Managing anxiety, a smattering of depression, an extreme overload of grief, and a fear of cancer, has required extensive planning–if I can control the attention deficit disorder.
Actually planning = procrastination–for me (yeah, the ADD)
Seriously, prior to 2011, I mostly dealt with anxiety, and fighting against my torture-ists because they gave me anti-depressants for anxiety, but I could never figure out why. Since they were treating me with anti-depressants, I equated that to them knowing way more than I—therefore, I must be depressed as well as anxious.
It wasn’t until my tenth opinion from Google, that I realized that the medication used to treat anxiety comes in the form of an anti-depressant, or those other addicting medications such as benzodiazepines.
I also discovered that for my personal recovery, I needed cognitive behavior therapy with my drug cocktail.
Anyway, the way I managed my symptoms was through detailed planning. According to my therapist, I was a little obsessive about planning, and the fallout I encountered when the plan was disrupted. In other words, if I had to rearrange plans, it sent me spinning off in a world of even more anxiety.
However, that planning didn’t extend much beyond a month or three. Never anything beyond three months.
If I were to be asked what my five year plan was, I would open my eyes wide and blink a couple hundred times.
The type of life I have been living prohibits any form of spontaneity, and I believe I have missed out in some instances.
Life, is a bunch of experiences based upon decisions, risks, and planning. It is also letting things be, just as they are, at this moment.
Unfortunately, my husband and I are approaching the age where we are extremely past due with the planning of our retirement years. When we were freshly married, we sought the advice of a financial planner. You would have thought our meager salaries made us billionaires, but we wanted to be debt free, have children, pay for college for these children, and retire with enough money to live.
But we didn’t listen to that planner.
We are at a fork in the road, not a pickle fork, a dinner fork. It feels almost like a risk. Is it a good risk? Will we be getting ourselves into trouble? What if it doesn’t work out? Will we be able to turn back and follow the other fork before it’s too late?
Taking a risk.
The nemesis of anxiety.