I'm Not Anxious. I Have Anxiety.
Thanks for asking, but I am not anxious about any specific thing. I don’t have anything specific that is worrying me. There is no real and pressing immanent doom. Not really. I am not anxious. I have anxiety.
Instead, I have a liar that lives in my head. The liar was planted in my head many years ago and is part of my complex post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD).
The liar tells me I am incapable. It tells me I am ugly. It tells me I am not worthwhile, and it’s probably not worth trying. It tells me I am foolish. It tells me my life isn’t worth living. It’s a draining soul-eating voice, and it rules my life sometimes. There are times the liar immobilizes me.
I also have low self-esteem based on failures the liar has caused me and based on my history with the liar. Together, the low esteem and the liar can create a psychic pain that is palpable physically. The pain starts in my chest and travels along my arms. At those times, I sometimes want to die to get rid of the pain. I feel worthless, hopeless and useless. At times like that, the act of holding on and continuing to breathe and even to exist takes all of my will and courage. And I do.
Medications help some people. I don’t take any medications. They don’t work for me. I just hold on and do my best. I really do.
I remember the times I used to have hope, and I hold onto those times. I force myself to do things, to get out of bed, to shave and to shower and to work out. In horrible pain, I push myself to go and write daily. I push myself to go perform comedy at night. Still, the liar is subtle and remains with me
The liar tells me people don’t like me. The liar tells me I am not good enough. It will allow me to make my way, all the way to a comedy performance and then just when I think I am safe, the liar keeps me from entering the establishment to perform. I have taken public transit, which is a soul sucker of another sort, and just as I am about to defeat the liar, it wins!
And yet there are some ways to, if not completely defeat the liar, make his power over me smaller. There are small victories that over time can build into successes.
I work out daily. I walk on the treadmill for a minimum of 45 minutes a day. I watch my diet. I meditate on a regular basis. Meditation has allowed me to separate the voice of the liar from the other voices. I make myself get dressed and leave where I am staying every day. I write this blog.
I keep myself occupied.
I try not to compare myself with others. I have learned comparing who I am with what others have is a way the liar likes to beat me up. I try hard not to do that.
I no longer use alcohol or pot to try and defeat the liar. I was in trouble the first time I had a drink because, for a time, alcohol silenced the liar completely. Pot made me friends with the liar. For a time the liar and I coexisted, I thought happily, with the aid of alcohol and pot. Then the liar became demanding. It wanted more and more and more of me and more and more and more pot and alcohol. And more. There were times I was high all day long. Then, over time, alcohol and pot stopped working. It took more and worked not at all. That’s why, today, I choose, for myself, to stay sober. Some people claim pot helps them and it probably does. For me, I have to stay clean and sober.
I wish I knew where my life was headed. I wish I knew what was going to happen next. Right now, I am on disability and I am technically homeless. I try and stay optimistic. Maybe my writing will work out to be a job of some sort? Maybe I will become well enough to work. Maybe I will be stuck here for the rest of my life. I try to not despair. Despair is what the liar uses to defeat me.
I do what I can, one day at a time.
This post originally appeared on Medium.
If you or someone you know needs help, please visit the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline. You can also reach the Crisis Text Line by texting “START” to 741-741. Head here for a list of crisis centers around the world.
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