Panic at the disco

Anxiety.

For the sake of this entry I will be referring to anxiety as a she. I’d rather label it as something tangible, like a person instead of ‘just’ an emotion that is hell bent on destroying the best parts of who I am.

My house, my rules. So for now, I’m referring to anxiety as a she, and she is a bitch. She shows up at the worst possible times and in the shittiest fucking ways.

Anxiety and I are not friends. In fact I despise everything she is, and everything she bullshits my brain into accepting as truth. You’d think that she’d take the hint and stop showing up. But like clockwork, every single morning, she barrels through my door and demands breakfast like she was invited. She never is.

For clarification purposes let me explain what anxiety IS, and what it is NOT. I am strictly writing about myself- of course other people’s definitions and experiences will vary, but my blog is titled Widow ME This, not Widow THEM this, so there’s that.

Anxiety is NOT just in my head. It produces physical symptoms that are very real. It took me a solid year to stop throwing up during every panic attack. Every. Single.Time. Sound shitty? It is.

Anxiety is NOT something I can talk myself out of or ‘relax’ my way through until it passes. I’ve never set out to go to the grocery store crossing my fingers that I’d end up on the piss smelling floor of a public bathroom- rocking back and forth trying to grasp reality, while a stranger tells me to ‘just relax.’ Well shit the bed Fred, why on earth did I not think of that first?! Relax, my ass.

Anxiety is NOT treatable with positive thinking. The only positive thinking I can muster up in that moment is, ‘I’m positive I’m about to die, without ever meeting Bradley Cooper.’ Just kidding, sort of. If I could prevent panic attacks, or make them better by throwing pretty words at them don’t you think I would? I do not enjoy them. They are terrifying and exhausting.

It takes approximately 3 DAYS for me to physically recover from a panic attack. Your entire body goes into fight or flight and stays that way until the perceived threat subsides. Your brains job is to keep you safe. It doesn’t understand positive affirmations in the middle of a war. You don’t defend yourself in a physical altercation by throwing words of affirmation at your attacker. ‘Hey buddy I know you’re about to kick the shit out of me, but can I suggest that you maybe RELAX instead?’ Sounds ridiculous right? Same concept.

If you are reading this and helping someone you love navigate the hell that is panic and anxiety, please for the love of fuck stop using the words ‘relax, calm down, think positive or mind over matter.’ It’s not helpful and in fact does more damage. You don’t watch someone start to drown and stand on the sidelines telling them all of the things they could have done to prevent it. Sucks for your luck that you’re drowning buddy, have you tried maybe, NOT drowning? Throw them a life raft to help them keep their head above water. They don’t need swimming lessons, they need a lifeguard.

Anxiety is a bitch. If I could kick her ass out of my life permanently, I would.The people closest to me learned very early how to help me navigate this specific circle of hell, and it makes all the difference.

Anxiety is not something people can switch on and off. It’s not an emotion that you can ‘think’ your way out of. Panic disorders do not mean people are weak. If you recognize yourself as the person standing on the sidelines telling someone to ‘just not drown,’ knock your shit off. Please. Life is hard. Life is brutally and significantly more tough for people struggling with trauma and PTSD.

Anxiety is a bitch without people adding to it. Be the lifeguard, throw the life raft.

Until next time,

~A