Thursday, November 8, 2012


While my anxiety can't be directly linked to a lever that can be pulled and shut off, there are most definitely things that trigger it. Arguments are one of those things. I'm all for talking out a problem and trying to fix it but that never works. Ever. The next is being brushed off and left to twist in my own tornado of uncertainty. This has been the pattern for the last 3 years now. Somewhere between..." I refuse to talk/answer you and "okay I'm done playing games"... I enter fight or flight mode, and mentally have everything in my life dismantled as I'm planning to board the next train to "the fuck out of here." This has less to do with the the fight and what it was about, than is has to do with "I can't be in a state of unresolved limbo". I can't. Simple as that. I do things I later regret, I lose what little trust I may have regained, and I sometimes (always) end up boarding that train.

Living with someone who not only doesn't understand my anxiety, but tends to trigger it more times than not, is probably one of THE most unhealthy and distructive things I have ever chosen to do. Aside from the laundry list of things that crushed my trust in first place, that I now relive over and over again, I feel like I don't even have a safe place or a safe person to confide in.

I have one foot off the train and one on. And why am I still here? I'm here because I love this man. I actually, for once in my fucking life, am here purely out of love. I love this man, who will never understand. If I tried to explain it would be useless. In fact, explaining why I need us to resolve things differently would cause another fight. Asking him to listen would result in days of no communication. It would cause defensiveness and resentment. Nothing changes.

I'm at a dead end. He would tell me to stop feeling the way I feel, and I would try and then in the end it would all come full circle again. In taking my own advice from yesterday, it would seem like the only obvious solution is to eliminate this cycle. But if it can't be done together, that means I'd have to do it alone.

I'm at a dead end.

On a positive note, rather than stewing in my own anxiousness and fearing the sound of my own heartbeat, I went shopping. With the help of the Devil, of course, because without him I wouldn't have been able to get out of the car. It's not completely positive because I'm substituting love and happiness with spending, and I also need medication to it. I know this. And I know this has to change.

Hope, who may have to walk this road alone in order to get anywhere.


  1. Ahh. I realized some time ago that my most anxious times have been the times when I am "settled." Meaning, I have a loving relationship, a nice place to live, and things are...well, normal. Anxiety hates normal. Anxiety makes you think normal is dangerous. Anxiety makes you think normal is the new limbo.

    I agree, talking to him (mine or yours) is like backing yourself into a corner. Mine told me recently that he thought, when the anxiety was at its worst, that maybe I was having a nervous breakdown. For a week, I pondered (and worried) whether I could even recover from such an awful comment.

    But talking about your anxiety can be good. According to the Web site, talking about it all of the time can also be bad. Few people will understand. So I'm going to look at it like Fight Club. And what's the first rule about Fight Club?

    What I mean is, the only people who need to know about *my* Fight Club are the ones who are in it. My therapist. My doctor. You. My mom. I give my boyfriend a pass once in a while, but he just doesn't belong.

    On that note, having a boyfriend as anxious as I am (and who understands) would be like boarding a train that you know is going to run off the tracks. I need someone who's not going to buy the lies my anxiety tells me. I have that someone. But expecting him to understand those lies and believe them only leads to disappointment, which only leads to more anxiety. What a friggin' cycle.

  2. I'm usually the one that thinks I'm on the verge of a breakdown. :) Fight Club. How perfect. For so many reasons.

    I should probably find myself a Therapist and a Mom.

    For years I pretty much kept quiet. I skipped school and my parents thought I was being wild and crazy, when in reality I couldn't get out my car and go in there with all "those people". I'd spend the day at the Library instead. I couldn't tell them that, because it did kind of make me sound a little crazy, so I let them believe what they wanted. Now I have a diagnosis and a voice and as much as I don't really want to talk about it, I don't want to have to keep quiet anymore either. Ya know?

    I don't know. It is an endless cylce. And an endless fight. Ugh. It's friday who cares. ;)