Currently, I am focusing on how inane the words I’m typing are. I sat down on Monday to write an article for this week on Odyssey and now that it is Friday night at eight, I am facing a midnight deadline head-on. Even the medication i have been prescribed has not provided any break from the constant unease. I have given into the worries that constantly pester me and have decided to write an article no matter how substandard it may be. Even if the words I write are only meaningful to me, at least there will be some product of my efforts. Sometimes writing with anxiety can be a blessing or a curse; it all depends on the day.
There are days when writing while suffering from anxiety will distract me and allow me to find a blissful solace. The creativity will take control over my brain like an authoritarian dictator and flush out any trace of anxiety. I am thankful for those days because words can spew from my mouth like a graceful waterfall. On the bad days, however, the words from my mouth are less of a waterfall and more of a bog weighed down by muck. I feel like even this article is just word vomit that has tumbled from my mouth to fingers to keyboard to metaphorical paper. I know it will never be good enough to make any good, but at least during this panic attack I can recognize that I am not writing my last words ever.
The truth of the matter is that it is extraordinarily important for myself to realize that this article is not the end of the world. Every little hiccup I experienced while writing, even if it is simple like a typo, seems like a cannon shot from the universe into my brain. My creativity is in the direct line of fire and my skull is not a strong enough barrier. Yet I continue to type. At least if the words will be the end of me, there will be some proof that I have actually tried. I’ve been told I’m melodramatic or that I need to let things go and loosen up; however, it is almost impossible to do so when the inner dialogue of my mind is something out of a Shakespearean tragedy. Sometimes my writing reflects this, which only makes me feel like a mopey Jack Kerouac complaining about minuscule annoyances.
Even though it may come across as mopey, I do believe it is important to document these moments. I am currently shaking and sweating at the thought of actually publishing this. I know this is my anxiety speaking and attempting to bully me into staying subdued. More importantly, i know many others suffer this very same symptom. While it may not be writing that is a task more suited for Hercules than the anxiety sufferer, I know many people are taking the backseat instead of continuing something that can battle the very anxiety they are afraid of.I've skipped many experiences in my life so that I may avoid any possible anxiety attack. Sometimes I wonder what my life may be like if I could forgo the fear and just live. Although it may be painfully uncomfortable and terrifying, this is why I am writing this currently. I do not wish to let anxiety rule my life anymore. I will no longer allow my voice to be blocked by the fear I hold within myself.
