I quit my job.
In my head that is more ‘FUCKING HELL, I QUIT MY JOB’!
I fell asleep with that thought and woke up with the same thought. My anxiety is cracking it’s knuckles and putting it’s mouth guard in. I can feel it. It’s been waiting for this moment. It’s been waiting to show me what it can do.
I spent most of the morning this morning trying to not puke. Randy is a champ. He understands my anxiety and he never gets annoyed by it (that is very nearly true) and he is always supportive. Which is always true.
Me: I’m going to puke. Seriously. My face is sweating.
Randy: You puke, he dies.
Randy: What’s that from?
Me: Weird Science. Duh.
I don’t know if that little exchange kept me from vomiting, but I didn’t…so I’m going to go ahead and give the credit to John Hughes. Rest his soul.
This is how I deal with anxiety. I find the worst case scenario and work backward from there. Some of these came from twitter. I love their twisted little hearts.
I will fail horribly at this job and be fired and not be able to get a new job. We will lose our house and be forced to live in a refrigerator box. Only I don’t even have a refrigerator box. I don’t know anyone who just bought a new fridge. See? I’m not even homeless yet and I’m failing.
I told my mother this fear and she reminded me that it wouldn’t take much to turn their basement into a perfectly acceptable apartment.
Plus, we have other people who love us and would give us shelter. Or maybe buy a new fridge and give us the box.
I will find out my new employers are zombies and they really did hire me for my brains.
I’ve also succumbed to The Walking Dead and have been on a two week long marathon. This might have something to do with that last one.
I will fail miserably at my new job and and have to return to my old job.
For all that is holy, no. No. I don’t even know how to tuck my tail between my legs.
I will succeed at my new job, but hate it.
I’ve already proven I can live with this one. Next.
No one there will like me. They’ll think I’m weird and that I smell funny. None of the cool kids will let me sit with them at lunch. They’ll shoot spit balls at me and make fun of my shoes.
I am kind of weird, but that’s never stopped people from liking me. I don’t think I smell funny on most days. They probably won’t shoot spit balls because that’s gross and there’s nothing wrong with my goddamn shoes.
Today is the first day of my last three weeks at my current job. It’s going to be a long three weeks.
In the mean time, how about some help from you guys? What are your tricks to kicking back your anxiety when it’s going for the knock out punch? Or this! Give me some more ‘worse case scenarios’ I can work back from.