There is a voice inside of you,
That whispers all day long..
But what do you do when you cannot trust your Voice?
For years now, I have been plagued with anxiety-related-memory-malfunctions. I’ll do the thing, and then, very slowly, I’ll start wondering if I actually did the thing. Then, more rapidly: Did I do the thing correctly? Is that how other people do the thing? Did I make an embarrassing mistake? Did I even do it at all?
By the time this all fizzes up and out, I genuinely cannot remember what actually happened. It’s like having somebody pop off the top of your skull and vacuum up its contents.
A perfect example of this in action would be the hundreds of thousands of papers that I handed in throughout the course of my college education. I will preface this by saying that I am an English major, which only makes this more comical. Despite reading, and editing, my own work countless times, memory-malfunction would set in as soon as the piece was transferred from my possession, to that of my professors’. Did I proofread? Did I keep the same tense? Did I use contractions? Did I cite correctly? Did I even meet the task?
Anxiety is frightening, because I have been trained, through experience, not to trust my own memories once the wave crashes.
You see, sunshine is not part of my daily routine.
Most days, I stay in bed because I am afraid of my own shadow. The something dark that follows me, always one step behind.
It usually starts with a trigger, seemingly innocent.
Then comes the hammering in my chest, the queasiness in my stomach, and the rushing of my breath. There’s a definite feeling of loss. Loss of control? Loss of my sanity? I may end up in tears.
But it’s not always wet.
Sometimes it’s obsessive.
And sometimes it’s a silent disintegration.
Placing an order at a restaurant.
The thing is, I am both an extremely irrational, and an extremely logical being, all wrapped up in one.
I am well aware that my reactions are disproportionate to the situation at hand. But that does not mean that I can simply not react.
These feelings are not mine to control, and that is The Hardest Part.
The Hardest Part is trying desperately to explain to someone you love that the way you are acting is a reflex, not a conscious choice.
I never intend to be mean.
I never intend to crawl inside myself without warning, or explanation.
But I do believe in management.
And I do believe in getting better.
Living with an anxiety disorder is my biggest daily challenge.
I’ve always felt somewhat reluctant to put that out there, as if giving an explanation for my ridiculous behavior would somehow make things worse.
But the truth is, I am not a “drama queen”, and this is not a phase.
These feelings have hindered my progress as an Adult Human Being this past year, in ways that I could have never imagined.
I am lagging. (And vomit-scented).
I am lonely. (And trying to put the puzzle together again).
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