Often, when I’m feeling a strong level of anxiety, I go to my room and attempt to calm down. I’ll take out a book, or listen to music, or write, or just lie there and try and let my mind go flat, and stop it’s repetitive thinking (my therapist’s words for the nasty little mantras that get stuck in my head when i’m feeling a heightened level of anxiety.
one very common cause of these anxiousities (I shan’t call them anxiety attacks, because that name is reserved for something a bit worse) is my parents. I’m a teenager. I do things wrong. I’m a teenager with fairly strict parents. One has a temper that reminds me of the hulk, except he opted for red instead of green, and the other just gets mightily picky and irritable when she’s mad.
Anyways, they love to come up to my room, where I have tried to escape my anxiter (that which causes anxiety), which is usually them. Or a topic they REALLY want to talk about (School, chores, anxiety, therapy, school, how I need to get a hold on my future by way of starting school, why I’m upset, school, this great new Idea they had about school….). When this happens, it’s like, instead of the anxiety particles that are emitted whenever such conversations or actions happen (yes, there are little particles. It’s like a gas. Anxious gas. It’s quite frightening. They’re testing it to see how it’ll work in battle, but so far, it just makes the researchers curl up like little babies and cry themselves to sleep) is trapped inside my little tiny room, and it mostly concentrates itself where I lie, on my bed, which is positioned under a even bigger loft bed. It’s a neat cave effect. Well, except when the anxiety gas gets in there. Then it’s not so neat. Plus, you kind of feel like a cute little bunny trapped in the back of a cave by a very angry bear who wants to talk about your future.
So yeah. I’ve taken to saying, when this happens “Look, I’m feeling really anxious right now, and I’m seriously about to explode or have a panic attack or try and climb out the window or something, so If you could please try this again at a later time, I’d greatly appreciate it.” This works about 68% time, so it’s worth trying. When I try it on dad, it tends to work to begin with, and he rolls his eyes, starts to walk out of my room, and goes, all disappointed and untrusting teenager like, “Yeah. Ok. Whatever. You do what you want. You will anyways.” Thanks for that vote of support, dad. Then, he’ll either leave, or launch into a lecture on how I always do what I want. Right.
Well, today I finally gave in to that anger that pulses through me whenever he acts like that. I was like, “Yeah. Whatever. Because I love anxiety and all that.”
“Well, you do seem to have it whenever you don’t want to talk about something.”
“Yeah. Isn’t it odd how I get all anxious whenever we start talking about things that, you know, make me anxious?”
“Right. But you don’t even try to control it. You could easily just deal with it and be mature and work with the situation.”
“Oh yeah,” I said, seriously pissed off now. “Because I totally CHOOSE to have panic attacks. I find it way more fun than dealing with a simple argument. They’re way fun. I LOVE feeling like I’m having a freaking heart attack, suffocating, and going insane all at once. I love both wanting to die, being afraid I’m actually going to die (or go insane), and being absolutely sure that, yeah, this was how I was going to die. Let me tell you. Better than drugs, that feeling is.” Of course, I wasn’t so cute and clever. IT was more like ‘oh, i profanity love profanity panic attacks you profanity. they’re so profanity fun!’ But he got the message.
My question is, why on earth are my parent’s so sure that I can control anxiety? What, is it like a super power? BEHOLD! ANXIETY GIRL! CAN CROSS THE STREET WITHOUT HAVING A PANIC ATTACK! CAN HAVE MENTAL BREAKDOWNS AT A GIVEN MOMENT!
What a worthless power that is. Yeah, guys. I like anxiety. You caught me. I chose it because guys find it sexy, and it’s totally thrilling feeling all worthless all the time. Great fun.
Oh, and by the way, welcome to the new blog. I’ve decided to become open with my life. First off, this will help me get over the fear that anytime someone hears about my anxiety, they’ll think I’m just some lame emo kid. That’s why I never talk about it. Secondly, I can talk about fun things on here too, like nifty pictures or websites I found, or some amusing story that happened, or what have you. You read this, you get the best and the worst of me. I’ll try not to write when I’m in the depths of despair. I’ll keep my mildly amused cynic tone for as much of this blog’s life as I can.
So, enjoy, my faithful friends.
Oh, and P.S. Upon re-reading this, I find the awkwardness in my use of the term anxious gas. Hehehe. Fart jokes. They never really get old. Or maybe it’s just the people’s brains who enjoy them never really get old.
p.p.s I’m not a fan of it when people I like call my parents and accuse me of accusing them of being abusive on the internet. It makes them all very very mad/dissapointed/impossible to deal with, it makes me look like an ass hat, and it’s not true. I love my parents. I just don’t love their behavior towards me. And to give them credit, this is a pretty impossible thing to understand. I don’t even understand it, and I’m me. But, this is a place for me to vent. So, basically, don’t go narking me out when I haven’t actually done anything. Thanks.
