Here's the problem. Anxiety on a level that I have never experienced before takes up a huge part of my mental process lately. I over obsess about details I can't control and worst case scenarios run through my brain on a consistent basis. My greatest fears are in the forefront of my mind more often than not. My husband leaves for the day and part of me wonders if he'll walk back through that very same door at night. My son goes to school and I worry if some psycho is going to bust in with guns and reenact one of the tragedies our country has been forced to witness in the last few years. I wonder if some sick pervert with a vendetta is going snatch him from the school yard and act out his twisted fantasies on my sweet innocent boy. When I sleep I relive Charlotte's life and death over and over trying to change something every time that will keep her here longer. I dream that my son is lost to me by some uncontrollable force, and that I've made the detrimental mistake to leave my husband and figure things out on my own. My nightmares wake me, almost always in tears, in the early hours of the morning catching my breath, desperate to make sure my husband is sleeping next to me and my son in the next room. I worry all the time, more than I feel like is normal; more than IS normal. I feel that I have so little control over my life right now, and that I can't protect my loved ones no matter how hard I try. I lay in bed at night thinking about EVERYTHING. I am so grateful that the anxiety meds my Dr gave me are helping, but it's just a temporary fix and every pill I take reminds me that there is something deeper at work here; something deeper I need to face.
I'm not good at dealing with things that force me to confront my deeper issues. I feel completely alone in my struggles and my grief. The world doesn't revolve around me, but it sure hasn't stopped spinning just because my daughter died. I feel as though I am standing in a room full of people; completely invisible. I could scream at the top of my lungs and no one would hear me. My desire to get in a car and just drive is superseded by my love for my boys and the gratitude I have for how they keep me grounded. I know I can't just run away from my problems and my fears. Nothing will ever change, and it's the worst way to deal with anything.
I have come to realize that everything I am feeling is tied to Charlotte's death. I couldn't save her. I couldn't protect her. It wasn't my job, but it SHOULD have been. I know that her sweet life was short for a reason beyond my control, yet it has made me feel like NOTHING is in my control, and that helpless feeling is breaking me apart from the inside out. I have always been one to feel comfortable with a certain amount of control in my life. I like things the way I like things. Having faith and letting go knowing that Charlotte's life was completely out of my control was one of the hardest things I have ever done. I still have faith and know that her plan was what it was for a reason. That doesn't do much for my anxiety. The residual feelings of helplessness that have encompassed the rest of my life can only be compared to drowning in 2 inches of water. I know it's not realistic. I know my worst case scenarios will most likely never happen, yet I feel completely overwhelmed nonetheless, and I'm terrified that there is no end in sight.
I know in my heart that everything will be alright. Some how. Some day. Some way. This space in my heart that belongs to Charlotte will never be filled by anything else, but the ache will dull with time. The pain will subside and her memory will be a sweet reminder of a time in my life when things didn't go the way I expected. I will look back and wonder how I got through it all, and most of it won't even feel real anymore. The memories of the physical pain will die, and the moments that we had together will be the only thing that will be left in my heart and my mind. I'll think back to her tiny little life and it will feel like the blink of an eye. For now, I'm stuck in the "in between". I'm in between the brutal pain of my daughter's death and the life that is still waiting for me to live it. I just wish it didn't feel so thick and heavy. I'm trying so hard to move forward, but it feels like I'm walking with mud on my boots.
I guess it's time to take them off and run barefoot for a while.