Category : anxiety

My Kingdom

Tuesday wasn’t a great day for me. The anxiety, depression, and loneliness I wrote about, combined with the stress of some adulty things I need to get done, hit me hard in the morning and I hate a wee freakout. I mood my swung around all day, feeling good about myself, feeling terrible about myself, feeling good about myself, feeling terrible about myself…I was a yo-yo man, always up and down.

And then, that evening, I put on my primary go-to song for bolstering my self-esteem, “The Game” by Echo & the Bunnymen. It’s not a fist-pumping rock anthem, more pop poetry, wide-eyed whimsy and dreamy determination. It’s not even from the Bunnymen’s best (or my favorite) album. (In fact, I’d go so far as saying it’s one of their worst, filled mostly with overproduced songs that aren’t the bands usual caliber. But even their worst album is better than most other bands’ work.) and “The Game” has always been magical to me, especially the lyrics of proud defiance. Listening to it again brought back feelings of confidence, hope, boldness, and a lack of concern for what naysayers tell me. (The biggest naysayer is, of course, my own low self-esteem, and the anxiety and depression that egg it on.) I felt more like the Josh I want to be. I felt like I’d…come home.

I moved a lot growing up. From grade school through high school, I went to eight different schools in six different states and two countries. I moved again to go to college and moved frequently after college. I’ve lived in Kansas City more than any other place, but that’s not all at one time, moving away and coming back a number of times. And even with all the time spent here, I still don’t feel like Kansas City is my home. I don’t feel like any place in the world is my home. There are places I feel particularly comfortable, places I feel drawn to, but there’s no one place I feel I have roots buried in. I’m sure I’m not alone in this, but for me, home is a state of mind, a place within myself where I feel…not just comfortable, but centered, confident, so full of wonder, hope, enthusiasm, and magic I might burst. That’s where my roots are.

Lately I’ve been feeling so lost, overwhelmed by a lot of life stress, summer depression, social anxiety. I’ve looked at photographs of myself when I was younger and wondered what happened to that dream-eyed boy who was still dealing with loads of messy head stuff but still managed to stumble through life with a sense of “this is who I am and I’m good this way.” I miss living in that mental space and I’ve felt cut off from it. But there are songs and albums, movies and TV show episodes, comics and books that help bring me back to there, where I’m walking out in bluer skies. So there’s hope.

There’s always hope.

9-22-2016 |

The Empty Chamber

now life is sweet
and what it brings
I try to take
but loneliness
it wears me out
it lies in wait
— R.E.M., “Leaving New York”

I haven’t been getting out much lately. And by “lately,” I mean for at least the past year. I’ve had good reasons to stay home…well, I’ve had reasons. I’m tired. I don’t have the time. I don’t want to spend the money for gas. I won’t know enough people there. There’s a movie I want to watch…on Netflix…which I can watch any time.

The fun thing about being an extrovert with social anxiety is you need to be around people and interact with them, but you’re also afraid to be around people and interact with them. I’ve been letting my anxiety–and my seasonal depression this summer–overrule my extrovert nature. And while I’ve felt bad about not accepting invitations from friends to social gatherings, I’ve been fine staying at home with my cat.

At least, I thought I was fine.

PLOT TWIST: I haven’t been fine.

A week ago, I had a pretty packed weekend, full of more socializing than I’ve had in…I can’t remember how long. A college friend I hadn’t seen in over 20 years came through town on Friday night and crashed at my place. We stayed up late talking, got up early the next day and talked some more before he got back on the road. He was the first guest I’ve had in a year. Saturday night, I went to a sort of “nerd prom” at a dive karaoke bar with my sister-in-law and a friend. While I got too shy to talk much with other people, I did get dressed up and out of the house (and even sang a song!). One of my best friends was in town that weekend, and on Sunday morning we met for coffee and catching up.

Now we jump ahead to this past weekend. Besides a tabletop game event my library did on Saturday (which was a lot of fun, but I was on the clock, so I don’t count it as socializing), I…watched a lot of Supergirl on Netflix and hung out at my favorite coffee shop. Alone. On Sunday afternoon I got hit with a revelation like a sledgehammer to the chest: I’m lonely. Powerfully lonely. And it’s mostly because I’ve spent over a year isolating myself from all but a few sporadic in-person interactions.

I’ve let my anxiety and depression convince me that I don’t need to spend much time with other people. “You need to have conversations and think out loud? Hey, that’s what the internet is for! You don’t have to leave the house for that! You need physical contact? You’ve got a cat curled up in your lap! What more could you possibly want?” But I do want more. I need more. I need to be in the presence of other people. I need face-to-face conversations. I need touch. I haven’t been getting enough of any of that for a long time and it’s catching up to me, draining me, wearing me down.

I’ve seen a number of creatives give advice along the lines of “If you want to be a writer/painter/musician/whatever, you need to be selfish with your time. Don’t make social engagements. Don’t go to parties. Tell your friends and family you can’t hang out with them. Make time for yourself to be creative.” Which is great advice…unless you’re talking about extroverts. Well, this extrovert, anyway. I’ve written before about how a problem I have with writing is that it’s so often a solitary endeavor, and I’m not a solo operator. I need my band, my time-traveling companions, my S.T.A.R. Labs friends, my Justice League teammates. (Hashtag squadgoals.) Even if I’m writing on my own, avoiding people to have lots of alone time won’t make me more productive, it will just make me more depressed.

I have to stop listening to the lies depression and anxiety tell me. I have to stop letting them use my creative urges as a weapon against me. I have to work on my social connections, and build new ones as well, because I have fights to fight and dances to dance and dreams to dream, and I absolutely cannot do it alone.

9-20-2016 |

Fighting with Style

In his book The Happiness Trap, Russ Harris offers many techniques (based on Acceptance and Commitment Therapy) for dealing with depression- and anxiety-related thoughts that get in the way of you living your life to its fullest. I’ve found ACT to be quite helpful in dealing with the lying, sabotaging voices of anxiety, depression, and low self-esteem. One of Harris’ techniques in particular has been on my mind lately. He suggests that you take the unhelpful, self-destructive, negative thoughts that recur in your head (“Why try to make friends with that person? Nobody really likes you.” “Don’t bother applying for that job. You’d never get it anyway.” “Wow, you’re so fat and ugly! Could anyone actually find you attractive?”) and repeat the thoughts in your head over and over in a silly voice or as a goofy song. Take away the seriousness of the thoughts, turn them upside-down, and take away some of their power over you.

It recently occurred to me that this is a lot like Spider-Man.

One of Spider-Man’s signature traits is his wisecracking, mocking his opponents when they fight. He refuses to be completely serious or take his enemies too seriously. He does this in part to throw his opponents off, to keep them distracted and off-balance. He also does it to keep himself from getting too overwhelmed while fighting. Making fun of your enemy, refusing to give them the respect and seriousness they demand, is a good way of taking away at least some of their power over you. This is how I’ve dealt with bullies in the past, especially ones who were a lot bigger and more physically imposing than me. Instead of just giving myself over to anger and fear in the face of a strong, terrifying antagonist, I would play it cool and laugh at their attempts to intimidate and control me. Of course, even if I was playing it low-key and silly, inside I was furious, terrified, hurt. But not giving the bullies my fear and anger helped me feel better about myself, like I was internally stronger than them.

If I could do this with real people who were threatening me, why can’t I do this with the voices in my head that also try to intimidate, control, and undermine my best intentions? Aren’t one’s negative, self-sabotaging thoughts basically you trying to bully yourself? And aren’t bullies a lot like a hero’s rogues gallery, a collection of enemies that try to pull you down and keep you down? Aren’t I basically fighting Doctor Depression and The Fear-Master and The Insecurity Blanket? They’re strong and they’re sinister and they’ll do anything to get me to lose. They make me furious, terrified, hurt. But one thing I’ve got that they do? A sense of humor. Wit. Absurdity. The problem with taking these villains seriously is it gives them more power and can send me into a downward spiral. “I keep thinking shitty things about myself! Not only are the voices right, I do suck, but I suck even more because I can’t get these mean voices to shut up! I’m so weak!”

Well, maybe I’m not strong enough to silence the negative voices completely. Maybe shutting them down completely isn’t even the point. The point is, I’m strong enough to keep fighting, and I’m clever enough to fight with style, to dance around them, mock them, tease them, take them down a peg or two. “Hey, Doc Depresso! Why so glum, chum? Here, I’ll put a smile on your pretty ugly face!” “Yo, Fear-Master! You sure are good at baiting me! You’re like a…master baiter! BAM!”

Hey, whatever works, right? Excelsior!

9-01-2016 |

Rewriting the Story, Part 2

A little nerd history: Champions, a superhero tabletop role-playing game, was one of the first RPGs to have characters that were created by spending an allotment of points, instead of rolling dice to randomly determine characteristics. You could get more points to spend on your character’s attributes and powers by taking disadvantages. The disadvantages could be things like having a secret identity or being hunted by a particular organization or villain. They could also be physical limitations, like being blind or having a heart condition, or psychological limitations, like having a severe phobia or depression. Disadvantages were only worth points if they caused real complications in the game, so if having a secret identity didn’t really matter to the story, it wasn’t worth any points. But having a physical or mental condition that got in the way of your character living a “normal” life? That would give you points you could spend to have better superpowers.

I’ve written about how growing up with ADHD–and living with cyclothymia and anxiety on top of that–can do a pretty fantastic job of screwing with your self-esteem. I recently had to leave work early because I got hit with a migraine, something I’m prone to (like my brother, my mother, my grandmother)(yay, genetics!). Because I’ve had to miss work due to anxiety attacks and depressive episodes, missing work when I’m physically ill makes me feel guilty. It’s not enough I miss work because I’m crazy, I also have to miss work because I’m frail? As I drove home that day, my sunglasses didn’t just shield my migrainey eyes from the too-bright sun, they hid my tears. I was letting my co-workers down. I was failing everyone. Because my brain and my body are broken.

But what if I’m not broken? What if that’s not my story? What if…?

My girlfriend recently posted this piece by Bunmi Laditan to my Facebook wall. It resonated so strongly with me, I cried reading it. And this part was like a flash of lightning in my mind, illuminating everything I’ve been thinking about lately:

People with mental issues, I’m talking to you. I know we’re in mixed company with the normals, but this for you. What if we’re special? Yes, it hurts. Yes, we get sad. Yes, we’re tired of being in body that tortures us regularly, but what if we’re special? What if there’s a reason?

I don’t want to bring Marvel into this because DC Comics is superior, but what if we’re like X-Men? Take Cyclops. He has to wear those special glasses or he’d burn holes in everything with his laser eyes which must be hard, but he’s also used them to save lives on missions. And Rogue. She hated her ability to absorb powers and longed to be able to do simple things like touch her boyfriend without possibly harming him, but through her interactions with Wolverine and Magneto, we all learned how amazing her gift is. Eventually, she learned how to hone and better control it.

What if we’re like that? What if our brains that cause us so much torment, have hidden potential. What if we’re special?

(For the record, I don’t think DC Comics is superior to Marvel. I’m an equal opportunity fanboy.)

And so. What if my depressive and hypomanic episodes, what if my anxiety and panic attacks, what if my lack of time sense, my distractibility, what if all of those things are side effects of my superpowers? What if I need the points from those disadvantages in order to have my talents and powers as good as they are? What if I would be too much awesome for people to handle if I didn’t also have to deal with my mental health issues?

I know I’m tired of feeling broken, fucked-up, a failure. I know I’m tired of seeing so much of who I am as a negative. I know I’m tired of apologizing for being daydreamy, talkative, socially anxious, loud and dramatic, imaginative and unrealistic, nonlinear, and emotionally sensitive. I know I’m tired of beating myself up for not being “normal” when I’ve never really wanted to be “normal.” I want to be a superhero. And being a superhero means accepting your weaknesses as well as your strengths. It means realizing that your disadvantages just make your advantages more amazing.

I’m ready for my story to be amazing.

8-04-2016 |

Stormy Weather

Unlike your average dog, I love thunderstorms. The dark sky and the dark, dark clouds, the oceanic rain, the flashes and crashes and booms, even the flickering lights inside when the power is disrupted by the storm, it’s all disorder and surprise, the magic of unrestrained chaos. My cat, Oberon, gets wired during storms, racing around the house, darting from window to window to look outside, wide-eyed. That’s how storms make me feel, too.

When storms sweep in inside my head, it’s a different story. The lighting and thunder and torrential rains of anxiety turn me into a dog. I want to curl up and hide, whimper in fear at the unpredictability, the too-bright flashes of light, the cannonade of thunder, the rainy wash of emotions. They’re not fun, they’re not exciting, they’re just terror and sadness, an imminent threat to my well-being. I Can't Keep Calm, I Am a Neff

The weather outside has been hot and dry, but last night, a storm of anxiety flew in on butterfly’s wings. The storm hasn’t gone away yet. I’m managing to appear fairly well (or at least, I think I am), but inside, I’m shaking and on the verge of tears. I felt overloaded with energy yesterday afternoon, so the storm may have built off of that. I’m trying to remind myself that Energy is my gift and that this doesn’t need to be a weakness but a superpower. To that end, I’ve decided to try dealing with this anxiety differently than I usually do, which is to curl up on the sofa with my cat and watch TV and read and cry, waiting for the storm to pass. (more…)

6-22-2016 |

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