Acceptance

Tonight I had a panic attack.

In my car, on my way to my gig, my heart raced; panic and dread and fear grappled through my body. But still, I kept driving. I'm nothing if not reliable, especially when it comes to work.

I know, specifically, why I loathed going to my Load Out: PTSD. Now, before anyone gets pissed at that obvious case of self diagnosis, let me say right now I respect anyone who puts on a uniform and fights for our country. I'm not willing to, pacifist and bleeding heart liberal that I am. As such, I honor those who choose to do what I can and will not.

Having said that, my reaction to what was going to be a simple, almost fun, gig is directly related to a horrible, tears worthy, event I experienced previously: namely the first gig I ever led, for the company I was about to go lead for again. What's worse, I would be with the same circle of leads, and again I was elevated last minute by the same person above me. The situation was eerily similar, though the venue had changed.

And there in laid the difference: ghetto vs high class.

But, I digress. So, as I drove down 13th St, noting the five punch buggies on the way, but no joy derived from them, I allowed myself to sit in my fear, wash in my dread, and panic to my heart's content. Once I got to the venue, with some time before I needed to go inside, I pulled out my phone and played on the Internet; this helped a little. I walked in, found my crew, and checked back in with my superior just before he fluttered away.

Amazingly, in my goodbye to him, I reminded myself of an important fact: it's just a Load Out. And with those simple words, I found my calm, my quiet, my woo-sa.

I allowed my mind to sit in the space, see all around me, and accept that this night was my fate. There was no running away, no giving up. I was going to lead, and, no matter what, everything would be fine.

If I broke every light, slit open every sandbag, and dropped all the truss from the Mezzanine, it would be okay, because, really, none of that was going to happen. However, if it did, then it did.

I don't think I'm explaining this well, but these words are all I have. I just stopped, accepted, and worked on. And to my great surprise, the gig went fine; I laughed and chuckled with some work friends, and am now I'm writing this post.

This is not the first instance where I just took a breath and accepted my fate, whatever the next few hours had in store for me. In fact, it's quite common for me at work. Tonight it just happened to be more powerful, more profound, because I went from horrible, to shitty, to ok in a matter of ten minutes.

In this blogger's humble opinion, that's pretty fucking awesome.

I Forget

I forget that I'm awesome. I forget people notice my awesomeness. I forget how awesome it feels to be around people who acknowledge my awesomeness and are, themselves, awesome.

I forget I'm not the only one in pain. I forget other people have problems, pasts with similar emotional landscapes, and have the same insights on life my moments crying alone on the bathroom floor have taught me. I forget I'm not the only one who is confused, selfconscience, bewildered, wandering, lonely.

I forget people care. I forget people notice when I'm in pain, something is wrong, or just when I'm around. I forget my emotional wellbeing effects others, that people want to make sure I'm okay.

I forget, too often, I'm not alone.

I'm Trying

I'm trying to not be annoyed. I understand the circumstances of the situation, even though the action was completely unnecessary. I get it; just to me, that was very dumb.

I'm trying to not be jealous, even though, once again it feels like I'm an after thought. In fact, this time, it feels like I wasn't even thought of at all. This time it feels like a petulant child wanted their way and got it eventually; I don't deal well with childish foolishness. Say what you want; don't lie about it and then have buyer's remorse soon after.

I'm trying not to be angry or upset. I know I need to give it time, step back, really look at the situation. I know I need to be more removed from it, to not just be ten minutes out. But it hasn't been more than ten minutes yet, which is why I have to try to so hard to not be pissed, again.

I'm trying to remind myself this piddling little shit will stop happening soon. In a month, my life will be completely different, and I suspect things like this will stop being an issue. Because if it doesn't, I gravely misjudged my life and the people in it. And I don't think I have. I don't think.

So I'm trying to be patient, understanding, caring…and not angry, frustrated, pissed off, jealous. I'm trying.