Edit note 13/9/2016: This is self indulgent, overdramatic, and reading it again, I’m fighting the urge to delete it. But it came out of my anxiety, and it’s the closest I’ve got to writing out what it’s like so I’m keeping it up. Geek Mental Help week 2016 starts 3rd October. For more information see http://geekmentalhelp.com/
I click send on the email, schedule another handful of tweets, reply, like, retweet, cross another thing off the do to list. I stop. The sound of me not typing is deafening. I try not to get in the zone too often, that way lies exhaustion. I enjoy everything I do, but sometimes, when the stars align in the wrong way, it feeds my anxiety instead of lifting me out of it.
I take a deep breath, and another, trying to remember what my Mindfulness coaches told me about the right way to breathe. Breathe with the stomach. Move your diaphragm. Most adults breath too shallowly.
I’m anxious but disconnected. I spend a while trying to figure out why I’m anxious, but it eludes me. I could probably figure it out, but I don’t really want to. I can ignore it if I can’t see it. I consider doing some Mindfulness, or some CBT. I know it will help but it’ll be hard first, and I really don’t want to. I can coast on mostly fine if I ignore it.
I lose myself in podcasts, in the internet, in comics. I avoid talking to people, headphones constantly shoved into my ears. I listen to everything apart from the guided tracks that will force me to slow down and stop and be.
I never know how to deal with this, how to ensure my balancing act doesn’t fall. I don’t even know how to tell people, except in sweeping, self-indulgent and overdramatic blog posts. I’m so used to hiding or hiding it full stop, that saying the words feels like taking a leap each time.
I want to stop the stigma but when it’s at it’s worse I’m just as scared. Scared to find out what is causing this, scared to admit that I don’t know how to stop hiding it. I don’t want to contribute to the silence but I’m not sure I’ve ever told anyone outside a therapist’s office that I’m suffering. The words seem foolish, both overblown and weak. I feel like an idiot before I finish the sentence, and I’m feeling pretty foolish now, re-writing this is the light of day, trying to balance being honest and my need to tell people I’m fine.
Take a deep breath. Put my fingers on the keyboard. Type.