This is something I do not understand. I know that I become anxious, but I still hope so much to identify why I get anxious so often. It gets me depressed, and even when I’m not depressed but I’m still anxious, everyone else seems to interpret my anxieties as depression and melancholy.
I remember as a child waking up from dreams about being lost in crowds. In the dream, I’d be afraid (naturally), but when I’d wake up I would still be anxious. I might not have had the exact same dream repetitively, but the same theme recurred more often than I’d like.
I guess the emotion was strong enough to hit me like a train. If I allow myself to speculate, it is ingrained in my mind to be anxious. Though, only particular things make me anxious, as I can assume is the case with everyone.
Something as simple as whether or not to stay with my parents or ride with my grandparents to the same destination caused me great pains in pressured moments. The same principle applies. The less I know, the more anxious I am. Do not give me the sun, unless you give me the sky, also. Do not give me an ocean without its inhabitants. If you preach to me, do not remind me that “you are a mist that appears for a little time and then vanishes.” I am far too aware of that.
Three minutes before an assignment was due for schoolwork, and I was still typing. My anxiety served me then, for sure. But can that be called anxiety? If one is good and the other is bad, if one aids productivity and another diminishes productivity, then what two different words can I use? Anxiety and – what?
My parents have argued in front of me. That made me anxious. As I think about it now, I don’t understand why it makes me anxious. Do I think one would leave the other, leaving me behind, too? I seriously doubt it. So, abandonment isn’t my worry (at least, I hope not). In that case, what worries me then? I can’t figure that out.
I stood right before the first step. Four steps up and I would be on the porch. One step forward and I could knock on the door. The person would come and answer the door, and I would tell them the truth and hope for her mercy. But, I didn’t take a step. I waited, longing for the moment to be over, for the moment after the fact so I could go ahead and deal with the consequences. The steps were sturdy, the porch was immobile as were my feet, but my life was a mist waiting to be carried by the wind. The anxiety came from my chest, but my shoulders felt anxiety’s weight. Only by the choice to cause the anxiety dance did I make my feet move, and the dance partnered with my words. Only after a long dance between mind and words did the moment end, and the consequences came. After that, anxiety looked me straight in the eyes and fell into my arms. I carried her to her bed, and she slept for a while as I cleaned up her mess.
Maybe what makes me anxious isn’t abandonment or the acquiring of something new. Rather, my anxieties come when I perceive a coming loss. In dreaming of the confusion o crowds, I was afraid of losing order. In watching my parents argue, maybe I truly did think that I would lose one or both of them, though I knew not how. As I cannot come to a decision easily, I am anxious over what I might lose if I cannot take both options.
Nora, maybe you can help. I anticipate that you will be able to see inside my mind, and if that is the case then maybe you can help identify what’s actually happening with me.
I am so sorry, though. I don’t want my anxieties to fill you. I wonder if what you will gain from me are mere visuals, not also the feelings I have attached to them. I hope that your feelings will be your own.