Everyday it seems there is something new that I realize
brings me anxiety. This process of declaring and deciding and knowing that
anxiety is what I ought to call a large number of my thoughts, it haunts me.
Knowing that I have anxiety, causes anxiety; it is a bittersweet style of
irony. I recently found out that I like a person. She is a really great person,
but I would have much rather remained oblivious to the fact that I indeed did
like her. Even worse, she likes me, though I am unable to fully convince myself
of that fact.
I don’t know why life has to be the way it does sometimes.
It feels like out of sure cruelty it sends you into an almost familiar situation
with an entirely new set of tools. Last time I had to build a house I was given
a yo-yo two packs of gum and a pule of rusty broken off nails. Building this
new house it gives me a hammer the same pile of broken nails, though not as
rusty, and a few boards. Brand new tools that I have no idea how to build a
house out of.
The first time I taught myself to build this house
It
Worked?
Now though Life is forcing me to relearn what I already
know, give me my yo-yo back.
My anxiety, I started to write that, then deleted it, then
wrote this sentence. I struggle to even self-label what seems clearly to be
anxiety. When I was young I could hardly muster the necessary courage to ask
for a few more ketchup packets from the person behind the Wendys counter. My dad
would get angry at me for not being able to do such a simple thing. To me it
was a simple thing to no longer need ketchup. It was simply, much easier to
finish my fries without the requisite ketchup.
Tangents, are one of my favorite writing tools. Tangents
allow me to continue to write without addressing my own questions that I have
already posed.
My anxiety controls my life with this person I like. See at
my job I get the unfortunate opportunity to spend my days not thinking about my
job, and have little else to occupy my thoughts other than the occasional new
song on the radio. With the radio blaring and machines chirping, burring, and
chopping My brain likes to ask what I thought of her arm moving 15 degrees in
the wrong direction. Well of course, I didn’t like it, though I doubt she knows
she even did it, though I doubt it matters if she knows, in fact if she doesn’t
know that proves more because the subconscious never lies, though if she did
know.
Sometimes I remember to breathe.
Lifeboats of human interaction from my coworkers, new work
being brought out, my boss seeing where I am at with my current work, these are
the things that help draw me back to reality sometimes.
