Most of my old posts haven't been brought over to this blog, but some long(er)-term readers will remember that I've wanted, for a while now, to get out of the place where I live. Things are happening, right now, to make that move more crucial. The water heater is busted, the kitchen sink seems to be terminally clogged, water is leaking up into my mom's bedroom floor, and winter is coming. This place not only leaks water; it leaks air, too. Winter means that our electric bill will increase four-fold from the one I just paid, and we'll still be sitting around in thermals and coats, unable to get warm.
Things are also happening, right now, to make the move more possible. I have a few people who are supportive. At least one lives in this area. Some are spread out across various states. But I finally -- finally! -- have a friend on the other end of the move who is willling to help. And, if you've never done something like moving half-way across the country with no job and no place to live lined up, just know that support on the destination end makes all the difference in the world. It makes the move seem possible.
But now that it seems possible, now that I've started doing a few things to make it probable, I am terrified. And the fear isn't just about success or failure. It's not just about worries like the car breaking down somewhere between here and there, or not being able to find adequate care for my mom and my dog. There's some part of me that feels like I'm wrong, in the moral sense, to do this, even though I know it's the right thing to do.
And finally, it hit me, tonight, why it strikes me as wrong. When I was a kid, barring things that my social anxiety played hell with, I did what my mom wanted me to. Even now, despite the dementia (which I know clouds her judgment), there's still some truth to that. When I was living on my own, I found friends who needed taking care of, in one way or another, and, for the most part, I did what they wanted me to do. In relationships, I tend to end up doing what the other person wants me to do. Hell, I spent a good part of the past year doing whatever a friend I only knew online wanted me to do.
And, now, presented with the possibility of doing something major that I want to do, it strikes me as both terrifying and wrong. I don't think it's a self-esteem issue; I'm fairly good at assessing my own strengths and weaknesses, and I really am one of those people who enjoys her own company. It may be a confidence issue, because right now, I'm having a hard time seeing myself turning our situation into something better for all of us.
But I suspect that it may be an aspect of the social anxiety issue. Most of that is an old issue, and not really relevant to grown-up me. I can stand in line at the grocery store, now. I can make phone calls. I can sit in a classroom, or on a bus, full of people. I can make conversation with strangers, and I look everyone in the eye.
But I still panic when I don't know what people want from me. And I'm wondering if that maybe that old, deferential aspect of interacting with people has divorced me, to some degree, from my willingness to serve my own wants and needs, at least where others are involved.
For those of you who suck at reading: Don't take this as an example of selflessness. It's not about selflessness. It's about incompletion. It's not a good thing. And I'm not the slightest bit happy about it.
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