One week ago today, I turned thirty. And though I had major plans to mark the occasion, none of them came to be as the followers in the audience are well aware. But let me illustrate why…
In the last week I have been made aware that my position at work is downsizing to the point where I will likely be forced to find new employment, I have been told that my trusty old Subaru is also likely to get the bullet when I bring her in for inspection, and most heartbreakingly I had to put my best friend to sleep.
I have not had a silent moment in my head for three weeks. And just this past weekend I fell into one of the worst panic attacks I have had since almost five years ago. Which scared the shit out of me more than anything because I was so sure I was incapable of ever feeling that helpless again.
So now, exactly one week into being thirty, I am on stable ground at last. Shaky and unsure, but as far as I can tell I am here to stay. Because I have to be.
I have to face my life and do what needs to be done. That is who I am, I am the girl who gets into a major accident and brushes it off to put the headlight bucket back in the socket before going back to work in tears.
This small part of my existence on earth crashed over me like a wave and dragged me under so it stole my breath away, but once I stopped fighting it and let it be eventually the moment got behind me. Leaving me gasping and way too aware of my mortality in the end, but alive and in control.
And then I felt something amazing. My own little slice of the world rallied around me, and because I wasn’t wallowing in my own misery I felt for the first time the genuine love people feel for me. This is huge for me, because my fucked up head loves to convince me otherwise and tell me I will pass from this world like I was never there.
Basically, for the first time ever, I feel and whole heartedly believe that I have a place in the world and a viable part to play.
This storm will pass, but I am here to stay.