the anxiety of having anxiety part deux

6:40 PM

11.15.2017



For the record, and I feel I give this disclaimer too much but people tend to wig, these are just thoughts all coming out in word form from my brain after a pretty ridiculous panic attack I'm still kind of in the middle of. I know life is good, it gets better, blah blah blah, but right now my mind just isn't feelin' that.

Okay, well that's a good start, right? And proves my first point, that sometimes my mind just doesn't believe what's actually rational. Today I am feeling overwhelmed, lonely, near death, murderous, you name it, I'm feeling it. I have no valid reason as to why I feel as shitty as I do but the point is, I do. I guess that's how anxiety works and sometimes you have no legitimate reason to feel like ass, you just do, and that's the only answer you can provide.

Work is normal, but I feel like I have too much to do and not enough time to get everything done and do what is expected of me. No one is on my case, no one is getting upset I'm not doing what's needed, but I put a lot of pressure on myself and always fall short of the expectations I've set. They're unrealistic, plain and simple, but I do it anyway so that when I do actually get everything accomplished I can feel very proud that I did the seemingly unattainable.

I'm struggling with writing and that's my passion. That says something when I can't even write the articles expected of me because I take one look at them and think they're terrible so I start over. Again, this is an unrealistic expectation that I put on myself.

I have people. I have lots of people. People are everywhere. Do I talk to them? Some of them. I'm lazy, I'll admit, and when I get like this I tend to isolate and I'm in full isolation mode now except for those people who absolutely will not let me and force me to be somewhat social. Sometimes I just want to turn my phone off and ignore everything, but you can't do that. Life has to go on and I have to be there and show up for people. I do. I get ready each day and I play the part. I smile and I'm interested, and sometimes it's completely genuine and others I'm just wishing everyone would shut up and leave me alone.

I do this to myself. All of this is done because I do it to myself.

I put myself in situations I know aren't good for me and no matter how I rationalize it, which I do, the outcome will always be the same. Recently I made peace with the fact that the future I had planned is no longer and even if I know that, I still let myself toy with the idea that its possible. Those of you that have tried to bring me back down to earth regarding Red or any subject similar, I KNOW. And I love you and I'm sorry I don't listen. I just know that I won't right now.

I'm going to be an orphan in about a month, did you know that? Not technically, but the majority of the family I speak to on a daily basis will no longer be within reasonable driving distance. I'm losing the last bit of that and I'm scared. I'm a thirty-one-year-old woman and I'm scared of my family being far away. That being said, I have family here. Close family, in fact. I don't make enough of an effort with them and that's my fault and I feel awful about that but again, isolation, and maybe I'm just really embarrassed to be my true self around them because it's been so long. I feel like I'm going to be alone and that I won't survive.

This is what my brain does when I'm in the middle of a spiral and to anyone that reads this I want them to know that they're not alone if they have stupid, irrational bullshit thoughts, too.

I think I'm going to be alone and that my family is leaving me? What am I, twelve?

I feel like no matter how hard I try, the Red cycle will never fucking end for me and I don't know how to go about that, but I still do it, day by day. I guess it gives me purpose?

I feel like I'll never do enough work to be accepted as one of the best employees because for so long work just wasn't enough.

I'll never be a writer, plain and simple. No matter how many books I write or how many essays are published, I'll never be able to call myself a writer.

I really fucking wish I could have a glass of vodka right now.

The truth is, when I have those moments of clarity that sort of seep into the middle of said panic attack I can see that I'll be fine, everything will be fine and in twenty years I'll look back at this and laugh. I'll think to myself "wow, what a time that was" and I'll be right and I'll look at my Pulitzer with that look on my face that Steve Buschemi has in Billy Madison and I will feel alive. And you'll be glad you called that guy.

None of this is real, and I know it.  That's probably what's the most debilitating about this whole thing.  It's not real, but it feels like it's the most real thing ever.

Most of the time I can tell myself to chill the fuck out and I'm able to move on, but every once in a while there is a full-blown life re-evaluation meltdown where I start to plan my escape. "I could move and start over and make up this fantastic past for myself and never be Jordan Raycine Townsend Shutt again and no one would know of my failures or my mistakes. They'll only know what new life I create for myself." "That bathtub sure looks nice, maybe I should permanently make that my home?"

It's ridiculous, I'll tell you what (said in my best Hank Hill voice).

Again, these moments pass, even the super fucking shitty ones and I know things will be okay, but right now, in this moment, I actually feel like it may not be. And that's the loneliest thought a person can have.



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