Tumbleweeds and Anxiety


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…?


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