2014 was a year of reckoning. It was a year that sat on my chest, heavy and unmoving, leaning down in my face to sneer at me and ask, “Are you sure?”

This career you’ve been working at for 10 years; are you sure?That man you’ve loved for years and you swear you want forever with; are you sure?That thing you said you’d never do; are you sure?That dream you have that you won’t give up on no matter how you neglect it; are you sure?
This city and this apartment and these friends and this hair color and that date and this move and that decision; ARE YOU SURE?
I’m ashamed of how often the answer has been no.

2014 kicked in the door waving the .44 on me. After a fairly peaceful 2013, I wasn’t prepared. I thought I’d reached a point in my life where I’d weathered so many of the worse storms. I thought I’d found some semblance of normal.

At that, 2014 scoffed.

There’s been upheaval. And the ever present specter of loss. Some of it in my head, blooming wild from the deepest roots of my anxiety. This is too good, it always hisses in my ear. How will you fuck it up? When will the other shoe drop? What will you ruin? What will you lose?

It sits with me the nights that turn into mornings that I cannot sleep. This idea that what I thought I knew, I don’t know. The feeling that after only a brief reprieve my life has turned sharply and headed for the edge again. And unlike some other times in my life when I wasn’t at the wheel, I have in many ways willed myself in this direction. 

Objectively I know that this is a function of the beast of anxiety; this questioning, these machinations, this plotting and planning and trying to get ahead of problems that exist nowhere but in my own mind. I know this. But still, I pick at myself.

Why did you do that? Why didn’t you do this?
What were you thinking?
What are you going to do?
Aren’t you tired of making mistakes?
Are you going to fuck it up?
Can you trust that? Can you trust them?

Are you sure?

Too often the answer is still no. 

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