More about my anxiety bullshit.
This is how it was before I understood that I have an anxiety disorder. Before I understood that my brain is very bad at producing chemicals that help me feel ok. That medication was really a key in feeling ok – better living through chemistry, indeed.
I can’t believe I felt this way for so long before I got help. And I sometimes mourn the person I could’ve been, the things I would’ve done if I’d gotten help sooner.
Because right now, I feel angry and sad that I can’t pursue the life I want because of this anxiety. I get it now, why people talk about what illnesses have “stolen” from them, because I feel that way about my anxiety disorder. I’ve lost all my confidence. I can’t see myself doing the things I want to do: Get a book published. Travel with my family. Just…feel okay. I can’t really think past the next ten minutes and how am I going to get through them?
I can’t enjoy my life right now. And that sucks.
I can’t enjoy my sons. I can take care of them, to be sure. But I cannot fully engage in enjoying watching them. I’m being eaten alive by worry for them, and for myself as a parent. Because my mind is saying, YOU’RE GOING TO FUCK THEM UP SO JUST FORGET ABOUT IT. THEY’RE GOING TO GROW UP AND HATE YOU.
I can’t enjoy my husband. He’s a full-fledged RN now, we have a nice house, we have a nice life. But my mind is saying, WHY WOULD ANYBODY WANT TO BE WITH YOU, YOU ARE A FAT, WEEPY, ANXIOUS MESS??
My creative work is suffering because I’m being eaten from the inside by doubt – Because my mind is saying, WHY ARE YOU TRYING TO WRITE A BOOK? NOBODY WANTS TO READ YOUR STUPID WORDS. Or, NOBODY EVEN CARES WHAT GRAPHIC RECORDING IS SO JUST PACK IT IN. Or, IMPROV COMEDY? MORE LIKE, IMPROV LAME. YOU’RE NOT FUNNY. SIT DOWN.
I can’t enjoy my friends, because my mind is saying, YOU TALK TOO MUCH ABOUT STUPID CRAP, YOU’RE NOT FUNNY OR CHARMING, AND YOU DON’T EVEN HAVE MONEY TO MAKE UP FOR THE NOT CHARMING PART. ALSO, SEE PREVIOUS NOTE ABOUT NOBODY WANTS TO BE AROUND A WEEPY, ANXIOUS MESS.
What might be the worst part is knowing that it’s not even real. It’s like a bunch of fun house mirrors, distorting reality so much that it seems impossibly true. I know it’s an illusion but that doesn’t make it one single bit better, except maybe helping fuel my patience. Because I also know that this won’t be forever. This is just a blip on the radar screen of my life, and when I”m through it, I’ll be back on the path to feeling better.