I find myself not being able to deal with anxiety. Everything is completely overwhelming, just laying in bed with the lights off is currently too much to deal with. I find myself not knowing what to do, there is only so much of letting something consume you that you can mentally manage. I find myself crying, not being able to stop the tears and not even knowing why they are happening. The last 48 hours have been me, on hyperanxious all the time. I've had some of the worst panic attacks I've had in a long time and I just feel like I want to scream.
I just want to get things out. I just want to type. I just want to do anything I physically can to distract myself from the growing feeling in my chest that feels like it is about ready to explode.
"We need more words like toothbrush"
I find myself pulling all the books I own off the shelf, opening them onto random pages to try and find the weirdest sentences I physically can. I write them up, I laugh abit then throw them in the pile. I spent half an hour at least doing this, and get a lovely little book pile.
"You know what they say about playing with your sausage too much"
I find it strange that such random quotes can be embedded in books. I find it sort of comforting that a book about suicide and a psychiatric hosptial contains multiple innuendos about dicks. I find it comforting that a book about a girls probably drunk driving suicide can so happily talk about strippers. I find it comforting that books around such upsetting topics can also bring so much laughter too, just as the way that even though life can be painful and sad, that it can bring joy too.
I find it interesting that these books, by different authors about different things can all contain such interesting sentences. How does someone even think about the collaboration of boxes of pineapples and Christmas Eve? How do you type your way to the need of words?
"It's not a question of poetry, but of facts!"
This activity was almost fitting to how I was feeling. When I get anxious, I'll say the most random shit that I can think of, and it will be amongst all the serious, the sad and the drama. I am the book, my expression of anxiety is often these quotes, and yes, this is the worst metaphor you may ever read.
"There is not technically a rule against paying a stripper to dance in front of the school"
My days are often fuelled by anxiety. Anxiety will tell me what I can and can't do. I am almost living in fear that the idea of doing something is too scary that I won't bother to even leave the house. I am constantly telling myself I can't do something, so when it comes to doing it I have to cancel because the idea of it is too overwhelming.
I am a relatively extraverted person. I always have been more outgoing, louder, more over-the-top than alot of people I know. Where I can be shy, when I'm in my comfort zone there is almost no stopping me, I'll be happy, speaking with my body movements, absolutely in my element talking to people and doing things. In many ways, socialising and being loud are the things that energise me, whilst also being the things that cause panic and fear. It is becoming progressively harder to cope with the need to be social but the panic at doing so.
I'm kinda just sat here letting everything I physically can out. I feel like I'm writing this more to tell myself these things and to help myself than I am, instead of trying to write a coherent piece of writing that might help someone else. But I need this, I need to get everything out and this is the place I love to do it. I can usually divert all that energy into something to find myself helpful, but right now I'm typing with very little clue as to what I'm doing.
Sometimes anxiety just wins, today is another one of those days.
"How can our sentient fucking lives revolve around something slugs can do?"
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