I’ve had a challenging Sunday and it’s not because some asshole neighbour is learning to play the recorder (why are we all forced to play that thing as kids?). I’ve been riddled with anxiety and despair, unable to get out of bed because the thought of doing anything outside of it stresses me the feck out.
The first time I acknowledged my anxiety was when I was in high school and mum took me to the doctors because I felt like I couldn’t get enough air through my windpipes. I like drama so I was hoping it was asthma, but the doctor said it was just anxiety and gave me a lollipop I was far too old for. As I became more worldly I discovered anxiety is a pretty common human condition much like female body hair. Thinking back to my childhood I’m now able to make sense of the unpleasant feeling I described then as “homesickness”, which confused everyone because I was usually tucked up safely in my bed.
I’m a worrier by nature so anxiety is in my veins. Sure on the odd occasion when cocaine sneaks up my nostrils I get a bit of a booster, but I blame the drugs less than I blame my brain for making me feel like I’m forever pending true contentment.
I don’t know if you’ve noticed but without explicitly saying it, I’ve jumped on the ‘love yourself’ bandwagon recently. I’m trying to create a really healthy relationship with myself, incidentally being really prolific about it while I try to inspire everyone else to do the same. Sadly for the mega crush I’m trying to forge on myself, I often feel like a fraud because I find social media a chore and so the way I use it feels forced. Which leads me to question my own authenticity in things I do and say. Which leads me to think everyone is questioning my authenticity in things I do and say. Which leads me to mind-riddling anxiety and a completely wasted Sunday.
I’ve always thought ‘love yourself’ was a stupid term because it repels people who don’t like wishy washy hippy dippy bullshit. A lot of people who the concept could really help miss out on grasping its true meaning because loving yourself sounds about as a cool as a women’s circle. So from here on out I’m going to replace the term love yourself with think you’re a good egg. All love yourself/think you’re a good egg is about is treating YOU with the same care and respect you would a baby. Feed yourself the right foods, give yourself enough sleep, protect yourself from trauma and clean yourself after poos.
Once you get the basics of think you’re a good egg down pat you can move on to advance your skills in different areas. For me, I have a big focus on vulnerability because I believe that if you have nothing to hide you have nothing to fear. But training in vulnerability comes with a helluva lotta not caring what people think tactics. Pressing the share button on some of the stuff I do feels like I’m detonating a bomb. I’ll often hit it and then slam my laptop lid down to stop it exploding in my face. The stupid thing about my anxieties is that every single fear I have about what people think is made up in my head. Very rarely am I given any reason to think anyone thinks ill of me, yet because I share so much about myself I assume loads of people must think I’m self absorbed, opinionated, boring, crass, naive, ignorant, wrong. I’d almost like some negative feedback just so I don’t have to make it up myself.
Despite all the comfort zone blasting stuff that people enjoy, my blog, at its core, is just a place for me to do what I love: write and amuse people. So perhaps the key to keeping my anxiety in check is to concentrate on using my platforms more for myself and less for the feedback. Having said that, I’d love ya’ll to leave more comments so I can have two-way conversations about concepts I discuss instead of just talking about myself to myself on the internet.
Anyway, I’ve gotta get out of bed now. I feel better having got this off my chest. So I’m going to detonate this post and run out of my room.