very lucky. My parents did a terrific job ensuring that I grew up in as peaceful an environment as possible, but perhaps that is just the trouble. Perhaps I was too sheltered, too ignorant of the possibilities that would await me later in life.
I knew this day would come, and though I’ve tried to mentally and emotionally brace myself, anxiety has overtaken me. Today’s post may be the hardest one I will ever share. There is so much that I want to say about what you will soon read, but…I’m not entirely sure that I’m up for it right now. I intend to post further commentary in the days to come, but for tonight, I will let my former words speak for themselves.
As far as Adam is concerned, he genuinely lived up to his namesake by being the first man to accomplish so many monumental things in my life. For instance, he was the first man I ever truly loved. That alone speaks volumes, but I also believe that he was the first man to genuinely love me back. As beautiful and precious a gift that was, it only makes perfect sense that we couldn’t have lasted long.
I’ve had a lot of dreams and hopes in this life.
Some came true. Some didn’t.
Of what remains, I’ve mostly given up on ever attaining them. I say this not because I am a defeatist or “negative Nellie” (or negative Nell, in my case), but because I am too tired.
I feel as though I say this a lot these days—this, “I’m tired.” Of course, I never say it aloud because it isn’t something anyone would properly understand. I mean, if someone was ever around to hear me.