Courtesies for the Anxious
I would have rathered not reviving this site with an entry like this--i do have two others all ready to be published and just biding their time, after all--but circumstances do have a way of compelling you to get a move on and just get on with the task you were supposed to take care of, like, 433 days ago.
Today at lunch, somebody triggered my anxiety. It had been lying in wait for a good while now, enough for me to briefly get into thinking that I had gotten away from it. It started out inanely enough. I was happily eating my lunch and had decided to slow down so as to not have a crampy stomach. I had propped up my elbow on the table, upon which I then placed my chin. I had a faraway look, content and sedate, slowly chewing on my double ground beef chelo kebab.
My colleague seated across me then addressed our other colleague beside me, and in reference to my position said in the vernacular, "She's going to die soon," matching the statement with a quick motion of his hand mimicking a slice across the throat.
In that instance, I felt the world slow down. My eyes bulged and I could feel the beat of my heart jump. I looked him square in the eye and asked, "What did you say?" He must have sensed something was off because he avoided my stare and instead came up with a lame cover story, mumbling that my gesture meant I was full already, and so wouldn't be able to finish my food.
I just kept staring, partly out of disbelief and partly because I wanted to stare him down enough to put him in a place of discomfort such that he will tell me the truth about what he said. I was daring him to tell it to my face again.
He repeated the gesture a couple more times, lamer than the last, but still each one sent a throbbing knock to my temples. I could feel my lower teeth grinding hard against my TMJ splint. He was quick to dismiss it as just another nonsensical, random burst of humor of his that I unfortunately did not find funny at all at that point in time.
My eyes started to burn, and as I forced myself to act normal by taking another spoonful of my meal, I noticed my hands were starting to shake. It was faint and subtle, not yet noticeable by anyone else but me, but it was there all the same. My heart was starting to race and even as I sat there recognizing the symptoms, I could not do anything to stop it.
I stood up and managed to mumble a rushed, "I'll be back to finish my food." I beelined for the bathroom and locked myself in the middle cubicle. And then I cried. Not because I took particular offense at the "joke", but just because it was what my body needed to do in an attempt to regain control. It was in flight mode, cramped and claustrophobic inside that bathroom stall. The familiar feeling of having an out-of-body experience as I watch myself reel and struggle to fight the racing thoughts in my head, only outrun by the palpitations in my chest, came crashing like a wave. It washed over me, but it was the middle of the work day and there was still half my lunch waiting to be finished outside. It was a sensation I refused to afford.
I had to realign my priorities right then and there, the first order of business being that I normalize my breathing, wash my hands (to wash away the shaking, maybe), clear my face, and walk back out there as if none of these just happened.
I tried to focus on another feeling and found one: anger. It did help keep me preoccupied for a while. I felt angry--that someone would dare disturb my peace like that, so ignorantly too. I was angrier, however, at the fact that I cannot hold this person all that liable because he did not know any better.
He had no clue I had this struggle with anxiety. He did not know that I am an existential wreck and has been suffering from anxiety over my own being's persistence and mortality for the past several years. He had no idea his lame joke would have such an impact on me, would gnaw at me until hours later, and maybe even days or weeks more. No, he did not know any better and for that, it was perhaps not his fault.
Yet there I was, hiding in a bathroom stall in some restaurant, crying quietly and miserably while trying to figure out if I was going to drop dead, instead of finishing my lunch. He did not know, yes, but somehow still has to pay.
And really, that's what makes it all the more frustrating. Heads must roll, I demand it! My personal bubble was burst, exposing me to spatial and existential assaults. There must be someone I can hold responsible for this. Right?
Right. But you see, the more I ruminate on this, the more I see I am the only one I can hold responsible. I don't want to be the only one liable, but as per Circumstance, I apparently do not get a say in the matter.
Some people will probably read this and say that this is all overblown out of proportion. There's such a great degree of awareness, after all. Actually, hyper-awareness about what's going on when you're experiencing anxiety is not always a good thing. It's more debilitating, in fact, knowing very well what is going on and what you ought to do to get out of it, and still somehow not be able to do it. My purpose for sharing what happened today is not to provide an excuse for my sometimes odd behavior--suddenly flaking out, suddenly going on solo trips for mongha mode, suddenly building a wall and shutting everyone out.
It's actually the first time in a long while that I've picked up my virtual pen to exhaustively phenomenologize an experience. Writing it down helped ease the discomfort. I'd like to think I've come back to what has always soothed me best.
My sharing of this experience may be even an expression of my own vindictiveness. I had every reason to be mad at this person for triggering my anxiety after about an entire year of peace and quiet (as much as an anxious person could afford, that is), but still couldn't be fully committed to this righteous anger. Because, goddamn it, he did not know any better.
That put me between a rock and a hard place. And it pisses me off almost just as much as the fact that I will now have to start all the way back to Day 0 of no major anxiety incidents. That sucks major balls, to be honest, this inadvertent preference for clemency.
I can't even guarantee that by tomorrow this disturbance at my core will have dissipated. And still I can’t even convince myself that it was this person’s fault completely.
So this, #3, this here is to let you know.
From this point on, you know better.
jacobvanloon
titsay
dailybridgerton
stormborns
