Post 4 - Arch Nemesis

A Toast To: Progress?

Song Pairing: The Blue Stones "Come Apart" (from the album, METRO, 2025).

Anxiety is a fucker. It's a thing I wish didn't exist. I am even annoyed with myself for giving it space on this page and more time than I already do. The fucker is with me most days, less so on good ones. With anxiety comes an expertise in the glorious world of mindfucking. Add in living alone and having a whole lot of time to myself, it's fucking wonder how or why I get my ass out of bed everyday.

Definition of anxiety:

1a) apprehensive uneasiness or nervousness usually over an impeding or anticipated misfortune

b) an abnormal and overwhelming sense of apprehension and fear often marked by physical signs (such as tension, sweating, and increased pulse rate), by doubt concern the reality and nature of the threat, and by self-doubt about one's capacity to cope with it

c) mentally distressing concern or interest 

d) a strong desire sometimes mixed with doubt, fear, or uneasiness

(source: Merriam-Webster https://www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/anxiety)  

Well.  Isn't that special. This is the first time I actually looked up the word. The definition matches its shittiness. 

The word anxiety in the 80's and 90's wasn't really a thing the way it is now. My earliest recollection of what was probably anxiety, I identified as fear. I was scared quite a lot growing up. Even in my early twenties I don't remember calling the feelings anxiety. I remember struggling to describe how I was feeling because I didn't have a word for it. I wanna say it wasn't until my early thirties that I understood and took some comfort in knowing what the hell was happening to me. I have had the pleasure of dabbling with anxiety most of my life. It can be extremely powerful and debilitating at times. For me, it comes in different forms from discomfort, anger, or sadness and causes a lot of self doubt that results in my hiding from the world. My anxiety can spiral at a rapid pace into panic, heart palpitations, instantaneous back pain, difficulty breathing and of course the ever pleasurable mindfucking that comes in the aftermath. I try my best to tackle the onset of anxiety with quick actions like taking a break before I lose my shit, turning off my phone, deep breathing, going for a walk, listening to music...I also write. All of these are good distractions. I am fully aware that distraction isn't a great go-to but most times I just need for my body to stop torturing itself as quickly as possible. There is no fail safe method to avoiding anxiety for me, often nothing works but time. Anxiety that brings me to extremes is the worst kind. Tears and rage speed up the process but they also hurt and heal at the same time. When it comes down to it, both leave me with regret and added insecurity. Sometimes it's just the price I pay to alleviate the intensity that takes over my mind and body. I guess it's all about releasing the energy that can build up within seconds oftentimes for no reason. 

The amount of times I have daydreamed about life with less or no anxiety is frequent. I wonder if there are people out there that have never experienced it. Is that a thing? I wouldn't wish anxiety on anyone. I also think about all the hardships in this world and people who are suffering far worse fates and I just accept this as my one small thing I have to carry. I guess I should be grateful for the lighter load? Is that a selfish thing to say? I have always been someone who tries to do better. Nothing bothers me more than a person that complains but never takes action. I tend to agree with Einstein that "doing the same thing over and over again expecting different results" is a waste of time. I watched my mother complain her whole life, never taking any accountably or action to change the situations she put herself in. She blamed everyone but herself and kept waiting for a handsome, rich man to swoop in, sweep her off her feet and fix everything for her. I went with a different approach. That said, I don't seem to be much further ahead of my mother considering the effort I put in. That bothers the fuck out of me. The people closest to me tell me I am nothing like her, but I only see the comparisons. I see many of them. I guess that's why I keep pushing myself. 

I sound bitter. I know that. I understand that mental illness isn't always genetic. Life is hard. Everything can affect mental health from the environment to life experiences, brain chemistry and diet. It's just that striving to do better than the generation before me, gave me hope my path might be different. Maybe it is different. Regardless, it's a heavy weight. Compared to cancer, aneurysms, auto immune diseases, schizophrenia, I get it, trust me, it could be a lot worse. Although, it has been comforting over the years to have friends and family remind me that all problems are valid regardless of their size or circumstance. Comparing them is the pointless part. 

It's been a few consecutive weeks of challenges and rough moments. Work has always been a place of escape for me. I am good at my job, it challenges me, keeps my mind really busy and provides me confidence. The environment is a safe one and the people are great. Unfortunately, a cycle of hardship has hit, tough decisions were made, there have been a lot of changes and there are even more unknowns. So for the past few months I haven't had the escape I need from my job. This only heightens things going on with me personally and at home. Speaking of home, I have been searching for a new one the past month. Canadians know well that the housing market is pretty shittastic, front and centre in the news the past year or so. It also doesn't help that my geo boundaries are tight because a) I want to be close to work and b) I want to be even closer to Boo (see last weeks post Secret Keepers). I have seen about a dozen places in the neighbourhood ranging from deplorable to brand new and guess what? The rent price is the same! I have also come to find out that the people whose job it is to lease these places, apparently don't read emails or take calls. To get a response I have basically resorted to stalker-esque behaviour. It has been quite the eye opening experience. Now in the broad scheme of things finding a new home isn't a big deal right? It will happen, I know it will all work out, always does. My psychic on Insta tells me I'm good. So what's the problem? The problem is the mindfucking going on behind the scenes that has me spiraling in a direction I am constantly fighting against. What's the main thought fucking me up you ask? Well, coming to the realization that I am really in this life, one hundred percent - alone. Again. In the past when I started over, I at minimum, had my brother, my rock. It was still scary but this is uncharted territory for me. I can only rely on myself at a time when I desperately just want to sink in beside someone who eliminates the anxiety by merely being near. This once, I want what my Mom wanted. I want someone to just make it okay but I know I have to do this on my own. This isn't to say I don't have some wonderful people in my life, a few who I know if I asked would show up. One of them would even get on a plane for me. This is just one of those moments where anxiety is high but I can't let it win. I need to embody Rose McGowan's words "being brave doesn't mean you are not scared, it just means you do the scary thing anyways." That was, and is still my main goal for 2026. 

Sitting down today I knew I had to write about anxiety. There was never a time I thought the subject would evade being content for a post. February was filled with constant anxiety and so the subject was most fitting. My purpose for this blog is to explore thoughts, find perspective and to have it be an outlet for healing. Living with an unsettling disorder most of my life, makes it part of who I am whether I like it or not. It's a constant unwelcome sidekick but I don't know life without it. I work with it the best I can but there are still days where it wins and it can be really devastating and difficult to bounce back. It's exhausting to have something always fighting against me. I spoke to my therapist this week about the constant work I do to stay ahead of it but how easily anxiety just swoops in and obliterates my efforts. I told her I constantly feel like I have to start over. Much like the signs in factories being reset to zero "days accident free." She reminded me that just because anxiety hits, or I fall momentarily into past behaviours because of it, doesn't mean I have failed. It doesn't erase the progress I have made, nor does it mean I have to start over. I just have to keep going, reminding myself that everything always works its way out. How it will work out, is something I have no control over. Ironically, I also have no control over my anxiety. Regardless of what I do, it's always going to be with me. It's just another thing I thought by age fifty, I would have figured out. In attempt to turn my anxious lemons into anxiety lemonade, I guess this means I'm really not all alone in this life after all. Thanks fucker.

xo

RR