My anxiety is a little shit sometimes. When I say sometimes I mean most of the time. When I mean most of the time I really mean always.
I’m taking lots of medication to keep my panic attacks and general horrendous voices at bay, (which has been working WONDERFULLY!!!) but that doesn’t stop the general anxiety. My mind still has little anxiety freak outs like, “Oh my god you just touched that railing and then scratched your nose you must have worms”, which my boyfriend assures me is just “normal anxiety”. (Alright, sure.)
But its not just “normal anxiety”. Because I know what life is like without my medication, I constantly live in partial fear. No one knows this because I don’t show it, but every time I walk out the door, I am afraid that I will get a panic attack because there is too many people, I’ll be too tired, I’ll find myself trapped at a height, I’ll be waiting for the bus, I’m eating a sandwich, I’m singing, I’m talking to a friend, or I’ll be sitting have a cup of tea because this is when my panic attacks happen: anytime, any where. I am terrified that I’ll be trying to interview a stranger about art when suddenly I will lose my ability to speak and will start to shake. I am scared that I will be walking back to my flat alone when suddenly I will be quivering so hard and my head will be spinning so much that I won’t be able to move.
Keep in mind, I haven’t had a panic attack in nearly a month. (knocks on wood) Yet the fear is still there.
So many therapists and psychiatrists have told me that panic attacks are often caused by fear of having other panic attacks, (which I think is actually kind of a horribly hilarious cycle) but honestly its difficult to control and its limiting. Even when I haven’t had a panic attack in a month, I have to decline going to clubs with my friends because in the past, being in a crowded space like that with a lot of music will give me a panic attack. I haven’t been since because I felt like I ruined the entire dancing experience for the rest of my friends. So of course I live in fear.
I can’t describe how fucking frustrating it is having to constantly live in fear to the point when I’m reluctant to leave my flat. I want to go to night clubs and dance all night and have fun. I want to be able to be comfortable in crowded areas. I want to be able to go out at night and not know what time I’ll get back. I want to be able to sit in a balcony and be okay with it. But I can’t. My anxiety makes me afraid. It tells me that if I get a panic attack, it will ruin everything. My night will be ruined, my friends’ nights will be ruined and all because of me. (I’m trying to train myself not to think these things, and I haven’t as much since taking new meds). Then it tells me how nice things are at the flat or how nice it is going to a museum alone is in comparison to make myself feel better. And that works, until my friends come back from said activities and said they wish I had come but I always have to say,
“I’m sorry, but I don’t think my anxiety can handle that.”
Then we get into the cycle. Ohhh yes. It doesn’t stop here this little shit.
So then I get sad thinking about how limiting my anxiety is and how it stops me from trying things which makes me depressed. Then it takes even more energy to be able to get out of bed, out of my flat, and back into the world. Then I get more anxiety about whether or not I’ll get out of the depressed state. So I must up some scraps of energy lying about, go out, actually have a good time and I think, “Wow! Life is great! I can do anything!” Then I go do something else in which I have to say,
“I’m sorry, but I don’t think my anxiety can handle that.” And it starts again.
Its this that has driven me to thoughts of suicide in the past because its so fucking hard to live life like this.I have to tell every teacher, every superior, every roommate this disability I have and prep them in case something happens. I have to tell them that I have this disability that makes me afraid of everything and sometimes my body freaks out for NO FUCKING REASON.
In the past, I have felt like its living life at half ass because of something that little voice is telling you. Its like someone constantly having you on a leash and telling you, “uh-uh Zoey! You can’t do that!” and then tugging you back even when you can see it. But in my life, if I cut that leash, I cut my life.
I’m on a road where I’m trying to assure myself that taking time for yourself is good because you only have enough spoons to swallow in a day. (I will explain the spoons in another post) Most of the time this works, but again, when the cycle hits, not a whole lot works at all, no matter how much medication I’m on.
Just y’know. In case you were wondering.
Have a day filled with kittens, Okay?