Ask me how I am?
Thoughts from my ever wondering mind.
No really its loves to think and occasionally over think things.
Start, stop, cut, and maybe publish if I don’t doubt myself. That is the formula I live and occasionally write by. My friend’s cat on my lap deciding whether to put my notebook on someplace where both can be safe. The cat imprinted itself to be when I returned to the States without even knowing me. He has been my guard and lap buddy when my anxiety peaks. Even on the hot days, he feels the need to check on me. Yes, Chap, I am still there especially when you are sitting on my chest as I lie down. Stress, anxiety, and some bouts of depression. That is what gets me some days since I have gotten back to the state where I grew up. My background is Ethiopian, yet I grew up in the neighborhoods of Washington. Mostly in the Seattle areas (West, South, and even the North end at some points of my life). Being a pastor’s kid, I mean the child of a pastor, made life difficult sometimes. Its been a month since I posted on here. A month of wondering what was going on in my head. To write, to post, or to blog. I started posting on Medium. I have a Profile and just started brainstorming. I started reading and then ideas started coming to me. But in the back of my mind, I felt like there was still a part of me here. I imported some of my work from both here and my other blog. Honestly, I had looked at sites about becoming a freelance writer. This became a suggestion that after thinking it over I jumped on board. Within a few weeks, my followers’ list grew and grew. It shocked me. The problem with me is that I can’t tell a lie. I am the unique type of person who is willing to do the right thing. As many of you know I was traveling abroad for many a few years. It is true that I was helping my parents especially my mother adjust to being back home in Ethiopia after 30 years in America. What I have described also in my posts since then was that I have lived with the results of a very unhealthy relationship with my son’s father. In fact, in two weeks I will be hitting the milestone of the night I made the choice to leave him. The stress and anxiety of from that life finally took a toll on me. At one point in my life, I began experiencing stroke-like symptoms from the stress. I was silent and had no way of communicating.
There was a moment I was so scared of my ex and the shaming I endured in the past. At one point when my son and I came to visit my mother, it caused to me having an emotional breakdown. To this day I have a difficult time remembering what exactly had happened. Some of the specialists that I saw diagnosed me with PTSD due to the stress and anxiety. I do know without a shadow of a doubt when I made my choice to leave I was afraid that things might have ended differently. Many people who knew me then say that it was a miracle that things resulted in me being able to tackle so much on my plate and take care of my son at the same time.
What people didn’t know was just a small dose of fear can cause someone to emotionally crack on the pressure. No matter how strong I am. I knew that inside of me I was something unique. I was someone who knew that doing the right thing was the most important thing. So knowing this when you ask me how I am. I might pause before I answer. In my mind, I have to decide “Can I trust this person?” Then I would try to say what I am thinking without edit myself.