So I’ll Admit…

by Jane Moneypenny

I freaked out about leaving tonight. Fear gripped my heart and I think I stopped breathing for a second. I know my anxiety has been mentioned numerous times in the last few entries, but this is the first time I actually truly considered staying. I was describing my job to a guy I hadn’t seen since last summer and then randomly bumped into the co-worker who recruited me. Even then, it was still quiet anxiety. It was when we were sitting in a dive bar eating delicious cheeseburgers and fries and talking about the STL Cardinals opening day game Monday, did I panic. And panicked the entire drive home. All I could think about was missing out on summer baseball games, one of my favorite pastimes. The thought of not being in the city during the best time of the year pains me. I’m more than sure this episode of freak-out had nothing to do with baseball (well, maybe a little); it just happened to be the thing I focused on.

I’ve heard this is normal. It has to be. Why can’t it be easier? I guess change is never easy. I always thought the second I got over my ex, I would walk out of here without a problem. It’s like leaving for college all over again. I hated the idea of leaving a city I grew up in, a long-term boyfriend and great friends for this huge unknown of college. I remember vividly refusing to talk about it or leaving and asking my best friend how I was supposed to know who to trust? It’s not like New Orleans where everyone knows someone who knows someone. And I went without knowing a single person and it turned out fine. Even at 18, I knew I had to leave because it was the right choice in the long-run, no matter how hard it was at the moment.

And of course, I know what I have to do, why I’m doing it and all that. I get all these things, but it never does make it easier, does it? Actually I think it’s due to my habit of getting attached to physical spaces (Yes, they really are insignificant, but I tend to grip onto memories. Let go of the past to move forward, I know I know). The first time I lived alone was a summer during college and I was subletting a great little apartment. When I moved out 2 months later, I was actually sad and a little torn. I can’t even imagine how I’ll feel once this apartment is packed up; it’s the longest I’ve stayed in a place for the last 7 years. When my best friend’s family sold their house and moved after the hurricane, I was devastated. I had grown up in that house! I’m not sure why I have this strange connection to an environment.

I suddenly missed my ex tonight. Not him as a boyfriend or a hook-up or whatever a mess we were, but merely for the innocent friendship we had long ago. And then I was missed the last guy I dated, even if he was an asshole. But only for the quick flashes of fun moments. It was short and fleeting and by the time I got home, it was gone. Maybe everything is going so well right now, it’s impossible not to think of that area of my life that I’ve put on hold.

So I had a night of weakness where the idea of staying in a ready-made life was tempting. I don’t cry much, and I really thought I wouldn’t when it was time, but I have a feeling that last week here will be filled with tears. But that’s okay, I think. I can’t be strong and independent all the time.

My solution in college for anxiety and depression and unhappiness was work, which is probably why I became a workaholic. And yeah, it’s 3:20am, but I’m wide awake and not hungry for once and I think work will be just the thing I need to distract me for 30 minutes. Yes, it’s weird and insane. But hey, a girl’s gotta do what she’s gotta do.

[Hm, that was a ridiculous amount of truthfulness and soul-bearing.]