This morning and early afternoon, my Dad had a support group meeting, so Mom and I had lunch with my brother Jeremy before he heads off on his work trip. This is the latest in October I’ve been in Chicago since moving away, so I’ve never had my brothers have to leave for a business trip before I leave. It’s both interesting and hard to have to say goodbye bit by bit. It never gets any easier.
This evening, after I had a quick dinner with my parents (and me questioning whether I’d dressed warm enough as it rained and the temperature dropped even more), I went to Lake Zurich to see my niece J’s band concert.
I’ve talked about my anxiety before and how it can manifest. This evening was a prime example of my anxiety, and, remarkably, how well I’ve been learning to manage it (at times!).
Going to someplace I’ve never been before while a cold front was moving through and in the dark concreted the foundation of tonight’s anxiety attack. Being in an American high school again brought a pang of both anxiety and nostalgic longing too.
When the band came on with the color guard, two more things struck me.
First, a way I get my Mom engaged and up for the day is talking about her Rhythmette (color guard) days at Prospect High School. She was a baton twirler at Prospect. And three drum majors walked on stage with baton-like instruments they twirled at the start of the performance. The color guard was present too. That set off a wave around Mom and memories around her showing us how to twirl when we were kids and that now being one of the only ways of engaging her enough to wake her up. I kept seeing her in bed, twisting her wrist, eyes closed, feet shuffling under the blanket, explaining how to twirl, her emerging from the fog of sleep millimeter by millimeter, me praying this tried-and-true method of dragging her from Dream’s embrace would work again.
Second, one of the drum majors not only looked like but also moved very similarly to someone I cared about quite deeply. That person left my life suddenly and painfully, without resolution or closure (for me, at least). The doppelgänger quality mesmerized me and horrified me. The knowledge that person was also in color guard and probably performed at a show similar to this while they were that age amplified my feelings. I found myself pondering whether I should bite the bullet, reach out, tell them about their time-displaced twin. The fear of rejection, or even worse, the silence that has plagued us for way longer than I’ve ever been comfortable with continuing, heightened the anxiety.
Normally, the anxiety would rise to such a level that I’d stiffle tears or have to leave. And I’m going to be honest, I got close to that point. But I made the decision to watch J play. I repeated I was there to watch her play and enjoy the performance. The ghosts of those I love and loved were not present. My best friend Anne was to my left; her husband, my close friend Steve, was to my right. I was safe. I was in the present. I was among those who love me and would do anything to make sure I was safe.
It was like someone flipped a switch. I relaxed. I enjoyed the show. Anne even heard me laugh my hearty laugh at the announcer’s jokes. I felt like my old self again.
And I realized yes, I can fight these anxiety attacks off some of the time. That’s a major accomplishment right there.
In the photo of me and J after the concert ended, I was pretty happy. I’d had a great time and was so proud of her. Plus I was so extremely glad I finally got to see her perform live! So the positives came to outweigh the anxiety. Phew!
Beam Me Up, Scotty 
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