The face of anxiety is varied.
It is a fear of failure. It is a fear of success. It is a fear of never going anywhere. It is a fear of going somewhere and then fucking it up, but good. It is a fear of answering the phone. Fear of not answering it. Fear of rejection. Fear of offending someone, somehow. Fear of looking stupid. Fear of everything, everything, everything.
There are days, even as I look somewhat desperately for a job, that it is hard for me to even listen to voicemails left on my phone.
It is debilitating and exhausting. It makes everyday tasks seem insurmountable. Piles of clean laundry, waiting to be folded become monuments to Everything That is Wrong With Me™.
On the upside, I know most of it is in my head.
The downside is, of course, that often that doesn’t fucking matter. I can be perfectly aware that my thoughts aren’t right/normal/whatever and it doesn’t.fucking.matter. I will still sit in dread, petrified by the thoughts circulating in my brain like meth-addled goldfish.
Every now and again, I get a bright glimmer of me (as I used to be) flickering through my body. I’ll sit up straighter, start making plans and lists, think about story ideas, put away a few pieces of laundry. All too soon, the energy and oomph fade.
It’s disheartening, y’all.
It’s disheartening as fuck.
All I can do is to keep choogling. I’m too stubborn to just lay down and give up.
I started that ^^ post about three days ago. It took me that long to finish writing (*counts*) 270 or so words. Good grief.
Since then, my mood has crept back up to a more even keel and I’ve even (GASP!) put away a lot of laundry. Mt. Clean is no more. I feel like I should plant a fucking flag or something. I’m still climbing and there is still work to do. But, I am also not hiding in a corner and praying that it all overlooks me.
I’ll take it.
Peace and flag-planting on YOUR deepest, darkest night terrors m’friends.