Rain, Rain, go away: Anxiety and other tragic life events

When it rains my anxiety turns from a huge elephant, to a herd of antelopes ready to strike.

That was probably the worst analogy I could have come up with but it’s going to have to do for now.

For the past week or so in Boston the weather has been nothing less than disgusting. It’s rainy, cold, windy, and everyone smells like musty feet on the bus.

I’ve noticed that on days where it’s rainy and gross, my anxiety is extremely heightened. My heart beat races, I freak out when I look at wet tissues or napkins on the ground or on the bus, and I feel the incessant need to shed myself of all clothing and bathe in purell.

Even writing this now is making me gag.

I don’t know where this weather related anxiety came from nor when it was birthed, but it’s becoming a real issue. Whenever I get on the bus I have to legitimately close my eyes, listen to music and think of something other than the rain because the alternative is embarrassing.

I find my hands go from shaking uncontrollably to picking at my skin, all the while I feel as though I can’t breathe, and the only way to escape this feeling is to get home and take off all the things that remind me of outside.

I realize that writing this makes me sound like a crazy person but this is my life at the moment.

My lexapro is supposed to help for both my depression and anxiety but clearly it’s not working as of late.

I made an appointment to see a psychiatrist and try to get my meds altered but at the same time I don’t want to depend on drugs to keep me “normal” nor do I have money to pay for a whole different set of pills .

Like, who the fuck gets anxious over fucking rain?! I swear, I’m the weirdest mentally unstable person I know. Honestly.

Not only am I mentally unstable but let’s throw religiously unstable in there as well while we’re at it.

Yesterday one of my friends sent me a text with a link to a video by Bishop T.D Jakes discussing why people remain single. In the video, his first point was that we single people don’t know how to navigate relationships because we don’t have the most important relationship established: Our relationship with God.

I doubt I’ve written about this before but my faith is hanging on by a sewing thread. If it was weave thread then maybe it would have a bit of hope but nah girl, it’s weak af.

I’ve started going to church more recently even when I don’t necessarily feel like it because I feel like I should, whatever that means.

I know I want my life to mean something and that I want to have a great impact on the world, so somehow that equates to me being in church every Sunday and having a great relationship with God.

tumblr_n0p18nYvnA1tpsg5eo1_400

Growing up I hated being a Christian because my parents would always say that I couldn’t do x,y, and z because I was a Christian and we were meant to live in the world but not be of the world.

I would be PISSED.

I’m like, wtf man?! I want to see the new Harry Potter movie, watch Raven, listen to rap, and go to sleepover like normal kids, but nope; I was a Christian so every second was dedicated to God.

Luckily, I grew some tits, got a couple years older, decided what I wanted for myself, and my parents changed how stringent they were with me when it came to church, but I still always felt their need for my obedience to the “Christian way” lurking over my head.

When I got to college and had no way to get to my church without taking a $30 uber both ways, I decided to just stop going. I wasn’t gonna go to a catholic church to participate in things I didn’t understand, and the “multi-faith” group on campus was too focused on Christianity that it became more of a stifling space compared to a liberating one.

By the time I graduated I became so used to not going to church and being comfortable with who I was because I had no one breathing down my neck telling me I was sinning, and like anyone else I wasn’t tryna give up my new found freedom for anything.

Soon my Dad started getting frustrated with me that I wouldn’t wake up for church on Sunday despite my 8+ hours of sleep the night before. My constant hair dyeing, tattoo and piercing parlors trips were being translated as me being “rebellious” and “running away from God”. A visiting pastor that came to my church even told me that the issues I’m having in my life was because I had locs on my head.

My old school church environment didn’t understand that dyeing my hair, getting tatts and piercings didn’t make me “rebellious” but it made me…me. College allowed me to come into myself and figure out how I enjoyed the freedom of expression, but it was too much for my parents.

I left my home a shy church girl that would keep my head down and follow the rules blindly, and came back as a raging feminist with activist tendencies, a half-shaved purple head, tattoos, and a whole new outlook on what role God played in my life.

As it stands, I’m still unsure about where he/she/it fits. All I know is that it makes my blood boil when people say that they don’t believe in anything greater than themselves, and that I have my foundation in the Caribbean Christian church but I have no idea what that means for me.

I’ve realized that when it comes to the Christianity of my parents, and grandparents, I don’t want to have anything to do with it.

I don’t want to believe in a God that will shame me for trying to understand life and making mistakes on the way. I refuse to believe in a God that will turn me away for how I look, or for deciding that I don’t want to be a man’s servant.

I want to believe in something or someone that makes me feel great when I wake up in the morning. I want to believe in something or someone that grants me the freedom to explore my womanhood and sexuality and decide what I like. I want to have the type of faith that inspires people to live their most fulfilling lives in whatever aspect that is for them.

I don’t want to have to apologize for being young and trying to figure it out.

I just want to be accepted as me, as stupid and fucked up as I can be sometimes.

Some people say that God will accept me and love me no matter what I’ve done, but years and years of hearing that same message with a conditional asterisk makes me believe otherwise.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s