I’ve been writing a lot about anxiety lately. Probably because I’m goddamn anxious.
I’m nearing the second week at my new job. I was able to complete a simple project for the owner of the company today and it felt like a win. Even as I type this, my anxiety is rolling it’s eyes and saying “Really? You’re happy about THAT? That project should have literally taken 10 minutes to complete, not 3 hours.
I’m going to stick with ‘it’s a win’. I was assigned a task. I completed it. It was accurate. It’s a fucking win.
I wish my brain could get that news to my stomach. My stomach is being a dick. It’s still not over the horrendous bug I had two weeks ago. Or maybe it is and the anxiety fairies are in their stomping around and making me feel like shit.
I don’t need to figure out what is triggering this anxiety. I fucking know. It’s not just the new job and feeling insecure about it, it’s also dealing with the social anxiety. It’s all new people, you guys. All new. They’re all quite friendly and want to talk to me. Just walking into the building causes the first bout of flop sweat. It’s no wonder I walk out of there smelling like a yak every day.
Okay, I don’t know if I smell like a yak or not. I have never actually smelled a yak.
Here are the ways I know that it’s going to take a chair and a whip to beat back the anxiety because it’s ready to roar.
Irritability. People in my family would be rolling their eyes right now, but they need to calm the fuck down. I know I tend to err on the side of irritability. I suppose ‘caution’ works better with that phrase, but who gives a fuck? I’m taking it. This isn’t my normal, adorable irritability. I like to think of my irritability as sit-com material. Sure, I’m never going to play the beleaguered mom whose husband married way out of his league. No matter what happens, she makes a nice dinner every night and manages to keep the bathrooms from smelling like a gerbil cage. I could, however, play the sassy neighbor who sails in, says something snarky and hilarious and then pours herself a drink. My irritability level has gone beyond sit-com and is poking around the edges of a David Lynch film.
I also wish horrible, horrible fates on every other driver on the road. Even if they aren’t doing anything to bother me…I wish horrible things upon them because they exist.
Super sonic insomnia. You know that song by Muse? Supermassive Black Hole? I thought they were saying super sonic vagabond. That has nothing to do with insomnia, but I think it would make a good name for a band. I’ve had insomnia for over 10 years now. It’s never good insomnia, but when my anxiety is zinging through me like foil on a filling then it’s super sonic. I have been taking Ambien and it’s been great, but I started feeling foggy during the day. Then I started reading all the scary articles about benzos. I’ve been taking ambien and I take xanax for anxiety. Not every day or anything, but still, that’s a double whammy. So now I can’t sleep and I’m worried that dementia is the monster hiding under my bed. And everyone knows that the under the bed monsters are more active at night. I miss sleep.
Batshit crazy what-ifs. I already have to keep my what iffing in check. When my anxiety hulks out, the what-ifs are insane. What if I forget to pay the electric bill? Wait? What if I can’t pay the electric bill because I lose my new job and can’t get a new one because I have benzo related dementia and then we have to live in a homeless shelter and Joey gets ostracized at school and flunks out and never fulfills his potential?
Here are the facts: My electric bill isn’t late. I have enough money to pay my electric bill. I am not in danger of losing my job. Even if I did lose my job, I am far from unemployable. Joey is fine. That doesn’t mean I’m not completely convinced that I’ve destroyed his life. I destroyed his life because of an electric bill that isn’t late and will be paid when it’s due. Trust me, I make myself dizzy with this thinking all the time.
Those aren’t the only signs, I was just hitting the holy trinity of anxiety. Of course, this is the holy trinity for today. Tomorrow could be completely different anxiety symptoms.
I know this will pass. It always passes. This one is particularly bad, though. I don’t have any sense that it’s the holiday season. I’m in danger of crying against my will. I want to swim in Cabo Wabo, but I can’t. I can’t drink booze at all. My stomach has been so wrecked that even the smell of booze is nauseating. I’m also way more likely to blurt out ridiculous shit. Fortunately, I’ve had no more “Shit Fuck Motherfucker Cocksucker Cunt Dickbag Asshole Fuckstick” moments.
Working out helps. I don’t really want to, but I have been because I know it will help.
I’ve been watching my diet because I know it will help. Even though I really want one of those Oreo/cream cheese thingies.
Now, please excuse me, I worked out before I wrote this, so I have work out sweat on top of anxiety flop sweat. I smell like the yak’s obnoxious, lactose intolerant cousin who was already gassy and then ate a whole cheese ball. I really need a shower.
It just occurred to me that I’ve been writing about being stinky and needing to shower quite a lot. I think my old lady smell might be coming in.
Great. Something else to keep me up tonight.