I really hate anxiety sometimes.
Last night, people started posting pictures of an ice skater I like with this girl who is supposedly his former skating partner and girlfriend. Naturally, everyone was having a giant hissy fit and freaking out. Completely overreacting considering it was just a picture and no one knows a thing.
I wasn’t upset. I really wasn’t. I was more concerned that other people were that upset. I found myself reading all over Twitter instead of just quickly checking my favorite hashtags like I’d planned. People were melodramatically announcing they were going into seclusion and never watching them skate again, crazy stuff like that.
So naturally, my anxiety decided that I must feel so much more upset than I do.
Last day of Nanowrimo, Anxiety whispers.
You’ve been feeling really good.
I told you something would happen to ruin it.
You’ll never make it through tomorrow.
See how awake you feel right now? That’s because you’re really upset.
You won’t sleep.
It’s really late. Why aren’t you sleeping?
See, you’re super upset about this.
Everyone’s going to laugh at you because you’re upset.
Just wait until people find out you let a random famous person dating a person you don’t want them to send you spiraling into a mental health crisis.
You’re never going to write all those words tomorrow.
And then when I woke up in the night for a few minutes:
See, you’re so upset you can’t even sleep through the night.
You’ll never fall back asleep.
You’re going to feel terrible in the morning.
You’re so stupid for liking these people so much.
You’ll never enjoy figure skating again.
And again when I woke up this morning:
Don’t feel good, do you? That’s anxiety. Remember anxiety, you hate it. You’re going to feel like that forever now. Or at least so long that it will mess up your life. Everyone’s going to think you’re stupid.
And you will never finish your novel for Nanowrimo. It’s all ruined. The fun is over. You’re a failure and you always wuss out.
I know all these things are a lie. I know it’s just Anxiety messing with my brain. I know it’s my own head spiraling and turning one tiny thing into a huge thing inside of my brain.
This morning I woke up with tingling and cold arms. Which tells me something else that Anxiety doesn’t want me to know: this is merely a poorly timed set of withdrawel symptoms. I lowered my dose last weekend. I was due a day or two of feeling crappy and/or anxious. It has nothing to do with my self worth or how much of a life I have.
It’s just Anxiety on a power trip, poking it’s ugly little head up when it spots a weakness, a crack in the wall I’m building.
But you can’t fool me, Anxiety. You can say all those things, you can make me feel sick and shaky and horrible, but I know you’re wrong. I am not a terrible person. I don’t choose to feel like this.
And I am going to write the hell out of today. When I see the numbers read 50,000 words I am going to remind you just how wrong you were.
Take that, Anxiety.
This was written first thing in the morning on November 30th. I never intended to post it, I just wanted to get some words out of my head so I could get back to my novel. I came across it when re-reading my Nanowrimo novel and was surprised by how coherent and strong my words were.
How could I not share this with the world?
Normally, I would have given myself a day off. But this was the very last day of Nanowrimo and I’d worked SO HARD. I wrote almost 25,000 words in the last three days. I think I had 8,000 I needed for the final day.
I did it. I fought though Anxiety and reached my goal.
And it was glorious.