Anx(anax)iety

I’m supposed to wake up early tomorrow, you know, to catch the early worm and all that, yet here I am, not resting at all.

Earlier this evening, even with my (recently increased) dose of Tryptizol, the knots in my stomach and the racing pictures in my mind would not allow me to do much besides slip into a place of discontentment and pain. It’s an awful feeling, anxiety; I would probably rather be depressed. It comes at me in tsunami waves at random intervals throughout the day. You want to burst into tears, you can’t sit still for a second, you feel like your bones are made of gelatine, you can hear your heartbeat in your head and, worst of all, you can’t distract yourself for a minute.

Luckily for me, I have plenty of Xanax. All of the physically bothersome symptoms have subsided as I write this, but my thoughts are still racing, and I’m still struggling to think about anything besides the crippling uneasiness.

When you say that you feel anxious, the usual implication is that you are anticipating the results of something which you cannot predict with complete certainty; whether it’s an upcoming exam, or meeting your girlfriend’s parents, or a confrontation with a close friend after a fight. You just need to know where you stand. Not knowing means not being able to plan around it, and make the most of the situation.

My anxiety is slightly more complicated.

I’m anxious because the man I love, and have been with for the last 16 months, is married. I’m anxious because he might kiss her sometimes. I almost have a panic attack when I see pictures of them smiling together. I’m anxious because my two best friends are married to women who will never accept me into their little group, and so we've separated our social lives to an extent most friends would never have to. I'm anxious because I'm sick of being lonely. I’m anxious because a woman, who I thought would be a good friend to me, did me wrong, and has avoided me ever since. I’m anxious because I’m always on the outside. I’m anxious because I’m never “one of us”. I’m anxious because I don’t want the world to see me as an extra person. I want to be a crucial person. I’m anxious because I’m not sure if I like who I am.

None of these things may sound like reasons to be anxious.... unhappy, maybe, but not anxious. To me, it suddenly makes sense that these situations bring me close to panic attacks. I want to know where I stand. I want to know if my boyfriend loves me, and if he will eventually leave his wife. I want to know if he loves her. I want to know if I will ever fit in with a group of people and truly be one of them. I want to know why my friend did me wrong. I want to know why she won’t talk to me about it. I can’t decide whether I should show up to a social event and feel reminded that I don’t have a group of friends to stick with, or if I should skip the event all together and feel left out once the pictures have been uploaded.

I want to know where I stand.

It’s the anticipation of one day finding out that is killing me. With everything floating up in the air, I have little-to-no security, and no rock to hold on to. That’s what anxiety means to me; a lack of security. What I would give to find security. It’s an awfully difficult feeling to shake... but like I said, I have Xanax.

Lots and lots of Xanax.