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The old lady had once broached the topic of anxiety, during a group discussion about mental health. She had said that she felt nervous constantly for several weeks when her twin grandchildren were in ICU. She said that if anxiety felt like that, she felt terribly sorry for people with anxiety. She feels ok now, and it never came back. I feel like I’m falling down the stairs.
When you’re walking down a stairway and you put your foot wrong, and grab onto the railing to stop yourself from falling. Falling. That’s how I feel. That’s how I’ve felt almost every moment of every day for a while now. I couldn’t say how long. That’s my default state at the moment. Trying not to fall down the stairs. Everyone’s looking at me.
When you just did something stupid or terrible, and everyone stops what they’re doing and turns and looks at you. Forever. They’re all mad. They don’t like you. They interrogate you as to why you’re even here. Who invited you? Who said you could come here and do the stupid thing? We don’t like it when you come here and do the stupid thing, and tomorrow we’re all going to gather without you and talk about how we didn’t like it that you came here and did the stupid thing. (It's all in my head. Heads are the worst). I have forgotten how to behave.
When you’re in a new or awkward situation and you don’t know how to behave. Everything’s different. Everything’s new. Except that it’s the same each time, and you just forget how you’re supposed to interact with people or how to stand or sit or how to drink from a glass. I can’t decide what I want to drink.
When you have several options and you can’t decide between any of them, and it’s not because they’re all good or there are pros and cons. It’s because... it’s because every option is wrong. Also not choosing one of the options is wrong. No matter what you choose, it will be wrong. Incorrect. You will regret this decision. I think I’ll have a cup of coffee.
Sometimes I need coffee just to be able to sit on the couch and exist. Make the coffee. Hold the coffee. Drink the coffee. Finish the coffee. What now? There are things I’m supposed to be doing, but I can’t do them. I can imagine myself doing the things, but I can’t actually do the things. I can’t even start the things. There are things I’d like to do, but I feel bad about not attending to the things I ought to. Therefore I shall literally do nothing. I’ll sit very still. Then I won’t feel quite so bad about not doing the things I ought to do. I think I’ll have another cup of coffee now. I think I’ll have another cup of coffee now.
Have you ever had too much coffee? Did it make you tremble? Did your thoughts race? Were you unable to choose an appropriate seating or standing position, and did you just feel flat-out weird? Even though there was nothing in particular to feel weird about? Did you feel wired and unable to turn off your thoughts, yet at the same time were you unable to think clearly and logically? I think the caffeine is wearing off now.
When you drink too much coffee. Spike. Then you come down from the coffee. Plummet, crash. Spike and crash. Spike and crash. Spike. Crash. The coffee makes you feel good. Then amazing. You’ve had so much that you feel like skipping and jumping and singing and dancing around in circles and doing air-guitar. You feel like doing all those things and you do all those things. You love everyone. Everyone loves you. You’re ecstatic. Euphoric. Suddenly you run out of steam and you crash. Plummet. What happened? Where did everyone go? I feel awful.
Where are all the people today? I feel alone and sad and I wonder if the people will ever come back. Maybe the people don’t like me anymore. Maybe all the fun of yesterday was just an illusion. Maybe they just pretended enjoy my company and maybe I just thought they liked me. I could have been wrong. Maybe I’m overanalysing the situation.
When you think too much about something. When you think about it so much that you become obsessed and you think and think and think and think. You can’t think about anything else. The thoughts have consumed you. They own you now. You know it and you hate it and you can’t do anything about it. Then you start thinking about how the thoughts have consumed you and they own you and you’re thinking about how you hate it and you can’t do anything about it. Then you start thinking that it’s stupid to be thinking about thinking about thinking about things, because who even does that?
I think I need to talk to the old lady again. I want to tell her it’s like falling down the stairs and thinking everyone’s looking at you and talking about you when you’re gone. I want to tell her it’s like forgetting how to do basic human things like what to even do with your arms or how to make a simple, inconsequential decision. I want to tell her it’s like avoiding the things you can’t do, even though they’re perfectly do-able things. I want to tell her it’s like drinking way too much coffee and feeling buzzed, and then coming down from that coffee. Coming down. Falling again, just like the stairs, only this time it’s like falling off a chemical.
Laying on the ground. Figuratively. Literally. Consumed by your own thoughts. I want to tell her that it’s just like that, and I’m afraid it will get worse.
