I’m sure everyone that lives with anxiety (read: an anxiety disorder) deals with it differently.
Their anxiety may manifest itself in a multitude of ways. Some people may go completely silent. others may lash out. some may write. some may exercise. some may talk uncontrollably. all and none can occur depending on the person.
rock back and forth.
run my fingers through my hair.
act on impulse.
bounce. back and forth. forth and back.
stimulant to stimulant.
today I had a long episode that lasted quite some time. I’m writing about it now, because I’ve come to the aftermath of the storm: where I realize nothing external has the ability to give me relief.
I knew that. I have known that. in the eye of the storm, i know. before the storm, i know. but after the storm
i feel it. it sinks right into the pit of my stomach. i feel it.
until the next storm.
I know where these feelings are coming from: powerlessness and uncertainty and guilt.
I could write a dissertation on how useless an emotion that guilt *can be, but that doesn’t make it any less real and harmful.
I read somewhere that when we are “out of our alignment, [with our true selves – the highest version of ourselves, our genuine self] this is when we feel anxiety.” So, when we aren’t being authentic, we feel anxiety. To a degree I can see that.
Guilt, shame, powerlessness, uncertainty, etc. are not intrinsic feelings. They’re concocted. They’re feelings, but they aren’t meant to stay: they shouldn’t stay. Yet, here they are.
therein lies another problem for me: why am I letting them stay? why can’t I let the feelings pass as quickly as they come? furthermore, why am I allowing these feelings to transmute into destructive behavior(s)? why can’t I stop?
how is this reality for me?
I have a hard time believing that this is my reality. a very hard time.
“what I’m feeling can’t be real because no one around me understands what I’m feeling, therefore, since there’s no external confirmation or validation of these thoughts and feelings, they cannot be true.” lots of fallacies and echoes of voices that aren’t my own.
I feel what I feel and the shit is isolating because folks can’t relate. because my experiences have been/are invalidated.
This is why it’s perplexing when people ask “why didn’t you ask for help?” when their response to you even clearing your throat to speak is “shut up.” then when you finally can’t hold your breath any longer, you scream and they look at you like you’re ‘crazy.’
I never wanted to be silent. silence is learned and internalized. it’s deep.
I’m trying to break out of my silence. Every keystroke is a breath for me. It takes a while for me to get here, but I’m getting there.