Monday, August 7, 2017

Here's to Normal

I had an anxiety attack today.

This is pretty much how it feels.
I don't suffer from chronic anxiety. Fear, yes. Impotent rage, sure. But anxiety - that formless dread about making it through the next five minutes with my identity intact? Fortunately, not my default.

I completely get those who experience either chronic anxiety or regular anxiety attacks. I know how it feels. It sucks. I offer you all the understanding hugs.

Chimp hugs, even, which are nature's best hugs.
I experience anxiety attacks on an infrequent yet fairly regular basis. They seize me for no good reason, embrace me in a death-grip that is neither pleasant nor productive, and linger until I question every ounce of my carefully curated self-worth.

I hate them, you guys. And I so support those of you who are forced to endure them on a more frequent basis than I do.

My anxiety attack began this afternoon. I had lunch with Drummer Boy, but something wasn't right. Some malevolent bastard voice in my head was trying its best to sabotage my mood.

And it worked.

For the rest of the afternoon, I went through the motions of working and interacting with people. But really I spent the whole time silently battling an invisible foe who wanted me to feel scared, insecure, and inept.

Copyright Toby Allen, who nailed it.
I don't know what triggered my anxiety. I don't understand its grip on me.

I do know that I silently trembled the rest of day until I got home to my Precocious Daughter. We went grocery shopping (she drove, of course), and gradually my anxiety lifted.

She has that effect on me.

I already take Prozac to control my wildly unstable brain chemistry.

I can't imagine what it's like to live with anxiety every freaking day.

I hope it doesn't return tomorrow.

I hope it doesn't return to any of you tomorrow.

Here's to feeling good.


  1. Here's to feeling good, and here's hoping you feel better soon.
    And it could be that your anxiety isn't connected to anything. The Anxiety Monster reminds me of something written by a relative of yours, here translated by Edward Kaplan.
    "The difference between the Demon of Socrates and my own is that his would appear to him only to forbid, warn, suggest, and persuade. That poor Socrates had only a prohibitive demon; mine is a great approver, mine is a Demon of action, or Demon of combat."


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