Let’s Have A Candid Conversation: Anxiety & Me.

It’s worse in the morning.

I’m not entirely sure why, all I know is that there’s this feeling in the pit of my stomach, almost like you’ve disappointed someone without having done anything. I get up, almost reluctantly, and head downstairs for coffee in hopes that caffeine is the solution to whatever is digging itself deeper into the pit. A temporary relief flows over me, like a morning affirmation saying that everything is going to be okay and that I shouldn’t have to worry.

“This is all temporary.”

“You’ve survived 100% of your worst days.”

“Something good is going to happen”

The same three statements are  repeated one right after the next until the words sound so distant and irrelevant that they’re almost foreign to my tongue. I go through the day mostly okay, attempting not to think about anything. In turn, I think about everything.

  • Jobs
  • Friends
  • Relationships
  • Jobs
  • Loans
  • Jobs
  • My lack of a social life compared to those around me who have the means to perpetuate the type of life I wish to lead one day but cannot seem to manage at the present time
  • Jobs

All of these things take the shape of a hanging, nagging finger of obligation that follows me around from day to day. I’d probably be insane if they hadn’t taken the weekends off.

Eventually, I feel the days become shorter and the amount of tasks that I had completed match in length.

Sometimes I never truly know what’s wrong; all I could pinpoint was that I felt like crying. It was like I was writing a book and decided to stop because I was at a loss for words and kept staring at a half empty page.

I’m never sure what clicks in me but, in spite of the emptiness of the page and the hollowness of my gut, I always continue writing.

-X-

As far back as I could remember, anxiety has always been my nemesis. Imagine that, being twenty-two years old with a nemesis. Especially one that isn’t corporeal or technically alive. You see, anxiety isn’t something that’s fun to deal with nor is it something that’s interesting to have. I feel like popular culture tends to portray characters with anxiety as “fidgety” and “dorky,” when in reality it’s something that’s crippling and debilitating. Some shows tends to get it right (and I thank the skies that they’re doing it justice) but there’s still so much left unsaid and unheard from the realities of it. I get it, it’s not exactly marketable, but when you’re in the business of telling the truth, not everything is going to be able to be presented in a nice little bow.

What helps me make it through is the thought that my anxiety is actually a piece of me. It’s a part of me that is controlling and annoying, but it doesn’t define me. It can hold me back, but I know I can make it through. I know I can because there’s still so much out there to see and I want to be able to seek it out.

I still want to grow.

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Let’s Change: The Title.

Since it’s creation back in April, this blog was, has been, and always will be dedicated to taking a different perspective on the world and the situations that occur within it.

However, I feel that my posts have shifted on the weekly from looking at certain societal aspects to personal problems back to societal aspects and then an awkward foray into cutting my own hair. All of that being said I feel that this blog deserves a new title.

*drumroll*

“Let’s Discover”

Isn’t it clever and only slightly different than its original title? It’s brilliant, it’s lazy, it’s perfect. In keeping with the ‘let’s’ aspect of the blog, I feel that making it an active journey of discovery (whether it be discovering more about the world or more about myself) is not only accurate, but much more fun. It also has an added benefit of bringing you, the reader, along for the ride. I hope that my writing and experiences continue to evolve and I hope you all enjoy the ride as it goes on!

Let’s go, we have a lot of ground to cover!

Let’s Explore: Thoughts While Buzzing My Head.

It starts with a whim.

I suppose it just stems from an inability to care and a want to do something so relatively nuts that you, yourself, isn’t sure what the next step is. A piece of you realizes you have the tools and the means to do it, but you sense something is holding you back, a latent fear or the idea that it can all turn out so terribly wrong.

“It’s just hair” was something that went through my mind and to most, cutting your own hair isn’t that big of a deal. It’s a chore and nothing more. But, I typically care about my looks to a certain extent, definitely more than the person sitting next to me in a movie theater, so this was a plunge. The idea that was stopping me, was sight. I saw myself hesitating and saw myself thinking about how bad it’ll turn out.

I say it starts with a whim because it did. A piece of me wanted to do something drastic by myself, in a space that was all my own while I still had it. I guess this was the act that won above all else. So I did what anyone else would do in the event that sight got in the way.

I closed my eyes and pushed.

I opened my eyes and realized how easy it was and that, well, I can’t stop now lest I want to look like someone who should belong in prison. It’s funny though, you never realize how much hair you actually had on top of your head until it’s at your feet on the floor (there was a lot). But as I kept going, the more fun it got. It became a game for the obsessive compulsive, making sure that every bit is neat and every strand is cut. Granted, I’m not the best barber and will have to get fixed tomorrow morning, so I can’t do it all alone.

But, in some awkward attempt to pull out some life lesson from this impulsive, yet mundane act, I will say this: you never really know the outcome of something until you go for it. It all begins with a whim and you just have to let it overtake you and run with it.

Never in the subsequent twenty-two years of living did I ever think I would do this (let alone do this of my own volition and means) and yet I did. While I’m not the biggest fan of this particular result, I do think it’s becoming of me. As a matter of fact, I look pretty damn good. I’ve had worst cuts and hey, it’s just hair. And I’m not regretting one tiny bit of it. Why would I? It’s only temporary.

It’ll grow back.

the face that doesn't regret his decision.

the face that doesn’t regret his decision.