Tumbleweeds and Anxiety

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It’s that time of day again. The time of which (contingent upon my current state of being) I always either anticipate or dread. I would usually be (checking that no rogue tumbleweed popped my bike tire again) heading out to some unspecified location around town, regardless of any physical or emotional excuses I’m often tempted to entertain. I don’t actually NEED to go anywhere. It’s simply to force myself out of the house.

Oftentimes I’ve run into quirkily intriguing people, peculiar and uncharacteristically affable animals, old friends, and new acquaintances. I’ve seen some pretty damn freaky shit, stuck googly eyes on random traffic signs, or just stopped to help some old lady pick oranges. Other times, when I’m exhausted and stuck in a self-destructive black rut, it can feel as torturous as dragging myself out with a deathly flu.
But I’ve been known to go weeks or months without going out of my way to see humans- a practice of which I honestly don’t mind when I find myself satisfactorily preoccupied.

However, I eventually began to recognize this as extremely unhealthy and broke myself back into seeing people with a month-long social binge. Dates, adventures, or just watching people get intoxicated as Fuck- amusing learning experiences. I learned that I’m not as crazy as I thought, and on a couple counts my parents gained comparative confidence in their having raised me decently- therefore being exonerated of their role in my own idiosyncrasies (though they still often inquire as to if I was actually raised by wolves). So In the respect of social isolation, I suppose I have made strides. But why does this fail to excite me?

But in having made the short story long- I didn’t go anywhere today (even though for once my tire wasn’t flat), again. Instead, I thought it would be more fun to have an anxiety attack- and to the part of me that usually would suggest going anyways: I decided that navigating traffic while in an ALOC wasn’t actually that high on my fabricated TO DO list for the day.

Right now my eyes seem to be registering everything a second too slow, slightly blurring some things, and can’t really focus properly on anything. My mind is distant, foggy, dissociative, and slow as well. Except I often can’t tell if it’s actually processing too slowly or too quickly. It’s as if I’m thinking and focusing on nothing and yet everything, not able to quite latch onto any lucid concept but for the tornado of convoluted ones that are paralyzing me. Then there’s oftentimes the physical paralysis. That’s always fun. Either it takes 10 times the effort to move anything, or I can barely at all. Then I’m not quite sure what I’m looking at because it’s not quite registering and I’m not sure of anything someone may have just said to me.

“Come on, you’ve felt like you were dying countless times before and you’re always fine,” I repeatedly tell myself.
Why does that never help.
I close my eyes, or even blink for a moment and for that split second I can literally see myself- as if I’m standing outside looking myself face-on. I can see my pupils dilating in their frantic dance as the blue fades away to grey. It can often almost feel as though my soul is desperately trying to detach from my body, and my consciousness just ends up in some awful in-between state in which I have no grasp or control in either.

I don’t hyperventilate. I don’t necessarily even have any specific fears or thoughts on my mind- save for trying to figure out why I feel so disembodied. I could close my eyes and fly away to somewhere else and that would be just fine, but that’s not entirely realistic or convenient when I’m trying to DO THINGS, see people, be a semi-functional human being. But then again, maybe that’s just highly over rated anyways.

I’ve been trying some alternative, possibly controversial anxiety/depression treatments, one of which helped the anxiety, and I’ve only dealt with about three anxiety attacks in the space of over 6 months since then. So placebo effect or not, I’ll take it. Considering I used to have them nearly everyday, this is actually huge progress- in addition to my having met and surpassed other little goals I had set for myself. I’ve also taken to practicing meditation, presence, and frankly not giving a shit if something bad does happen to me, which also contributed to significantly reducing these episodes.

Though after thinking I was past such things, one hit me with a compensatory intensity when I had to suddenly withdraw from a medication. The second occurred some months later at the end of a day spent doing yard work out in the Valley. Right now is that third anxiety attack, only a few days later and I have no idea why my get-out-of-the-house streak has consistently crumbled this week. Maybe I’m actually just sick. Maybe I’ve been pushing myself too much and this is my body’s imminent rebellion to finally force me to have these extremely lazy days.

I’ve often wondered if it even is anxiety, depression or something else of an unknown episodic nature- but I suppose that would be quite characteristic of such things. I’ve always wondered what “anxiety” feels like to other people and have received many different accounts of varying intensity. I’ve heard everything from the convincingly familiar “it feels like dying,” to a noncommittal “I just worry about stuff”- But why take pills for conscious thoughts?

I won’t take the medications. They simply mask the problems, making me appear more “stable,”, When in reality I’m just screaming underneath a thicker pane of glass, and muting the controls simply never helped. I often wonder if most conditions for which medication is prescribed as a fix, are even real- or if they’re just the imminently inconvenient inconsistencies in human behavior that make us humans. What if these psych-salvation medications are just a placebo for the facilitation of the difficult changes necessary…?

Ranting Because It’s Friday

       

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           I lied to you again about where I am. I despise lying but I needed to be left alone. I couldn’t tell you that I was actually standing there with a rope in my hands, that I was angry I didn’t have the guts, or that I’m terrified that the afterlife will be worse after all. I don’t tell you just how often this happens or that a part of me feels sure that one day I may never answer your texts at all.

            Now I’m lying here in the pitch black of a nameless place, watching smoke mix against the steady stars of the sky. They seem the only thing that’s consistent and comforting- though I know that even they shall one day fall to the earth. My phone is sounding gratingly but I’ve been ignoring these messages all day.

This is going to pass.

Just like always.

I’ll be back to the tenacious, witty person you somehow have seen me as. Relatively I’m fine- I just can’t think of a positive spin to tell you how I’m doing right now. Most of the time I think it doesn’t matter at all or that you wouldn’t understand anyways. 

But I won’t talk about it.

Not to you.

Not to anyone else.

           I can hardly even stand the subject with myself. So I do everything I can to induce and remain in my notorious state of hypervigilance, so that I can keep moving, striving, pushing, and growing in strength despite the way I actually feel- that I’m dying, emotionally and physically. This chronic pain is probably why people often think me peculiar, or on drugs, because it’s one or the other; it’s anxiety, energy, intensity, and overstimulation- or its depression, lethargy, agitation, distance, and a presence stagnant and oppressive as death.

                 My body feels like a lead weight, aches pervade my muscles and joints, and everything is in a blurry slow motion. My mind is screaming at me to give up this futile, redundancy of motion, and scream along with it. I suppress it again- it will be there later. I can’t tell if I’m actually exhausted or if its just my body trying to somatize again. So I  make the dreaded choice to keep going anyways, usually finding out that it was the latter. So I drink what’s probably my 6th cup of coffee, take another 12 hour “allergy” pill (of which will last me less than 6), and light another cigarette to try to temporarily patch the gaping wound of scalding misery in my mind-  and keep going. I probably haven’t eaten near enough in months, and it’s my own fucking fault, but the anxiety makes it near impossible. I can’t think clearly and feel like I’m just a moment away from losing either lucidity or consciousness. I’m back and forth between the verge of snapping, a nervous breakdown, or both.

But luckily you can’t see that.

And I don’t care.

              I don’t want to be courteous, patient, or considerate. But I smile anyways and try to listen to what you’re saying. I do feel bad when I forget things you tell me, but I’ve also been fighting within myself this entire time. Sometimes I can’t help but wonder just how much of the war that’s destroying me inside, even shows on the outside. People tell me I look normal. They tell me all the time that I seem better and that they’re glad to see me looking so well. That’s good right? Someone can have their peace of mind and leave me the fuck alone.

No one has to know that couldn’t be further from the truth.

It’s too embarrassing.

            I deal with depression, but I never want anyone to know the conscious reasons why. As if I can’t even say it. It’s so difficult for me to even talk at all on any level- to bullshit that I give a shit about anything we’re saying. It’s as if I live in my head and living outside of it is so taxing and stressful. But it’s what I need. So I do it. I swallow everything inside, along with a couple more pills, and I can seem normal, or even hyper and talkative for a couple hours.

Why won’t I-

why haven’t I ever let anyone see what I really am?

What’s the point.

No one has to know these secrets, right?

A Moment’s Thoughts

    

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      Sitting on the ground, gaze fixed down at the concrete. Hands tracing patterns in the water droplets. Focusing  on nothing- but the thoughts only grew increasingly vivid and intrusive- so I let them and finally heard a single facet of why so many (much including myself) struggle with an inescapable, gnawing sense of loneliness inside, despite all company- friend, family, lover.
        
        Connections are typically formed by the ability of our speech and actions- though particularly conversation- But the mind doesn’t necessarily think in words- or at least not that I’ve known or observed. If the mind doesn’t think or feel in definitively recordable language, then we are restricted to attuning only to that which we can concertedly formulate- of which for me personally, ends up feeling like a bucket of water from a lake, or trying to describe that awestruck feeling of smallness and wonder when you see something too beautiful for words. Or akin to attempting to write down that feeling you get when you connect with something higher than our finite self.

      The mind and spirit instantly see and feel what the intellect has to scramble to piece together. Perhaps this is why I find such a disconnect between emotion, words, mind, and intentions- and I end up feeling either cruel, misrepresented, or a half-wit. Ultimately resulting in an “I couldn’t explain why, so I just told the problem to fuck it/themselves,” whilst feeling like I’m drowning in a colorful cacophony of thought and memory. Perhaps this is why music is so pivotal to our existence, and there are countless musicians, writers, artists- tirelessly seeking to speak in the other languages, to convey the unspeakable, to finally fill in parts of the missing spaces in our connections with others.

      Yet in this sometimes torturous disconnect, the human mind is truly incredible- thoughts, images, and feelings flying in every direction, faster than a blink of an eye- most of which so imperceptibly swift that only the subconscious even sees them- but still consequently affecting the physical and the conscious. I once had a teacher who always quoted Carl Jung, ” Until you make the unconscious conscious, it will direct your life and you will call it fate”- Of which it took me quite a while to really begin to understand.
       
       I then realized that I had applied this l concept to not only my relationship with others, but towards God. I am confident that God knows all the inner workings of my heart, soul, and mind- after all, He did create it. He knows why I do or say as I do or don’t, as well as my deepest fears, insecurities, desires, and the reasons behind my reactions. It was when I lived in this truth, believing it with all of my being- it was then that I was never lonely. God is spirit, and spirit can not efficiently be communicated with within the limits of my articulation- the very fear that has kept me from remaining fully engaged in communion with Him. I can speak in spirit and not in word- in “utterance which words cannot express.”

       Perhaps my tears say infinitely more than my words ever will, and my silence can connect on a level deep enough for my satisfaction. Rather than feeling frustrated at my lack of intelligible sentences, I should instead be revealing my soul and pouring out my spirit- for only by spirit can we worship or be reconciled to God, or perhaps anyone else.

February 8th Free Write

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I got up
I laid down
Just watching the cosmos come full round
The days pass consistently
But I wonder how I can feel differently
I should’ve seen this coming
I can lose nothing
But would give everything
Just to be become
Purest energy
I will learn to love purity
And not a veiled corruption
Packaged up so charmingly
I got up
I laid down
Another moon has come and gone
And I’m still lying in this spot
I ponder how I can bring myself to feel again
When feeling seems so lost
And all sounds so dead
Just doing the rounds
Again and again and again
But I got up
And I laid down
Just watching the cosmos
Come full round

February 7th Thoughts

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I can’t go away to lie in sleep
For I long to remain in this moment of clarity
Elevated and aligned
As if awakened for the first time
in this chapter of my life
Eyes opened wide
Perceiving the beauty in the things which once terrified
And all of these empty spaces inside
I’ve evaded for the sake of near- sighted impatience
The songs and signs make so much more sense
In this resolve of an unquantifiable precedence
This limitless moment of euphoric freedom in-between
This first and the next
Breath that I’ll breathe
I can’t stay here forever
But forever will stay within me.

Free Write February 6th

As indescribably wonderful it is to
See
Feel
Hear
Taste
Touch
That one place or presence of Happiness-
I find myself these days thinking it to be a place
I can always go back to Because it’s memory is still as Real
Alive
And just as impacting in my mind’s eye
All I have to do is shut my eyes
And I can
See
Feel
Hear
Be
that place I always long to be
And in this moment
Where time is not passing
I can rewind and it can be
Just as real to me.

Free Write- The Space In-between

I keep on landing in this space in- between
The “good” and the “dark” human beings
We can’t relate and I can’t seem to compensate
For the chasm separating the past from the present me
Seemingly ever in-between
Completed light or darkness- not embodying
As if yin and yang were tameable things
Which one is controlling me
in this moment
Trying to live within yet outside of my icy skin
And most are so quick to cast  judgement and accusation
When all I did to them was listen
You think light to be critical and darkness to be damned
But now I find myself wondering
What did you ever know about it?
I can love or destroy
Or become lost and disoriented
Hot or cold
A most passionate or apathetic soul-
Take all or take none at all.
Maybe I AM doomed
for being unable to exclude that part of myself
But I won’t pretend for you,
Nor for anyone else.