A Daily Response to the Daily Post’s Daily Prompt: Struggle
I have seen the views for my present story of Bran Windrider, and I am pleasantly surprised to see it is doing a lot better than I expected, and I have you to thank for that. I know I said that I wanted to add to his story each in relation to the prompt for that day and I even had a really good idea for what I could write about in relation to his struggle. Instead, I am going to offload some of my personal troubles onto you, dear reader, for I cannot summon up enough mental energy to engage in a creative endeavour.
So, I have anxiety related…issues. I don’t like calling it a problem, nor do I like calling it a disorder. I can accept the word issue because it doesn’t make me feel like a problem child. If I use the words problem or disorder, then it’s set. I cannot get out of it. Living with anxiety is an ever-present obstacle that I cannot get rid of. No matter how hard I try, no matter what face I put on, I can feel the black pit of dread welling up inside of me and it is something that I have to fight against. If I don’t fight against it, then I honestly don’t know how much longer I will walking on the same earth as you, dear reader.
I know that I don’t have it as bad as most people. I know that I have a better life than the vast majority, and I have my parents and family to thank for that. I don’t know what love is but my desire to live for them is what I think love is. It’s the desire to keep on fighting even when we know that we are lost. But no matter how hard we fight it, it’s victory feels inevitable. It feels like a am at the bottom of an endless pit with no way out but to climb to the top. I know I will get out. I know I will level out. But during those less stable moments, well the only way I can describe it is to make an analogy. Living through an anxiety hike is like constantly being pierced by spears the size of a small person falling from a thousand kilometres away. It’s hit after hit after hit after hit. I want to say that it is monotonous, I want to say that with great mental fortitude, one can get over it; but that just would not be true.
Each spike feels different as it pierces through your flesh. There’s the subtle difference in the texture of the rock face as it glides through your open wound, some are smoother than others, some are shorter but fall faster and more frequently. An observer can tell by my speech. There are two occasions when I develop a stutter. The first is when I am ecstatic, literally overflowing with joy and I j-just can’t get-t the wo-words out. The next. c-c-c. case. is when my. speech. is. fragmen – men – ment. fragmented. Here, each segment is split by the attack from the void.Music helps. Writing helps.
Music helps.Writing helps.
Headphones on and tunes so loud I can no longer hear the voices inside my head.
Focussing my attention on the task at hand allows for me to endure the endless pummeling until my attacker retires for the night.
There is actually one thing that I like about having an anxiety attack, or the place where I was when I started writing this. It’s that in those moments of agony, you are rid of the spiders. I mentioned earlier, dear reader, how living with anxiety is like living with a permanent sense of dread, no? Well, the feeling that I have most of the time, the feeling that is so seldom absent from my being, is of my stomach being nibbled on by spiders. Why spiders? Because the hairy monsters don’t scare me. On the contrary, I think they are kinda cute. And it helps, spiders have that ambiguity about them which allows me to convey the scratching, clawing, biting feeling in my stomach to you, dear reader, while allowing me to think of them in a pleasant manner. Just look at those adorable eyes! All of them, in its own twisted and macabre way, even the dreaded spider can be cute-ified and made to seem not scary. It’s something that I think our society does too much of in this present day and age. And it’s something that I am unable, as yet, to do with anxiety.
As of my writing this line I can say that I feel stable, relatively speaking. I have my two brother’s behind me at my desk, the younger of which is planning our next adventure together. The older one, it’s his birthday, and he’s fiddling o his tablet, by the teapot. Typical brother of mine. On my lap, I have my new plush toy. Its actually a doorstop but his name is Vladimir. He’s the cuddliest doorstop I have ever had the pleasure of meeting.
There was more I had to say, but now that my less than stable moment has passed, provided I don’t encounter something that my mind was unable to anticipate. I find that if I can predict what is most likely to happen, then I can remain in a stable state for longer. Through knowledge, I don’t have to fight as hard as often. Although, arguably, if I were ignorant then I would not even have this issue.
Almost done now.
The other day, my good friend, Fuzzy Wuzzy, said to me that there was little hope for us anymore. That our brains were deteriorating faster and faster each and every day, but at least we are not stupid. My aim in life is to be an educator (because I really despise stupid people), and if I can start that goal by letting you know more about what it feels like to deal with anxiety then I feel as if I have achieved my goal and all the pain I went through in writing this was worth it. Even if it is me you are helping (trust me, I know I’ll call on you in future). But know that I have not covered it all. I don’t think any post could. And any post that tries to was either written by the hand of God or spews false claims about my people, the flounderers.
It brings me some sense of satisfaction when I think about it. I think we are all just nervous wrecks floundering in our own little pools of stress. I’m just weaker than most of you, but still not as bad as some of you. But that doesn’t mean that small things, although they feel overwhelming, will knock us out of action completely. We like it there in our pools of self-destruction. “So”, dear reader, “we beat on, boats against the current, borne ceaselessly into the past.”