The Hole (No, It's Not Dirty)

We've lived in this house two years now, and I haven't yet found The Hole.

In my mid-twenties, when I first started to learn about anxiety and recognize what was happening to me as panic attacks, we were living in a loft in Chicago. It was basically one large room, with the only door the one for the bathroom. The kitchen and the living room were divided only by a counter, and above a closet was a ladder that led to a small platform, which we called our sleeping shelf. We had a mattress on the floor up there, a small set of drawers, and enough room to sit up, but not to stand. I was going to therapy regularly then, reading about anxiety and taking Zoloft for the first time. I practiced breathing deeply and getting enough exercise. And I pretty much had the panic attacks under control, but I still struggled with a free-floating anxious antsiness that would have me walking aimlessly around the apartment sometimes.

One day, when I had wandered around for a bit, lost in my own repetitive brain cycles, and ended up stopped a few feet in front of the ladder, staring at the wooden steps. After a few minutes, MOTH came over and gently teased, "Are you stuck in a hole?" And I kinda was. I shook myself and moved on to whatever it was I'd been about to do, but over the next couple of weeks, I found myself back in that spot over and over again. I don't know why I'd get stuck there, but it was never intentional, it just seemed like a natural stop. It was oddly comforting, this weird space where I would just rest, physically, while trying to slow down my mental gymnastics. Later, we rearranged our furniture and found a second, slightly lesser Hole, between the TV and the bookshelf. Occasionally, MOTH would find himself stuck in The Hole as well, and we both agreed that there was just something about that spot (and neither of us are particularly woo-woo, voodoo people who talk about "energy" much, but there it was).

When we moved out here, we lived in a little white box of an apartment for the first year and a half. It didn't happen immediately, but MOTH and I both agreed that the Hole there was just to the right of the TV stand, almost in front of the bedroom door, facing the kitchen. I didn't get stuck there as much, probably because I was too busy being depressed about leaving my mom and the rest of my family behind, and instead of a fidgety anxiety, I was more overcome by a crushing lethargy that seemed to require endless reruns of Law & Order.

I love our little house. I fell in love with the windows that face the backyard, taking up one whole wall of the living room. The strange built-in cabinets by the fireplace, the falling-down carriage house, the park at the end of the block...all these were the things I obsessed about when we were trying to figure out if we were going to buy the house. And I've certainly had my share of anxiety here. But I haven't found The Hole here yet. Maybe it has to do with having multiple (OK, five) rooms, instead of that open space. Maybe there are smaller Holes, one in each room? Maybe not all dwellings have Holes. It's not like I need one, of course, but...is it weird that I miss having one? A place where I could stop, where I got stopped by something I couldn't explain, without feeling claustrophobic or pressured, but where I just...rested. I sort of want to figure out where it would be...just in case I need it.

Anyone else out there have any idea what I'm talking about?