For those of you who know me personally, know that I default to the latter-- but not usually until a mental meltdown, a weekend bender, and a few months in a therapists office waiting for them to tell me what the right choice is for me. Though, they never tell me a straight forward answer, one thing has been consistent. They have all expressed their confidence in me to handle extreme change and take action in any situation that no longer serves to make me happy. Shout out to all of my therapists in all of the cities I've had breakdowns in over the years: Adam, Joanna, Kevin, (by default and informally) my current roommate Chelsea, who is getting her PsyD. You da real MVPs.
It's been 10 months since I said one of the biggest "fuck it alls" of my life and packed a bag for Chicago. There were so many things that seemed to be coming down on me. Though the "fuck it all" may make this seem like I didn't, I grappled seriously with the decision to drop everything and start over. I had an upper management job at a badass startup, but I felt dead-ended and disrespected. I was finally living completely alone with just the dog, but I was always in fear of my landlord for a compound of reasons. My family and I were on the outs more than the ins. And, I had just gone through the hardest and most drawn out breakup of the century from the man I was madly in love with who happened to also be an emotionally abusive narcissist. Needless to say, 10-Month-Ago Me made the right choice.
On paper, I had everything; The career, the independence, the downtown apartment overlooking the river and skyline. In reality, I was more miserable than I had been in a very long time. I spent three days on my couch trying to muster up the gall to even take the dog out because leaving my house gave me so much anxiety that I would hyperventilate and cry at minimum for two hours after I brought the dog back inside. The only thing that could help me sleep a little was to get stoned and watch Netflix hoping it would distract me. Sometimes it worked.
It took a few months of therapy, one afternoon in the Chicago, my resume in hand, two interviews, and one phone call for a job offer (before I even left the city- yay me!) to change my life for the better.
I submitted my letter of resignation through tears and a heartfelt "Thank You," but knew the relief I felt was warranted. The next two weeks dragged on as I finished my duties at the start up and on my off days commuted an hour and a half/two hours to Chicago for training at my new job as a bartender in the loop. Some days I still have to quiet my ego and remind myself that even though I'm not using my degree and I can't brag at my class reunion about my big-girl job with benefits and a 401k, I absolutely made the right decision. Abso-fucking-lutely.
My first three months I spent living out of a suitcase and crashing with friends. Timing was right because my good friend Angela was leaving for a two-week vacation after the first week I stayed with her, so I got a bonus two weeks on my own in her studio. I even got a bed- not a couch. Score. After that I stayed with a close friend from my life in Iowa City, Taylor (It's her birthday today. Happy birthday, Tay! I hope we win those Hamilton tickets!). Then, I stayed with one of my closest friends from high school and college, Thaddeus. It was great because it was like getting to catch up on the last 5 years over the week. Then he went and moved to Seattle. See ya in another 5 years, Thud. I even stayed in a hostel for a bit which was a cool new experience for me. Finally, I crashed with my girl Beth whom I met a few years ago at a mutual friend's wedding. We were instant best friends then, but hadn't kept in terribly close contact after doing the Cha Cha slide together and making fun of that couple we didn't like (true friendship is based in mutual distaste). Two weeks with her was especially awesome because I could bring my dog to stay with us. After a few months without him, I was in desperate need of his company. Dogs are the best, aren't they?
Immediately after coming to Chicago, I felt more loved, welcome, and free than I had in what seemed like an eternity. None of my friends had to take me in, but did. I couldn't be more grateful. I still owe them all whatever I can give for my gratitude.
A few weeks of apartment hunting and some insane responses to my craigslist ad seeking a roommate with a picture of me and the dog (responses pictured below), I narrowed it down to two places in the same neighborhood. The first place was with a guy who seemed really interesting. He worked as a camera man and everything about him seemed artistic and cool-- until I met him and he was so high on drugs he confessed he used to be a male prostitute and that all of his roommates over the last eight years had worked in the sex industry of some sort. I decided to live with the PsyD candidate with central air and laundry in the unit for a little more money and a lot less WTF. THANKS FOR BEING NORMAL, CHELSEA! I mean, I know we both use the word "normal" liberally when referring to either of us... But, still. Yes. Normal.
Uhm, this seems benign. No thanks, anyway. Bye.
Well, sir, you see, I'm looking for a place to live. Not a place for my body to be discovered in a deep freeze and taken to cook county with photos of it posed in various ways. I want to be famous but not in the Black Dahlia way. I'd rather have the kind of fame where I get to meet Beyonce and Jennifer Lawrence. So, I think I'll take a pass on this one.
This is now the part where I need to reassure my mother that I am safe and that I did not reply to any of these; except the one about Judge because this person clearly just wanted to be polite and state the obvious so I said "Thank you" and that was that.
Back to the point.
I moved into my place in August and life has been peachy since.
I still have my moments when my anxiety wakes me up at ungodly hours and keeps me up on my days off. But, that's because I will never really live without my anxiety. I will never really conquer it because anxiety isn't something I can conquer. I don't take medication for it, because I've never had a therapist (nor would I choose one) that would prescribe me something to shut it off. Not that I don't believe some people need it. I understand that it is a disease and some people require medication for it. For me, this thing that lives in my head drives me to change. It drives me to better myself, to run as fast as I can away from and to things that I wouldn't otherwise (mostly because I hate running).
It isn't easy any day. It's hard when I'm walking down the street and I realize for the 100th time that day that I don't feel I'm enough and I quietly have to re-regulate my breathing. It's hard when I wake up in the middle of the night wondering if I forgot to pay that bill or if my checking account is overdrawn (99.9% of the time neither of these is the case- ah, the irony) and I lie awake for four more hours after I check it online because my adrenaline came to the party. Then next thing I know, I'm hooked on another season of Unbreakable Kimmy Schmidt (May 19!), and I can't decide what to wear to work later, and the dog is sleeping so cute. Oh, my god. Did I really say that stupid thing to that cute guy yesterday? Ugh, I could die of embarrassment.
This is my life. This is how my brain works. It isn't easy, but in a bittersweet way, I am happy I have anxiety. I cannot imagine how I would have survived if I had never taken the risk to come to Chicago with no certainty of how much money I would make or where I would live or if it really would make me happy. That sounds so much scarier than staying put, but it wasn't. Staying put was eating me alive. I can promise you, I never looked back. Next time, I wont either.
