I started painting again. It's sort of a slow expensive process. My therapist has been encouraging me and I know husby has been this whole time. I just couldn't get to my canvas. I was being held up by web episodes of Dr. Who and Grays anatomy. For Pete sake I would even watch re-run episodes of the Big Bang Theory instead of painting something new. I had a big wake up call over Sunday. What the heck am I doing not doing this? I love to paint. It's a place I go alone to be with my imagination and God. It is so life giving to me. When I finish one I don't care what the world sees all I know is I did it and enjoy it. My house is covered in my paintings. They offer me comfort and memory of the place I was at when I made them. People have asked me why don't I sell them? I'm so attached to all of them. If someone were to purchase one I'd feel as though part of my soul would be with them. I'm not freaky like Voldemort making myself into Horcruxes. I just get sad to think of them leaving.
This morning was hard to wake up. I wanted to paint all night but I got too tired. I probably would have fallen asleep on my work if I didn't stop. I'm still feeling dread anxiety every night before a work day. It's this pit deep inside of me that tells me I'll fail and the world will laugh at me. I fear of making a mistake and being punished. At work, when I make a new mistake for something I didn't already know about, they get very upset. I'm not in a place to handle criticism. I literally am sick to eat my banana oatmeal. In the morning I'm so nauseous to leave, I wait until the very last second to get dressed. The idea of being medicated was horrifying. What if I become a zombie? What if I can't do my job right? I already have some of those conditions in my daily life because of anxiety.