Dear P,
You and I were the ones who started the "free-floating anxiety" phraseology, right? You know, as a way to differentiate between anxiety over writing a paper or angst about a boy or whatever thing should provoke anxiety and the kind that wraps itself around you for fun. Since I fancy myself to be so complicated and fascinating re. my neuroses, I am not sure what to do with the empirical data that I am not the only one who's a bag of crazy crackers. (see any google search about generalized anxiety disorder)
When I went to work yesterday, I was mid-anxiety attack and here's how it works. I feel almost paralyzed. If need be, I can move around, but when I do, my arms feel really long and cold. So I can't move properly, as you can imagine. When I got to work (don't ask how it is to drive with arms down to your knees), my heart was still racing and I tried to walk off the weird arm problem. Of course, I sedated myself AS PER DOCTOR'S ORDERS but was waiting for the stuff to kick in. In the meantime, I started singing. Like work is an opera. Like this: Do you want some ibuprofen? When did you have your last dose? Oh what a funny little baby with a pointy hat! A pointy Hat! A pointy Hat! Here's the ibuprofen! Is anybody using this computer? Who's on this computer? Why is there so much shit all over the table? Can I throw these Doritos away? Dooooooooritos! All of the heavy in my arms surged into my throat and came out as an opera.
The trouble is that the opera remedy requires an audience and is really a last resort, I think. Right now my whole chest is filled with cold and everything, really EVERY THING is confusing/impossible/painted in strange colors. There are too many things to do and I can't seem to see them clearly. What I mean is that doing the laundry=studying=sending overdue e-mails=eating=showering=fixing my mangled itunes=returning library books=planning a curriculum for work=painting my nails=getting a new s.s. card=brushing the dog=picking up meds... I guess that's plenty of examples. So, it just sounds like a list-- hey, a list! But when everything's the same color, what goes first? Is buying ant traps more or less important than working on a new piece of writing?
Well, I guess this has been the all-about-me show yet again. I'm lonely and scared. In front of me are a thousand ways I could try to handle myself, but they, too, are all the same color. How the hell do you do it?
sigh,
p
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
1 comment:
Cold pea,
For me it manifests as heaviness all over, like I'm filled with sand and have marbles in my mouth when I try to talk. I find it useful to write down lists (not doing anything of the things on the list, mind you) and throw things away. What do I have that I don't need anymore? At Home Depot they have huge trash bags called "Contractor Bags," and they can hold any fucking thing. I fill them up. Mind you, I sometimes regret this later, as a really special item makes its way into the bag, but I'm telling you it's worth its therapeutic weight in gold. Start with the Doritos and just don't stop.
As much as I know my pea, I unfortunately don't know how the access the landscape you see right now in your lovely noggin. I'm sure it's terrifying. Keep in mind, however, that you come by it honestly right now. You're in a cold state, surrounded by very odd people, only a handful of which you like. You're facing down an imposing and impossibly huge professional milestone, without an overabundance of guidance from those who should be guiding you. You have no pea by your side to walk and talk and eat fries w/ fry sauce. I'm thinking of you and sending love, my love. Maybe you and Mindhattan should go to the mall and buy silly trinkets from Hot Topic. Eat a Hot Dog on a Stick for me...
All love always.
Pea.
Post a Comment