I pray for a day the high point of which is getting an Amazon delivery or reading a brilliant quote on the internet or convincing Dadi to eat mushrooms even though they are a byproduct of dog pee. These things, while they happen, are muffled by the item song of mummy’s mental health, papa’s cardiac health, break-ups, monetary broke-ness, or my anxieties.
And while I wait for that day, I work at dealing with these problems better. I haven’t been able to help with mum’s mental health, but I managed to get rid of the god complex that led me to believe that I could. I took a project that should temporarily fix the brokenness. But the anxiety has me kneeling on my knees, at its mercy. I have come to be extremely patient with it. I lie down in the grass next to it, even though it stinks, spits and kicks. I look at it hard, I speak to it kindly, then sternly, I even got close and touched it one time.
But I haven’t quite figured it out yet, though I know it better now. Now when I work while mummy is sick, I know how to keep my anxiety at its best behavior. I know when to take a day off and I know when to push. It was tough but I figured out how to push it too. Sometimes I write about it, talk to the right people, and avoid the others. Yesterday at work, every time I felt home anxiety bleeding into work worries, I took a 10-minute break and painted a pattern in my blue book. 10 minutes into this almost-mindless activity, I would gather my focus back. I have done this before in different forms, with online games, tv shows, and shopping. They were helpful, but addictive and hence affected by normal life.
Recently I returned my panic-induced-“retail therapy” purchased pants. Then I made @pearollalong buy me paints. And look bub, it helped, felt good, and ended up prettier than a Candy Crush.