I never used to think I had anxiety. I would lie awake at night and list all the things I needed to do the next day, the following week, the dawning year, and the unavoidable oncoming of the rest of my life. I would close my eyes and term it ‘planning’. And when the voices grew so loud they leaped out at me like trout, I would put some music on and try to forget I was being thrashed about in the waves.
I always thought anxiety was debilitating; that it stopped you from being able to do things. But to me, anxiety is fuel. It makes me act and overact, it stops me from sitting down. It makes me brush my hair and then brush it again because I loathe standing still. It makes me not waste a second because I know life is not promised.
Lazy was a razor-sharp word when I was growing up. Even though, in many ways, my father is lazy, he hates the behaviour when applied to work. My parents never really had careers, they just worked because they had to; my dad at his job and my mother at her job, in the house and raising my sister and me. If ever I wanted to get out of a chore, I would pretend to be asleep. Because if you’re awake, you’re working. Only unconsciousness could save you.
I remember standing beside my mother in the driveway one morning. The sky was cornflower blue and cloudless. My school skirt hung around my shins. She pointed at the sky and said, ‘look, it’s the moon’, and there it was at the end of her finger. It was round like her face and fading. I don’t know how I remember that. But it’s one of the few moments I can recollect when she wasn’t doing something.
When I wake up in the mornings, I don’t take a breath. I put on my shoes and do whatever my late-night ‘planning’ has set out for me. The other week, my therapist told me I should try and make room for feeling sad. I pinched my face and said, ‘I don’t have time to feel sad.’ She scribbled in her notebook and disappointment washed over her face.
I worry about wasting my life and my potential. I worry about never getting around to doing the things I want to do. I worry about having no sense of purpose. I worry that the voices in my head will multiply every time I close my eyes. I worry about being lazy and laziness being the hand which throttles me. I do believe that being disappointed in yourself is one of the worst feelings in the world. That and feeling guilty. I know that if I don’t work hard, that’s the face I’m staring into.
I cling to the anxiety because it helps me get writing and everything else done. I wonder who I would be without it? I wonder how my hopes and dreams would materialise without the voices? I fear I would simply float on my back and let the current usher me around. I would be of no more use than a fallen leaf. I fight myself on this all the time, to change or not. But I can’t decide because I can’t make time to decide, because I always have something to do first.
There is an old form of torture, where they tie you to a large stick and plant you in the sea. As the tide rises, you drown one mouthful at a time. You cannot stop the water lapping at your chin any more than you can suck the whole ocean in at once. I close my eyes, rest my head on my pillow and wait on the stick. My mind circles endlessly around the next tranche of water. It is not fun. I do feel very tired.
I am a strong-willed and stubborn person. I always think of Jo in Little Women when she argues with her sister, Beth. Beth says that it is God’s will that she must die. ‘God hasn’t met my will yet,’ says Jo. I see myself in very much that same thread. I believe I can will things to the way I want. It is a kind of superpower. It helps me believe that almost anything is possible if I try. I just need to find a better balance, where I know when to apply my will and when not to. I think a lot of the anxiety comes from wanting to do as much as possible and be as much as possible, and the fear of that not happening.
I wish there was a button I could press to turn it on and off like a lightbulb. Unfortunately, my head is not so simple. All I can do is take more time when I feel I can let myself and, that failing, strap my arms down. I hope that over time, doing less will become more natural to me. Maybe one day I’ll trust myself to work hard but not work hard all the time. Maybe I’ll be able to take a whole week off, maybe two, and not feel guilty about it. That is the dream. To have these big projects I love, but to not make myself miserable while I do them. I do hope it is possible for me.
That’s all this time. Leave a comment with your thoughts! Goodbye for now (◕‿◕)♡
@icantstoptalkingblog 
Leave a comment