It was a hard day.

Around 1 or 2 PM I stood with my forehead pressed against the sliding glass door of my kitchen trying to conjure anything that might move me. I knew I needed to eat something. I knew I would feel better if I showered and dressed. I stood there for several beats and then retreated to my couch again.

Around 5 PM I managed to get outside to take my dog on a walk. As we wandered about my new neighborhood I felt the panic start to rise. I wanted desperately to run away. I thought about quitting me new job, packing up again and going back to the city where most of my family lives. I thought I might hyperventilate.

I got myself to the grocery store after that. I made myself food and managed to eat it.

I am lying in bed now. It is 10:04 PM and I am just on the dry side of tears. I don’t want to be here. Not right now. I don’t want to have to get up in the morning and go to work for a full day. I don’t want to leave my dog alone in a strange house for 9 hours. I have no one to come mid-day and walk him. I feel like a horrible dog owner.

I am scared. I am scared of this new town I live in, of the new job I have, of being all alone here. I am scared of failing at all of it.

I know that none of this is more than I can handle, and I wish I didn’t have so much to handle. I feel overwhelmed. Anxious. Afraid. I want to run. I know that I will stay. I know that all of this will pass and then likely come back again. I will stay through that too.

It will be okay. I am going to try and fall asleep tonight with this repeating through me. Maybe before I drift off into dreams, I will have a moment of believing it.