There are actually other things that happen that I couldn’t even fit on that picture. For example, when I know stuff, but can’t say it. Anxiety eats my words... like, in a meeting or when I meet somebody new. I like to connect with people, but end up standing there in silence because my mind goes blank. (They mustn’t like me because they aren’t talking either) Then I think “Ugh. What a dick. They probably think I’m an asshole” and it all gets worse. Occasionally to counteract the self cruelty, I think to myself, “Does it really matter if they think I’m an asshole?” Sometimes the answer is yes, sometimes (more often lately) no. I’m working on my people pleasing perfectionist issues.
Lately I’ve also been feeling a lot of tension in my jaw. And it flows down into my shoulders and back and seems to put everything out of alignment. Can you relate? Like now, right this moment... I’m filled with tension, and this is my inner monologue.
I just had to pay $630 for gymnastics fees, (I’ve broken my rule to not take money out of savings)
The car needs to be dropped off to get fixed because the battery died and I had to get it jump started by my neighbour, (he’s probably annoyed at me)
My (ex) in laws are coming for dinner and I don’t have groceries. (Or money now since I paid all those gym fees) and what are they gonna wanna talk about?
I’ve been drinking a bit too much. (You need to detox!)
I want to write a book (how could I ever achieve such a thing?)
I need some amazing passive income plan (yeah sure, you have lots of ideas and never succeed).
I want to book a trip overseas (that costs you money and you’re breaking your promise again)
I got really cranky at my kids (oh, again? You’re a terrible parent)
So my skin is prickly, my chest hurts, I feel nauseous, my back hurts, my mind is going crazy and I want to cry. This all probably fuelled and worsened by my murderous raging PMS, and that’s how it escalates.
What do I do? Well, I’ve vowed to write more this year, so I’ll just bloody write about it! It helps. In fact, I’ve found that the more I share, and make weird jokes about my anxiety, the easier it is to manage. Maybe someone might read this and find they relate. Maybe someone will read it and feel that they’re not alone.
(Or maybe it’s just me. I’m probably the only crazy one.)