This is the part of me I hate. This fear, this fucking incessant, stupid, ridiculous, bastard called fear. I would rid myself of it in less than a heartbeat if there was a way. Fucking anxiety. I apologize for the profanity, its unlike me to use that word, it insinuates itself into my personal vernacular every now and then, like right now. I could easily delete it, but that would be like covering up a lie. I thought it, I said it, I wrote it. Now it exists. No perfect, pretty little words can erase it now.
I want to be rid of this tyrannical and irrational nonsense residing deep within me. I’ve battled it, sometimes somewhat successfully since I was a child, obviously I’ve not yet become the victor. Hope, prayer, faith, writing, and Xanax are my weapons of choice in this seemingly never-ending conflict raging inside of me.
In the past I’ve attempted to seek help from outside sources, my resolve to never again do so was cemented the last time I stepped into the office of someone who promised relief. Explaining anxiety to someone who’s never experienced it in it’s most primal form is like trying to relay the pains of labor to someone who has yet to bear a child of their own. They haven’t anything to compare, nothing in their lives have ever come close enough to allow them to grasp the true nature of what you say. No amount of book learning can result in true understanding.
This man, he was an asshat. His professional, expert opinion was simple; I was afraid of people. No you jackhole, I just don’t care much for most of them. My fears are faceless and nameless, there is rarely a reason they come to call, just unwelcome visitors insane with the notion of driving me mad. This morning, they achieved near success as I sat sobbing and shaking, afraid of everything and nothing.
The panic portion of my ordeal has thankfully passed, but I am left with feelings of undeserved shame over what I am still unable to control. I’m angry about it. No, I’m pissed off and I’m weary. I resent being at the mercy of this invisible and unworthy adversary I allow to knock me down.
Another hour or so and the entire episode will be forgotten, as if it never even occurred. The only residual effect now is the knowledge it will return. I try not to think about that part. I try to pretend every one is the last one, but I am not naive enough to allow myself to find much comfort in the thought.
One of these days I hope to strike the final blow . . . If not, at the very least, I will continue to get back up every time it succeeds in bringing me to my knees. I may not win this fight, but I will never, never succumb to it.