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Conquering A Few Fears

Just have to write this one other thing.

My self-confidence and self-esteem have taken a brutal beating these past few years. I used to have my hustle on at all times, Diva my way into every room, and maintain a Plan B, C, and D in case A didn't work out. But as I said, Life kinda beat a sista down for a while, to the point where leaving the house--walking out my own front door--has even become difficult (on some days impossible). And being in a crowd--whew, don't even get me started on how intimidating that has become for me as well.

So I'm proud of myself for accomplishing what I did on my visit home. I took a cab to Union Station, walked through a gang of people in the terminal, got myself on Amtrak, rode four and a half hours in the enclosed space of the train, walked through the terminal there and made my way out to my friend's car--all without incident. On the way home, I decided to challenge myself further. Rather than take the cab straight from Union Station all the way home to Northern Virginia, I opted to take Metro. Red line to the end of the orange line and then into a cab and home. Me and my bags--in and out of crowds, rushing through one hallway after another, up and down escalators, on/off platforms, standing hanging onto a pole on the metro, mind you, because there wasn't always a seat available. Yea, I had some moments along the way. But I did it! Fully accessorized, rockin' heels, afro-puff in place.

Oh yes, the Diva is back.

Note to self for next time: one bag, NO heels.

Reconnecting With Myself

Can't talk long. I have lots to do today...

Just wanted to make a confession. I almost deleted my meltdown post (the one titled "I'm Not Crazy") because I began to fear that if people read it, they might actually conclude that I am indeed crazy! And then I realized that if I did that, I wouldn't be real to myself or my readers; that I'd be guilty of sweeping a mental health issue under the rug and pretending it didn't exist--the very thing I've always said the entire African-American is so often guilty of.

So I'm leaving the post there.

What I can report is that I did seek the help I needed. From my personal physician, who recommended a counselor/therapist (who I've been seeing for weeks now) and an anti-depressant (I'm on a high dosage of Paxil). The combination of treatments has been more than a little helpful, I'm here to tell you. I feel so much better, words can't explain.

Also helpful was a trip to my hometown in Connecticut. Haven't been home in five years. Went for a week last month and ended up staying three and a half weeks (just got back). I met my old self there, went to the library where my obsessive love for books and writing began (and where I spent literally thousands of hours as a child/teen), and reconnected with the people who have always always loved me and all my ways...no matter what.

Oh, and the fact that the last time they saw me I was 65 pounds heavier made hearing "oh my god, girl you look so good!" over and over and over again that much sweeter. Ha!