Am I crazy?
One thing that anxiety does to you is it makes you think you're nuts. I spent most of my childhood thinking I was certifiably insane. Spending most of my youth in therapy made me feel different, weird, like I didn't belong, even though as an adult, I'm glad I went all those years. Other people didn't seem to go into the funks I do or have obsessive thoughts or panic attacks. Other people seemed to enjoy their lives, find socializing easy, never struggle with their self-images. Why not me?
Of course, it's all bullshit. Everyone gets anxious and depressed (albeit not to the extent I do). Everyone feels ugly and worthless at times. And as my mom says, everyone has times in their lives they'd just as soon forget. And socializing isn't easy for everyone. But still, for years I thought it was just me.
When I get anxious as hell, it's like a veil descends over my mind, and I can't think straight to save my life. Sometimes, even now, I will name the song title and artist I'm hearing on the radio to prove to myself I'm not nuts and am still in touch with reality, even though rationally, I know I'm perfectly sane. But it's one of my biggest fears: What if I go crazy? What if I hurt myself or someone else? What if I can't function? What if I wind up in a mental institution? What if people notice I'm spacey? My understanding is that the spaciness is my body's way of protecting itself from threat. But it ain't too convenient when I'm at work.
In her Attacking Anxiety program, Lucinda Bassett talks about how she was cooking dinner for a party and was so spacey from anxiety that she put her cookbook in the fridge. She then couldn't find it and went on a mission to locate it. She was nervous that her friend who was chatting with her in the kitchen while she cooked would notice, but the friend just helped her find it and didn't even mention it. I think it's part of the self-centeredness, the up-in-your-head-ness that having an anxious personality brings with it.
Home Detention Lady talked about this today on her blog, and that's what inspired this post. Rationally, I know I'm not crazy; anxiety is an emotional problem, not a mental one. At the same time, I'd like to struggle less with the 500-pound gorilla in the room that my anxiety and depression problems represent in my life. They're always there, and I always know about them, even when I'm not having an acute episode. And I hate them. At the same time, to end on a positive note, we all have our crosses we have to bear, and at least they are highly treatable.
I promise to write about something more uplifting next time! Thanks, as always, for listening.
Of course, it's all bullshit. Everyone gets anxious and depressed (albeit not to the extent I do). Everyone feels ugly and worthless at times. And as my mom says, everyone has times in their lives they'd just as soon forget. And socializing isn't easy for everyone. But still, for years I thought it was just me.
When I get anxious as hell, it's like a veil descends over my mind, and I can't think straight to save my life. Sometimes, even now, I will name the song title and artist I'm hearing on the radio to prove to myself I'm not nuts and am still in touch with reality, even though rationally, I know I'm perfectly sane. But it's one of my biggest fears: What if I go crazy? What if I hurt myself or someone else? What if I can't function? What if I wind up in a mental institution? What if people notice I'm spacey? My understanding is that the spaciness is my body's way of protecting itself from threat. But it ain't too convenient when I'm at work.
In her Attacking Anxiety program, Lucinda Bassett talks about how she was cooking dinner for a party and was so spacey from anxiety that she put her cookbook in the fridge. She then couldn't find it and went on a mission to locate it. She was nervous that her friend who was chatting with her in the kitchen while she cooked would notice, but the friend just helped her find it and didn't even mention it. I think it's part of the self-centeredness, the up-in-your-head-ness that having an anxious personality brings with it.
Home Detention Lady talked about this today on her blog, and that's what inspired this post. Rationally, I know I'm not crazy; anxiety is an emotional problem, not a mental one. At the same time, I'd like to struggle less with the 500-pound gorilla in the room that my anxiety and depression problems represent in my life. They're always there, and I always know about them, even when I'm not having an acute episode. And I hate them. At the same time, to end on a positive note, we all have our crosses we have to bear, and at least they are highly treatable.
I promise to write about something more uplifting next time! Thanks, as always, for listening.
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