Well hello there,
I am alone for the day with Japanese meditative music playing as snow engulfs the house, a warm fire and sleeping dogs keeping me company. I spent most of my week with my head down – on the yoga mat, at work, in a book, and on my phone, without thought or question, following life where it leads me. I sit now on my typewriter, hoping to conjure words worth reading, in reflection for the first time in several days, wondering why life feels as if its pace is forever picking up, no longer allowing me to look around and enjoy what is. I think that is why I love this writing so much, a forced stop, a halting of everything, just for a moment, as if to say, take a breath. So before reading on, do it with me, a breath in unison, a breath in square. Inhale for four, hold for four, exhale for four, and hold for four once again – a perfect square indeed. Do it once, do it twice, do it so many times you forget why you are here, I don’t mind. The words are not going anywhere.
Last week, I went to a coffee shop, set a timer for thirty minutes, and began writing. My creative writing classes in college made this exercise feel as habitual and simple as eating lunch or going for a run. Now, trying to write for more than a few minutes without checking my phone or getting lost in the clouds of my thoughts is a near-impossible task. Time inched too slowly. I found myself unable to write with any cohesion, repeating the phrase “what is inside” over and over again, hoping the three words would launch me into some creative vortex. Instead, it made my mind spin, forcing me to look around at others, check the time on my watch, and stare into the unwritten lines of my notebook as if they had something to say.
I felt uncomfortable all over. In the coffee shop, in my body, in my mind. The cafe was loud and understaffed, customers were angry, baristas were overworked. I was too hot in a cashmere sweater and tight vintage jeans but unable to take off the sweater because I wore a tank top I knew was too cropped and tight for a Sunday morning. My mind began to race with fictitious perceptions other people in the cafe had of me. I told myself people could see that I was sweaty, that I looked unkempt and uncomfortable. My mind ran and ran and ran, and I let it.
It is moments like this when I know I have anxiety. Moments when I can no longer control my sweaty palms and beet-red face. When I convince myself I am unworthy or useless, that I am a fraud and incapable of achieving what I most desire. At its worst, my anxiety leaves me wishing I could be someone else, regretting all I have done, and too afraid to do anything more. I am frozen in time.
On the way home from the coffee shop, I emailed my psychiatrist. I had tried coping with my anxiety theraputically, which helped but was no cure. In the fall, I was prescribed a beta blocker that I take daily to help ease my physical symptoms, hoping that was enough to calm my loud brain and its relentless thinking. But alas, there I was in the coffee shop. In a moment I hoped would be calm, nurturing, and restful, instead forced me to abandon a half-sipped cappuccino and a brand new Muji pen on the table. I couldn’t leave fast enough, running from myself but knowing there was nowhere to go.
I have been taking an SSRI for a little over a week now. I hope it works. I am skeptical but believe in the millions of people on anti-anxiety medicine and my countless friends who think the world would be a better place if more people took their meds. The side effects are no joke but neither is my anxiety, getting coffee should never be so hard. Updates to come, without a doubt. Although life may be happening fast, I am realizing it is up to me to decide how I react, how I show up, and what I can do to make each moment just a little bit easier.
For now, I have been engrossed in sleepytime mocktails with cranberry juice and magnesium powder, spinach and blueberry smoothies, and soft-boiled eggs. “Mare of Easttown” with Kate Winslet, music by Maxwell Luke and SISTRA, and hot yoga in the evenings after work. Waking up earlier than I want to, or letting myself snooze the alarm until the sun burns my eyes. Long cuddles with the dogs, even longer phone calls with my boyfriend, and dancing alone to ELIO. “The Liars Club” by Mary Karr, “Iron Flame” by Rebecca Yarros, posting book reviews on TikTok, my new jeans with feathers on the cuff, and piano lessons with my neighbor.
That is all for now.
Until soon,
C
xx
