It got to the point where I couldn’t leave the house.
A small, round bruise on my leg would send me into unshakeable despair.
“I’m going to die,” I’d repeat to myself.
My suffering boyfriend, the man who didn’t sign up for this, would hold me and remind me, like he always did, that everything was going to be ok. You are ok.
And that’s the kicker, right? You know you are ok, so why are you feeling this way?
Minor panic attacks were hitting two or three times a week, while the major ones, the “PLEASE, SOMEONE TAKE ME TO THE HOSPITAL BECAUSE I’M PROBABLY HAVING A STROKE” moments, were once or twice a month. It made me irritable, it made me flakey and it made me want to retreat from the world.
Throughout my twenties, I was confused, I was sad, I drank, I passive-aggressively texted paramours, I threw myself into my job, I changed who I was for the worst. All of these ugly feelings and character manifestations happened, but there
It’s been a tough week. For everyone.
Ah, fuck it.
It’s not just the week.
Things have been tough for a long time.
Oh, the news.
It has gotten to a point where you just don’t want to read it, see it, hear it.
But you gotta.
You have to stay informed.
You have to know what other people are going through.
See the pain.
The white flags have been thrown up on Facebook statuses.
“The world is too much; I’m getting offline for awhile.”
The heaviness of our hearts is making us sad.
We want to close our eyes.
I watched a comic book blockbuster last weekend, and I started crying afterwards.
I felt physically pummeled by the never-ending action and violence.
The sound of gunfire blanketed my ears.
When I’d look down, images of Gaza projected on the back of my hands.
And it made me think why.
Why do we watch these films of violence? Or in other cases, rape and torture?
With so much hatred festering in the world, why
source: The New Yorker
I often write about my anxiety on this blog.
Maybe you’re sick of reading it, or maybe you can relate. Maybe you’re a hypochondriac like me. If you are, share a soothing comment down below; it’s nice to know I’m not the only nerveball out there.
My anxiety has been ragin’ strong over the past year, and I’m not sure at what point I will finally recognize it’s an issue.
Last night, I was afraid to go to sleep because I thought I wouldn’t wake up. That probably should have tipped me off as a problem, but it didn’t.
Going to the doctor’s office last week because I had a 99.3 temperature and diarrhea and having the nurse tell me that I’ve voluntarily been to their office eight times in six months should have sent off a warning signal in my brain.
But it hasn’t.
I just continue to let my fears and anxieties consume me like a person with tape worm at a buffet. It can put me in a bad mood and sometimes it makes me not want to get out
Something happened to me recently: I became scared of everything.
I write about my anxieties and fears often on this blog and sometimes I write about them in a joking manner, but lately it’s become not as funny as an episode of Two and a Half Men.
No, lately my days are filled with wanting to sleep, crying, panic attacks or near panic attacks, obsessively checking WebMD, not wanting to leave the house, leaving the house, but driving back to make sure that the door is locked a third time, fear of traveling and various physical aches and pains due to all the above.
I’ve never been depressed. Even in my early twenties when I spent many a’ emo nights writing tragic song lyrics with eraseable marker on my mirror, I knew I wasn’t depressed. I knew that I would no longer feel this way one day and that all my mixed emotions were due to not knowing who I was or what I wanted.
And it did all come together.
I figured out what I wanted and I got it.
I went after it and
via Toothpaste for Dinner
So, last Saturday I tried Ambien for the first time, or as what I like to call the “HOLY SHIT! AM I DYING?!?!” pill.
The Ambien was not prescribed to me, but rather to my boyfriend who is in the process of convalescing from arm surgery (hey, don’t judge- you probably would have taken it too if it was in front of you and you had no clue that it is the tears of the Devil). Last weekend he was out of town and due to my anxiety of living in a neighborhood where you often call 911 because someone dressed like a ninja is sitting on your front lawn at 4:30AM, I thought it would be helpful if I took the sleeping aid to prevent any “Is there a ninja currently on my front lawn?!” panic attacks.
I had never taken Ambien before, but some friends are frequent users and I figured, “Hey! What’s the worst that can happen?”
If seeing double-headed clown monsters is the worst than can happen, then I experienced the worst.
Imagine my surprise when I discovered
We took a last minute trip to the Redneck Riviera this weekend.
I didn’t know the Texas Gulf was called this until a social media friend pointed it out… and after I saw all the monster trucks driving down the beach with drunken and toothless young men yelling “Hey, Girl!” out their window.
Say what you will about the Texas Gulf, but the water is so warm you can’t tell when you’re actually peeing on yourself AND they have sea turtles.
SEA TURTLES FOR CRYING OUT LOUD!
We pulled up to Padre Island National Park to learn that sea turtles are common in the area and that biweekly the park releases babies back out into the wild. In fact, there is a 24-hour Hatchling Hotline you can call to see when they’re releasing the cute little babes to their
demise future. Just don’t get drunk and call the hotline expecting to interact with a human who actually cares about your love for baby sea turtles- it’s all automated.
After discovering that sea turtles are common in the area,
As of late, I present a lighter fare to nosh on.
I’ve drifted further and further away from any complex or adverse feelings due to wanting to keep the site a happy playground full of Jeff Goldblum photos, poop jokes and jointly Jeff Goldblum photos containing poop jokes.
This need to check rain clouds at the gate coincides with my own personal progression of keeping my emotions to myself. This isn’t due to any particular person or experience in my life scaring me into not sharing my thoughts (though I have a grandmother who stifles her emotions to the point where they manifest into random outbursts of directionless anger and a former, life-changing boss who often told me I acted too much “like a girl” and that I should stop it), but by the fact that I became sick of hearing myself whine, lament, sob and complain as an early twenty-something and have become increasingly annoyed by others who do the same thing (mostly the whining part). This act of personal defiance is not necessarily
I never thought I would become one of those people.
The kind that forget to breathe, who developed a detestable ability to stare at something with no thought coming to mind.
A person who forgets to see the wonder in the world.
Blaming a career built around the Internet would probably be fair, but it’s my duty to keep it in check.
It’s my job to put up barriers and it’s my job to crawl outside of my head day in and day out.
Yesterday I happened upon an anole.
He surprised me by appearing on my chair.
Lizards are very common in Austin, and we find them in our house quite often. Typically they are no bigger than an inch; their underage bodies a translucent peach, a window to their blood-pumping veins.
However, this one was different.
He was big.
Full grown and curious.
When typically an anole will run with all its might in the opposite direction of my looming presence, this one stayed put. His blinking eyes studying me.
And I studied him.
For a long
“Somebody stabbed me with a screwdriver!”
These words traveled with a ten-person entourage on their way through the ER doors last Friday morning at 2AM.
Geoff and I were at the ER because he had a 103 fever and was coughing up blood.
Not coughing up blood in a Robert Shaw at the end of Jaws when he gets bitten by Jaws kind of way. More of a, Geoff: “Ew, is that blood in my mucus?” and Lauren: “HOLY MOTHER OF GOD! WE’RE TAKING YOU TO THE ER RIGHT NOW! NO TIME FOR PANTS!” kind of way.
You see, Geoff is a wee bit of a hypochondriac (I love you, baby) and I’m a bit of a nervous Jew who is petrified that everyone she loves is dying all of the time.
This combination leads to barely thought-out sprints to the ER, but to our credit, spitting up blood is not something that is normal.
It scared us enough to take him to the ER because that’s the only friggin’ thing open at 2AM.
As though it’s a prerequisite for getting submitted into the ER, we waited our obligatory
Yesterday, I wrote about how I felt like I was cracking up due to my nighttime anxieties. Trying never to give in and dwell on the negative, I decided I needed to do something about it.
So I picked the most cliché thing possible- I tried yoga for the first time!
Cliché or not, it was well worth it.
I’ve owned two yoga mats in my life and have never actually done yoga. Thanks to my friend Jordan, I finally got the push in the tush I needed to go.
We went to the donation-based Black Swan Yoga on 5th Street. The moment I walked in, I was struck at how peaceful and positive the atmosphere was. I’m not sure why this surprised me. It’s not like they play death metal and talk about cutting yourself at yoga. Everyone was so friendly and not in an over-the-top kind of way. Like a pull you in and hug you and make you feel all warm and gushy kind of way.
I sat down and was instantly struck by the fear that my feet might stink, but when I realized that yoga is not about being self-conscious,