Maybe the Plane Will Crash

Whenever I think I canʼt get more stressed… Life laughs. When you blow up your life, eventually charred remains should be all that's'left. Not this continued series of landmines I keep stepping on.

Next week, I'll fly to Texas to visit the man whoʼs abandonment nearly killed me 6 months ago. His departure was the right thing – it gave me a chance to win my son. I knew that at 25, he wasnʼt ready to commit. “If you love him, let him go. If he returns, his love is true.” So okay, the love is real. But knowing all thatʼs happened, what we've both done while apart… Is there moving beyond that?

I've been blaming my crippling social anxiety on this small town, on my ex and the gossips and the rumors that ran me over like a freight train. I've been denying the truth of my addictions – it isnʼt just drugs ruling me – itʼs my own sick habits of self-destruction.

What if I get there and Iʼm still freaked out by people? What if I get there and I am still weird and stuck in a fight-or-flight panic? Then I'll know, itʼs not the town, itʼs not my ex. Iʼm literally bat-shit crazy.

What if I get there and he realizes he made a mistake? What if feelings changed and seeing me reinforces that leaving me was the right thing? What if his friends make fun of him… not only am I old, Iʼm crazy as a loon.

Iʼm terrified of the possibilities. So I create catastrophes. I fixate and freak out on a future that has yet to happen.

And until I board the plane, I'll continue cutting, I'll get as high as I possibly can. And I'll avoid the fear until I literally canʼt hide from it anymore.