anxiety

A look at anxiety in its many forms and manifestations; what is the nature of this specific pattern of extreme fear and worry?

Memorizing the floorplans while everyone else was studying for middle school midterms.
I'm crying so hard that drool is sliding down my lips into a puddle on the floor between my knees. Holding my ears and slowly rocking, my eyes blurred with tears.
By Jaded Savior Blog4 years ago in Psyche
Crisis Runs Cold
Frosted with bitterness, sprinkled with self loathing and ruefully self-aware. Trials, falls, failures. Her righteous rage poised spear-like at whomever dared approach. It would take Spartan strength to hold a gaze so heavy as hers. Why must the torturesome memories of being wanted, happy and safe remain? Those realities far gone from her life, yet unceasingly haunting. Not unlike a long dead lover. Too much a part of her to release, yet now too foreign to remember why she held on. Unwelcome were flashbacks of "the good days." With arachnid swiftness, they were enwebbed and committed back to the furthest recesses of her psyche. Memories are not inherently cruel...except when they are. Frozen snow crunched rudely under her boots. The sound reminiscent of a thoughtless child open-mouth masticating hard candies. The harsh, consistent sound rankling her to the core. Hastening her footsteps, she deftly avoided the filthy roadside slush. Kicking a dirty snow pile and ending up with a used hypodermic needle piercing through her shoe as a kid, well, it taught her not to go bothering what ought not to be bothered. Vividly visible in the winter air, a ragged sigh incurred whimsical winter contemplation. Such a shame this raw December morning couldn't swallow her up; rendering her one with the universe. Birthing her anew, pure, as unsullied snow. Perhaps, mercifully, allowing her to melt away forgotten, upon winter's end. Spring felt more like idealism than renewal, and her current internal season had no end in sight. Abysmal anhedonia buried all joy, all hope. Her soul became Pompeian, blindly choked in post-Vesuvian ash. A lightless, brumal night. Horoscope. The topography, a screaming silence of sunless skies, rabbit holes and slippery slopes. Her pitcher plant mind, patently unwilling to release its prey. Suicidally consuming at its own excruciating leisure, any positivity that dare arise. Growth destroys with a mighty closed fist. It must be so. The seeds of healing require openheartedness. Darkness despises a flourishing flower. Keep pace. Cover your existential disarray. Blend seamlessly into the background. Living is self defense. Self defense is remaining alive. She walked on. Approaching the stark, imposing psychiatric office, icy blasts of wind bit mercilessly at her face. Jaw clenched and body shivering, she wished she'd worn that hideous pink wool scarf. A gift, of course. Bright colors repulsed her, the way fresh carrion might repulse another. The value was in its warmth, paired with a rare sentimentality. It felt like a hug from her late Grandmother every time she wore it. Ugly, still. Breathe. You're late. Oh well. You showed up. Where does your "give a fuck" hide? Glaringly obvious, your giving of fucks is sparse. Hold on tight to that tattered half-a-fuck you have left. Or fuck it, don't. After choosing the furthest fold up metal chair from the other freaks and presiding therapist, the nearly unendurable Dialectical Behavioral Therapy commenced. "Therapist". She scoffed to herself. A nauseatingly typical, neo-hippie, midlife twat who went in big for archetypal blame games and self-help spoon-feeding. First always came her favorite, the "individual check-in." AKA, let's coax out your naked soul for public judgment. A dead rose by any other name. Ghastly, forced socialization with women she'd never see outside this room. Devoid of truth or meaning. Perfunctory. Being in an all women's group would be comforting, they said. It was not. At. All. Breezily, she navigated through the insipid psycho-mockery being inflicted upon her. Controlled tones. Calculatedly vague, monosyllabic replies. "Good." "Fine." "Yes." "No." Appropriately timed affirmative nods. Controlling her micro-expressions for a face that appeared comfortable. People paid less attention that way. Mark that as success. Staring blankly out the single bay window offered no relief. Swirling sparkling fractals, innumerable, drifted earthward from the foreboding gray sky. How might freezing to death feel? In a way, she already knew. Shrugging internally, she'd ceased seeking pity long ago. This wretched hour of
By C.J. Jaye4 years ago in Psyche
Sunday Sessions
I'm constantly anxious these days. I feel like the woman in the photograph. As if I'm staring down the rest of my life in this very moment and I... I have to do something. Right? Well, maybe not. One of the hardest lessons I've learnt (and still continue to learn) is that patience is definitely a virtue. Not just in terms of high moral standards, more-so in terms of me trying to be a better person, each and every day. You simply must be patient in the grind. It's that patience that gives you a chance to think; that pause. That pause to think, then to prioritize and finally make a decision. A lot of our decisions are based too much in anxiety. I get it though. I'm anxious too, all the time. In these moments my mind is like a prison. I second-guess my instincts and the whole decision-making process gets corrupted with fear, with doubt, with anxiety.
By Maco4 years ago in Psyche
Social Anxiety
I have social anxiety and had to deal with it at the age of 5. My parents haven't noticed that I would have it. Until they took me to the doctors. My family doctor had told them that I have social anxiety. They tried different things to help me but it didn't help. I had to deal with my anxiety for 15 years. And I didn't let it stop me from taking over my life. I'm working on it every day.
By Shalini Gounden4 years ago in Psyche
Coping with Founder Anxiety
I’ve already been out this morning for a walk, got my cup of coffee from a local petrol pump (the Costa inside it). Listened to some of a new audible I started this morning ‘Go For No’ by Richard Fenton (decent start and allegory for success in sales) and am now sat down to write.
By Deepak Shukla4 years ago in Psyche
My History of Anxiety, Pt 2
I recently wrote about my history with anxiety, extending all the way back to my childhood and the odd way it manifested itself back then. I'm no expert on actual diagnoses or the labelling of things, but I certainly feel some of my behaviors smacked of OCD and really could have taken over my life. I am not exactly sure how I escaped that fate, since the temptation to focus on them is still there. But I do know of people who suffer from full-blown obsessive thinking and behaviors who literally can't leave the house.
By Mytoxic Family4 years ago in Psyche
A Former Self
I knew I was going to lose my first baby before it happened. I’ve struggled with mental health long enough to be able to tell the difference between anxiety and intuition. Anxiety is an irrational fear. Intuition is instinctive knowing.
By Jessie Waddell4 years ago in Psyche
What Brings Me Anxiety
I have an anxiety disorder. It comes to me with a tight chest and I feel like I lose the ability to take a deep breath. This used to happen to me all the time as a child, but I didn’t know what to call it. I would get scared that I couldn’t breathe properly and it would make me more anxious. As a kid, I had no one to go to with my anxious feelings, but thankfully as an adult, I have learned some tools to help guide me to calm.
By Melissa Steussy4 years ago in Psyche
Dress Rehearsal
You’ve been trying to tell me for some time. Something is off. The instrument is out of tune. Can you not feel it? You’ve asked for my attention and I, like an overwhelmed parent swatting at her child’s grubby hand, said:
By Judy Walker 4 years ago in Psyche
My History of Anxiety
I came across an article lately (not on vocal, btw, so I'm not entirely sure if I can share the link) that talked about the difference between worry and anxiety. Oddly, I had never heard of this distinction. I thought I had read alot about anxiety, and I have definitely seen a good number of therapists in my day. One would think I'd have heard of this distinction before.
By Mytoxic Family4 years ago in Psyche
The Case for Pancakes Over Waffles Kind of People
In the wonderful world of breakfast food lies this age-old debate: which is better, pancakes or waffles? I don't want you to get me wrong. I love them both. Their tastes, their toppings, even their consistencies, and textures. I can't pick a favorite.
By synrie4 years ago in Psyche
Meeting Anxiety
The year was 2002. I was 11 years old at the time when anxiety first reared it's ugly head. West Nile virus was flooding the news. My parents always watched the news. Little did they know, I was being filled with pure fear and panic. Fast forward, and you will find me at my Aunt's house frantically running from one family member to another asking them to feel my pulse and check me for fever. In my mind, I had contracted West Nile Virus. In my mind, I was surely going to die. My parents took me to counseling. I don't recall ever being officially diagnosed either. I would not be diagnosed until around 24 years old.
By kasey gresham4 years ago in Psyche