Essays, Etc.

Anxiety, Etc. (Extreme Trigger Warning)

Hey, guys. WooWoo again. A very good friend of mine asked me to post this anonymously for them, and post I will. They requested they go by the name Templeton. You may have noticed I put "Extreme Trigger Warning" in the title. This is because that this essay is, quite simply, the darkest and most brutal I've put up yet. But that doesn't mean it's not heartfelt, emotional, and amazing; it is. It's just much more dark and harsh. Please enjoy.

I have yet to go to the doctor and be told that I have an anxiety disorder. I have been told that I have depression, and no shit; I did try to kill myself after all. But even after I answered that stupid fucking anxiety questionare bullshit they gave me, I still haven't been called or confronted and said to "Hey, guess what, you're even MORE fucked up!"

I know I have anxiety of a sort, though. What else can explain my shaking hands, my panic attacks, my rocking back and forth? What else explains my fear of so many things, solitude being one of them?

I, of course, and not going to be one of those idiots that self-diagnoses themselves. But I know I have some sort of anxiety ISSUE, at the very least, an issue which, as of late, has gotten worse. And people have started to notice.

Great. Just one more thing to make me a freak.

See, I have this calming mechanism... and it consists of rocking back and forth, back and forth. I think I picked it up from my best friend; she has GAD and she rocks to calm herself down. We've swapped theories, and she thinks I developed my rocking habit from seeing her do it, and then duplicating her action to see if it works.

I don't know, we're not professionals.

I tap. I rock back and forth, sometimes violently, depending on how anxious I am.

I'm always anxious.

I beat patterns into my thighs, I wear bracelets so I can snap them on my skin. I fidget a lot. I hum a lot. I shake my leg a lot.

Like I said, I'm always anxious.

All of this annoying bullshit... It makes me a freak, and I fucking HATE it. 

Some nights I break out into anxiety attacks, too. That's even MORE fun. As if I wasn't paranoid that no one likes me, or afraid that everyone's going to hate me and leave, or that I'll die alone, or that something bad is going to happen to someone around me, or that I'm the only existing person and that everyone else is just a figment of my imagination (etcetera, etcetera, etcetera...), I ALSO have to worry about breaking down crying about the STUPIDEST fucking thing that suddenly becomes important when my mind decides "Hey, you know what sounds fun? Freaking out about every fucking thing in the universe!"

And what's even BETTER about this little "anxiety issue", it's gotten a whole lot worse recently. Now, not only do I have near-nightly meltdowns, I ALSO have daytime meltdowns, too! I went to a debate tournament a couple weeks ago, and while I LOVE public speaking, it's also a very big fear of mine.

My whole life is an oxymoron.

Anyway, the entire time I wasn't talking, I was either curled in the corner, in my chair shaking my leg/rocking, and/or imagining all the things that could happen to my friends, family, so on and so forth. And when I WAS talking, I rushed through my words and swallowed sentences and just generally talkedsofastthatnoonecouldunderstandme.

Last night was a night when basically, I felt like the sky was falling and I was collapsing upon myself, and I just wanted to die so bad.

Fun fact, I still want to die. But that's for another ramble.

And the best part? I talked to one girl, she said she couldn't help, told me to talk to my boyfriend cause he's better at handling this shit. He didn't respond to my texts, and I basically cried myself to sleep.

In short, I felt like I was being a burden to her, being a burden to him, being a burden to the whole entire world...

In simplified terms, I was worried I was being a burden to everyone, and I was scared to be alone.

Being alone is my biggest fear. I hate being by myself. It means my mind can open up and wander and think and make me a giant fucking mess about the STUPIDEST shit ever. If I'm not talking to someone, I freak. I mean, I freak, regardless. But I get so scared of being alone and having an anxiety attack that I have an anxiety attack about not wanting an anxiety attack.

Like I said, my life is one giant oxymoron.

What's worse than my anxiety, though, is how I cope with it.

See, some people pop pills and sing songs and talk to people. But not me. Actually, that's part of why I'm so scared to be alone. Not just because my mind falls apart, like it was a priceless vase and I just fucking dropped it. 

No, it's because of what I do to myself because of my anxiety attacks. 

It's a very unhealthy habit, really, and I know it is, too. But in some weird, fucked up way, it helps me. Even with the guilt I feel afterwards and every time I catch sight of it... it still helps.

I've tried stopping for the sake of others. I've tried stopping for myself. I've tried hiding the silver bastards but I always find them, and if I go too long without this habit then I have an anxiety attack about THAT, too.

Sometimes, like when I write about how fucked up I am, I realize just how fucked up I am and the giant pit of self-loathing grows and swallows me whole.

Anyway, I've teased you all enough.

So, just HOW do I cope with my anxiety?

To be honest, I almost feel uncomfortable saying it because I feel SO GUILTY that I do it but you know... It needs to be said. 

And besides, you don't know me. Only Woowoo does, and I'd rather keep it that way.

And keep in mind when I tell you this that I'm not encouraging you to do this, or putting this out in the open. I'm using the anonymity that Woowoo has granted me to talk about my biggest issue at the present, and seeing as how writing this entire essay has helped me, well...

Fuck it, might as well say the whole truth, eh?

If you haven't put two and two together... I cope with my anxiety with razors. I will NOT say the last time I cut myself... but I do it. That's how I cope. And I've tried to stop, I really have... but I can't.

The funny thing is... with my anxiety attacks, I have this obsession with trying to destroy myself. And with those slivers of metal, I get just that. It's fucked up, I know. But usually... after that, I kinda just wind down and fall asleep. 

With my anxiety attacks, I have the need to rip myself apart. With my razors, I fulfill that wish in a physical way.

Sometimes I really hate myself...

I'm still waiting for the doctors to tell me what it is I have. That'd be nice to know, at least. But nope, nothing mentioned on that stupid questionare I took.

And you know what, that's okay.

I've basically become so used to saying that everything is okay. I've lied through my teeth to keep this smile on... Because among all of my many, many irrational fears, one of my main ones is being a burden. So I don't talk to anyone, and I suffer through every attack by myself. 

Thank you for letting me share this, Woowoo... and I hope someone out there could relate to this.

Thanks for reading this word vomit.