Please accept my apologies on behalf of Shannon.  We had an incident with our image hosting, and are reuploading photos all the time,  Please come back often!!

As you are reading this, please understand that the pictures on this site will be back soonest….please do not hold this against her, or her abilities to photograph drivers in action!!  She is not responsible for actions of our hosting company.

Thank you

Greg

This morning we went to church. I got to say goodbye to Pastor Shawn and couple other people that I really like at Redemption Hill Church! However, I’m sad because I also have to say goodbye to Dad and Sandra; till next time!

I know that it affects my family and friends. I hate that it does. It hurts me to see you suffering because of it. And trust me when I tell you that I really do see it, and I wish that there was something I could do about it. There are a lot of things that I do, thanks to the awesome feeling we call anxiety. Maybe you know the way these things affect me, and subsequently you. Maybe you don’t. I’m here to clear up a few things.

I DON’T like asking you ever ten seconds if you’re mad at me. Please believe that if I could stop, I would. But there’s a constant, endless, stream of self-doubt and awful words running in my head frequently.

Out 2,3, 4

“Just breathe” They say, as if I’m not already trying to do that

But my heart is racing to the beat of a marching band

And there’s a force holding my lungs hostage

“Just breathe” like it’s the most simple thing in the world

And usually it is

We don’t even think about it

Until something is keeping us from doing it

In 2, 3, 4

Out 2, 3, 4

And the only thing I want at that moment

Is to get away from all of these people

Because I’m raw and unfiltered and in trouble

“Just breathe” but how does one

Who’s drowning just breathe?

There’s water washing over my head

My legs are kicking fruitlessly, my hands reaching to the sky

In 2, 3, 4

Out 2, 3, 4

And I have to remind myself that there’s nothing out to get me

But fight or flight has kicked in and it’s too late

My hands are numb

My face is tingling

“Just breathe”

“It’ll be okay”

I know, shut up, I’m not five, I’m not new to this

That’s all I want to say, but words are stuck in my throat

And there’s these cold, clammy hands

The hands of dread and paralyzing fear

Keeping me from doing anything

It doesn’t come at 2am, when there’s nothing going on

It comes at 2pm when I have things to do

For no reason, and with no cause

It comes when I’m the busiest

“Run RUN” my body is screaming

My feet are glued to the ground though

I know that there are tears running down my face

But I don’t feel them

And just as suddenly as it’s appeared

I’m okay again, like it’s never even happened

I have to sit down, because I’m shaky and exhausted

But I’m okay

Just breathe

In 2, 3, 4

Out 2, 3, 4

Everything will be okay

My visit to Eastonville yielded discovery of the most known still-standing structure of the old town. It was an old house, right on the edge of the road, and while I couldn’t get close to it (as it’s on private property and a no trespassing sign is posted) I could feel the echoes of the past still resonating through the dilapidated, leaning structure. In the cemetery, there were several headstones worn far too much to be read, by weather and age. There were other headstones that were readable, dated in the early 1880’s. It was so incredibly peaceful to walk around the graves of these people that had lived over a hundred years before me. The peculiar thing that I noted about the cemetery is that, because it is still in use, there is a strange layout of very old graves next to very recent graves. It made for a very strange sense of stepping through time as I traversed the landscape. There were several graves that were not marked at all by headstones, but merely white, wooden crosses, or large rocks with no carvings on them. These made me feel sad, as there was no way to know who I was paying my respects to. I really enjoyed seeing this strange collection of graves and dates.

I’ve seen you for a couple of weeks now, lurking in the corner. I’ve simultaneously been preparing myself for you, and trying not to think about you. Somewhere in between my all-day classes and my nightly practicing, you’ve managed to rear your ugly head once again. And here I was, thinking I was finally done with you. How could I be so silly?

But really, you couldn’t have chosen a worse time to do it, what with all of the things I’ve got on my plate right now. And of course, how could I ever forget your lovely partner, panic attacks? I hope your marriage is going well.

Believe me, Anxiety. I see that person walking towards me, but I really don’t think they’re going to do much of anything. You think they might look at us? Well shit, better give me a heart attack right here on the damn street.

Trust me, Anxiety, they really don’t hate us, even though you’re almost positive that they do. I can almost guarantee that you’re over-reacting.

The other night, you poked me on the shoulder and asked me pretty innocently if I’d remembered to lock the door before I left, and panic attack had to jump in. She was pretty sure that I hadn’t. I’m pretty upset, Anxiety, because you pulled me away from my rehearsal, mentally, for a long time, because even though I was pretty sure that I locked the door, you just couldn’t remember.

Do you remember a couple days ago, Anxiety? I was trying to talk to a friend of mine, and you decided to test your strength. I could feel you then, holding my lungs so tightly I thought I might deflate entirely. Were you practicing for a strongman competition? I think you could win.

I feel you running around in my head, scattering my carefully filed papers every which way. What day of the week is it? What time is it? What month is it? What am I doing? What was I supposed to do today? Did I have plans? Did I have class? Sorry, what’s going on again?

You never pick up your mess, Anxiety. You always just leave things a huge jumble when you finally take a vacation. It takes me days just to clean up the tornado you’ve caused in me. I wish you were a better roommate. I hate that you keep me up half the night asking me really deep questions about why I’m here. Like, I would care if it wasn’t 3am and I didn’t have class in the morning. Can’t you ask me when I have free time in the afternoon?

But the worst part about it, Anxiety, is that whenever you come knocking, I never feel like I can talk to anyone. And that’s entirely your fault. Because I know that I have people that I can definitely talk to, people that won’t judge me OR you. But here’s the thing, Anxiety. I can’t talk to them when you keep telling me that they don’t care, that I’m just bothering them. Do you see my dilemma here?

I’m not going to pretend that you aren’t there, Anxiety, because that seems kind of ridiculous when you’re a pretty large part of my brain. I see you, and I acknowledge you, and I accept you. But I don’t like you. You make mountains out of mole hills in every sense of the word, Anxiety. You’re playing ping pong with my emotions, and you’re asking Stress to play with you too. Stress doesn’t want to, because he’s pretty sure that I have four thousand assignments due in the next week, even though it’s really only one. But don’t tell him that, he’ll never believe you.

Anxiety, I just want you to know that I see what you’re doing, and I feel what you’re trying to tell me, and I’m really trying to listen. But sometimes, you make me want to sleep for seven days when I can’t afford to, and I don’t like that. But you’re a big part of me, Anxiety, and even though I wish that I didn’t have to deal with you, I know that I do. So maybe you can just take it a little easier on me?

Sincerely,

Your not-so-friend Shannon

She’s got bags under her eyes

And bags weighing her down

And she’s put the most effort into working a smile onto her face

Her heart is pounding with every step

Her hands are shaking

And every look her way

Feels like lasers burning holes in her

The demons in her head

Are laughing hysterically

Because everyone is looking

And she’s hoping they don’t see her eyes

Because then they’ll see her

In her natural, unaffected form

With eyes like a scared animal

and something squeezing her chest

When it’s a bad day

She puts her head down

Because dealing with people is so hard

When she can’t even deal with herself

Nobody pays her much mind

But it doesn’t matter

Because her demons are singing

And taking her breath away

When it’s a bad day

She retreats into herself

Because talking is like performing

Standing on stage in the spotlight at Carnegie Hall

She wants to tell her friends

She isn’t ignoring them on purpose

But even that

Is a monumental task

She struggles to stay positive

But she can’t feel her face

And her hands are tingling

And her heart is running a marathon

When it’s a bad day

She wants to ask for help

But the words don’t come out

They stick in her throat like glue

Because what is she even supposed to say

When she’s plagued by a disease

That nobody can see, and all they ever say is

“You’e just having a bad day”