One of the most frustrating things about any anxiety-related mental illness is how inconsistent it can become.
I hadn’t felt the uncomfortable tug of panic for a long time but a week ago, exactly, it was poking its ugly head into my Wednesday. It was a day I would be spending at work – and at work I had finally become able to spend the day there alone without those chest tingles anxiety sometimes gives us.
Apart from the stupid, overpowering anxiety, I was feeling very angry and confused. I want to be over it – every fiber of my being wants to be over it – but there it is! Causing me to become an 8 year old for the millionth time in my adult life. It was so bad I was asking my mother to stay all day like I was a while ago.
How can I go from overcoming something to the point where it didn’t bother me at all to all of a sudden back where I was months ago.
The idea confounded me.
There is no rhyme or reason with panic or anxiety. That is what makes me so gosh darn mad about it.
Fast forward to today, and I spent the whole of it completely relaxed and unshakeable at work even though I was nervous about the day. My mother dropped me off and I told her to go home.
If my anxiety was a movie, it would have soooooo many plot holes that after a while the audience would become dazed and disoriented.
I is inconsistency that annoys the heck out of me. I was nervous, as you can imagine, about going to work today but I am just so OVER my anxiety that I just didn’t care. And not, “oh, you can have a panic attack if you want” kind of didn’t care. It was the “sit down and shut the hell up!” kind. I guess you could label it as intolerance against my illness.
I hate you now. Go away.
Or at the very least, do us all a favour and be CONSISTENT!