progress

Sometimes I wonder how much progress I’m ┬ámaking. On those days when anxiety is high and panic is setting in and I have no idea why, I start to question how much therapy has helped me. I don’t know whether I’m just more knowledgeable about what’s going on now so I recognize it more fully or whether I’m starting to create new things to fear.

The aging thing has been on my mind lately. From the deep chasms in my mind there is still this tendency to compare in order to validate my beauty. It is such a weird thing now. I can tell that I will still at some level compare myself to other women (although not nearly as directly as I did in my childhood). I think that validation is more conniving though.. it is more about finding errors than it is affirmation. Or I guess negative affirmation. Come to think of it, I’m incredibly skilled in finding errors. It’s a really positive trait for data analysis, and a really negative one for self worth.

Anyway, I think some of┬áthat is perpetuating or being perpetuated by the anxiety. It’s hard to tell sometimes. Being in a rush can put me off for days because I will tend to hold on to the panic as if my life were in danger. In reality, my life on the outside is more than calm. It reminds me of the last line in this thing I wrote years ago…

the old man travels uncertain roads. It is mankind that forgets that all roads lead to roads. a reversed dead end, an infinite connection. The persistent enemy without escape. The bandana’s fabric whisks in the wind. How ideal this road, leading into a sunset, a diner stop for poetic nutrition. The head full of beautiful ideas that fiends for an agonizing view. The terror of possibility in infinite space. Each second usurps the former. For each second he awarded himself the next. for all seconds the revolt contrasted a hollowed living.

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