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Anxiety

A Catherine Noon

Growing up in an abusive household is a fucking trip dude…. If you’ve never had someone angrily wash a dish at you or fold a sock in your direction then how are you gonna understand why I get nervous when you quietly do the laundry, or why I ask “are you mad at me?” when you set the bag of groceries down too hard? It’s a totally different way of living and it impacts you long after you’ve left the situation. Response from user “sothisistherapy” This is so important. Response from user “infiniterageguit” Abused kids speak a language you can’t learn. Response from user “kittyinhighheels” I’ll never forget the people who threw a fit about this post because they didn’t understand the anxiety when someone just seems angry while in your proximity.

Anxiety sucks. It tells lies. It feels true. And it is constant.

Why is it there?

That’s a complicated answer. I am not a psychologist, so I can only tell you what I understand about my own anxiety. I am a survivor of child abuse. My mother was mentally ill and my father is a malignant narcissist and psychopath. These aren’t descriptors, in that I am not saying them to be insulting. They are factual statements based on evidence of behavior. While I am not qualified to diagnose either of them, I am able to evaluate their behavior over years of evidence and those two statements fit the evidence.

Because of their prolonged brainwashing, I now struggle with regular, daily existence. I have a hyper-developed sense of danger, sometimes referred to as “hypervigilance,” which is one of the symptoms connected with Post Traumatic Stress. Anxiety is one of the symptoms as well.

The thing about anxiety is that it uses all your brain’s faculties to create scenarios that feel incredibly real, yet aren’t. It can take someone’s failure to smile in line at a Starbucks or in the office break room and build an elaborate scenario about how they hate you, want to get you fired, and are dangerous.

Take the coronavirus situation. I live in Bellevue, Washington State, the epicenter in the United States for the current outbreak. The hospital where the first recorded deaths have occurred (and are still occurring) is five miles from my house. Closer to my office.

So of course, my anxiety brain thinks I have the virus, even though I have no symptoms and to my knowledge, have met no one who has been exposed.

This, then, is a conversation with my anxiety brain:

I HAVE CORONAVIRUS.

No, you don’t. You haven’t met anyone with it.

BUT I COULD HAVE.

Yes. That’s true.

SEE? I HAVE IT!

No dear.

THERE! I SNEEZED! SEE? I HAVE CORONAVIRUS!

It was dust.

YOU CAN GET CORONAVIRUS FROM DUST!

No, you can’t. Dust is dust. Or cat hair. Besides. If you get it, you’ll be fine. You just saw the doctor yesterday.

BUT SHE COULD BE WRONG.

Shoo. Go write something.

WHEN I DIE OF CORONAVIRUS, YOU’LL BE SORRY!

Yes, that’s true. But in the meantime, write some words.

NO!

You could write about coronavirus. Write a romance in a post-apocalyptic world where there’s a continual quarantine.

…

Hello?

I’M NOT TALKING TO YOU. I’M SICK.

Okay, you go be sick. I’LL go write something.

CAN YOU WRITE WHILE YOU’RE SICK?

Yes. It’s a superpower.

 

If you struggle with anxiety or other issues, I urge you to seek help. Psychology Today has a great therapist finder on their website, here.

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