So. I have anxiety. The general kind. The kind that sneaks up on you and lays you low. Saying this out loud is difficult for some reason, which is why I didn’t write yesterday. It was all I could think about, but I couldn’t figure out how to put thoughts into typing, nor was I sure I wanted to, so I didn’t say anything.
Sometimes I feel like my anxiety is a sham. It doesn’t stop me from living my every day life and I’m not on anti-depressants, though xanax has gotten me out of a few sticky situations, and there was that one time I had to sit during my wedding so I wouldn’t pass out. But, in general, anxiety is like that one wackadoo uncle who lives in the jungle somewhere… there are large chunks of time that I forget we’re related.
Having anxiety is so en vogue right now. I feel like every funny person, every interesting person, every artist and writer and successful person in Hollywood is plagued with it. The bloggers have depression, the writer’s have anxiety. It’s a trend. It’s an excuse to throw a fit about irrelevant things like the pretzel machine being down at the Target, the inability to find a parking spot during a time crunch that may or may not be overblown, not knowing what to wear to the thing you said you would go to but now suddenly would do anything other than go to that thing especially in those pants and shirt. Que meltdown, que lovely excuse, que frustration and self loathing.
But sometimes it’s not a catastrophic event like the felled pretzel machine. Sometimes life is life and it sneaks up on me. All of the little things build without me even realizing it and my anxiety makes me sick, like I have the flu. It makes me nauseous and woozy, and then that feeling makes me anxious because, oh god what if I’m getting the flu? Which makes me feel even worse.
In college sometimes I would wake up early in the morning, head to the kitchen to make my waffle, and have to high-tail it to my bed so I wouldn’t pass out standing in front of the toaster. On those days I didn’t leave my bed. I wrote and read and studied under the covers. My body was telling me it was just too much, no class for me. But now I can’t just not show up to things, sometimes I have to go anyway, sometimes I have to leave the house even when I’m feeling the blood drain from my face. I have to hope that the chilly air and the brisk walk to my car will pep me up. When every cell in my body is screaming at me to lay down, take deep breaths, check out, sometimes I don’t have the luxury.
Yesterday Kamel told me he wished I could just get over things. Which then, of course, made me mad. I wish I could too, but it’s not as easy as that. I’m not fixated on anything, I’m not upset over anything, I’m plodding along like the rest of us except for that one part of me who isn’t, who is putting on the breaks during inconvenient times, who gives me tunnel vision, makes me feel off balance, sweaty and sick, who frustrates me, and makes life harder for the people around me.
I don’t feel good, and I’m trying to get through it. This morning I woke up feeling better, but my body is unreliable, it tricks me and tells me lies to get me through the things I have to do and then once I’m home it unleashes a wrath of anxiety that makes me feel like crap and wonder if maybe I don’t have anxiety … maybe I have cancer. Yes, let’s worry irrationally about cancer now, that will make me feel so much better. Thankyouverymuch.