And then I got anxious...

If you read my first post, you might have figured that no trip to Disney and 4 weeks of therapy was going to fix me. I don't think we ever really get to understand how things affect us, and I though what I was experiencing had to do with the Pandemic and nothing else. Yes, things were a little intense. My usual ‘did I locked the door?’ thoughts started to happen more often. Sometimes I had to come back to check twice, or 3 times. Going out of the apartment got harder, which was normal considering there was a virus out there but convincing myself I would go to the supermarket in the morning and ending eating salads of only tomatoes or having a banana for dinner became a little too common.

Truth be told, the anxiety I experienced in my 20's never left me, and it came back full force, with the added guilt of feeling 'I had to be grateful', cause 'I still had a job', and I could pay my rent and go to the beach whenever I wanted to. I had 'no reason' to complain. Finally, I had what I wanted. I was living by myself, working and making decent money. I had the Roomba, the big TV, and the juicer. The weather was nice, I could go to the beach, I also lost those 5 pounds that made feel so insecure and those Brazilian swimsuits I bought on Amazon fit me just right.

I could not complain. I should not complain. I was doing fine. I got no responsibilities. I got no kids, not even a dog. No sick family members to take care of. No struggling siblings to help. I could not complain. I should not complain. I could do whatever I wanted. If I was not doing more, it was because I did not want to, I preferred my comfort, I was comfortable and that got me a little stuck, but I had no reason not to take advantage of any opportunity that came my way, nothing was stopping me. I could not complain. I should not complain.

In the months between quitting my job and starting a new one (those 'almost' 2 months), I tricked myself into believing that everything was going to be just fine, law of attraction and all, I asked for a break and a new job and, I got what I wanted. But 3 weeks later, there it was again, the paralyzing anxiety, the long nights looking at the ceiling going over every single little detail of what went down that week, practicing for 'what if' scenarios that were most likely never going to happen, and the fact that I was already working till 8pm was not really helping.

So this time I did not wait. I was honest to myself and to my boss, it was not working, I deserved better, he deserved better, and there was no point in pretending otherwise. So this time, I was going to take it slow, it was already the end of the year, the holidays were approaching fast, and the New Year was going to bring better energy.

We spent Christmas Eve at my uncle's house. He had had surgery a couple days before that, so we didn't do much. It was a beautiful night, we had dinner outside, I made some Mac&Cheese, there were gifts for the kids and I went back home looking forward to the last weekend of the year.

Christmas Day was uneventful. It was a cold day so I just chilled at home watching movies. It's tradition for us to wait until midnight to open the presents so I got home pretty late the night before, I was looking forward to a quiet evening reading a book in bed and sipping some hot tea.

And then I heard running, screaming, and what it sounded like 2 gun shots, and then 3 more...