Sunday, July 21, 2013

My Dirty Little Secret

I have a new title. 

Unofficial, of course. 

But it’s “Mentor to the Newly Anxious”. 

I mean, there isn’t like a club, or a group.  Well I guess there actually is.. I’ve just never attended formal meetings. 

Anyways, let me go back a bit.

See us, those with the anxious nerves that are palpable in almost any environment, can attest to the fact that we tend to get a little ahead of ourselves. 

My good friend in currently in the grips of newfound anxiety.  I went to visit her yesterday to find her in pajamas, hair disheveled in the most nutty professor type way, in the full blown grips of repeated, and progressive, anxiety attacks.

It’s really awful.  And I know if you have ever spent any time in this state, you are currently nodding your head in agreement, that the very first time this hits you, it is suffocating.

But, I’ve been there.  I’ve been in her pajamas (well not really IN her actual pajamas.  That’s a little kinky and this isn’t THAT kind of blog).

 I’ve sat where she sits contemplating just when I turned from a rational human being into a psycho.

Because, that’s how you feel. 

My favorite part about the journey is the anxiety attacks about having anxiety.  It’s really stupid and as a normal person going through it you can recognize the pure ridiculousness of what is going on. 

Alas… you can not control it and before you know it you are muttering “I’m not crazy” like’s it your god damned mantra.  And let me be the first to tell you, walking around talking aloud saying, “I’m not crazy” is about the fastest way for people to become convinced you are indeed, crazy.

What I told her, like I’m about to tell you all, is that it’s so much more common than you think.  And either I befriend a ton of weirdos, (jury is definitely out on this one), or every smart, passionate, interesting woman I have ever met can you tell you about the time they suffered anxiety.

You see, anxiety does not befall the boring women.  At least in my non-educated, completely unscientific approach.

Anxiety seems to hit the women I most want to talk to.  The most I want to get to know, the most I want to drink too much wine with on a Wednesday afternoon.  It’s the women who are larger than life, intelligent as f*ck , and who can break down some super complicated, really interesting shit. (I went to University to write a sentence as eloquent as that one)

Also, we are not the duds of society, like we all think when this happens to us.  Another hallmark of these kick ass women is that you would never know this cursed mental lapse befalls them.  Forget hyper-ventilating and breathing into bags.  That’s for amateurs and drama queens. 

The girls I know keep on getting crap done while far to close to a psychotic ledge.  These girls are not the type to call it in or stop charging forward.  They are the ones who care the most, aim to be the best, and never give themselves a chance to coast.

So this brings me back to where I started.  I now find myself reassuring the other afflicted girls with these words:

You will get past it.
It will be ok.
You can do this.
You are not a sucky person or a failure.
It get’s better.
If you lose weight during this process you suck.  I’m an emotional eater.

And then I come home, have a minor anxious blip, and confess to my husband that I have myself on high alert for the possibility of anxiety making her heinous reappearance.  After all, there is nothing more anxious than talking to someone about your anxiety.

And then I hear words from my husband that remind me why he is the ying to my yang.  My lyrics to a melody.  My super expensive wine to super expensive cheese.

“You do not have to be the best at everything.  No one said you have to be the best mother, the prettiest, the smartest, the funniest, the most intelligent, the best writer and the best housewife.  You tell yourself that’s what you need to be.  Quit it.  You are the best to us.”

I know.. right.

I’m trying.  Life, after all, is about learning how to take things moment by moment. 

As I’m typing this I am thinking about at least half a dozen household tasks I need to accomplish by bedtime.

Peace girls.. and it does get better.  xo

My way of unwinding.  Good food.. and Maui.  Mental Health dictates I visit once a year.  :)

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