anxious

Finally, the outdoor temperature has dropped enough to render the open window in front of me an enjoyable experience, instead of a nasty sensation reminiscent of drilling a hole into a bowl of warm soup.  The vista never improves -- nothing poetic or restful to the eye about a parking lot and the neighboring apartment building -- but I'm choosing to focus on the strip of grass just below my window, and the tops of the trees standing in vibrant green and sunlit gold against a backdrop of pure September blue.  Fall is coming, and I couldn't be happier about it.

It's been a bad week fraught with pointless anxiety tightening all my blood vessels and gnawing on my stomach lining, as if I am constantly five minutes away from delivering the most important speech of my life to a crowd of millions.  I can't say for certain when the anxiety reentered the core fabric of my consciousness -- probably around the time of the start of my most recent relationship, just over two years ago -- but I've only really noticed it as a medical condition more than a product of circumstances since the breakup in early June, when the anxiety persisted with nothing specific to attach to.

The constant worryworryworry is annoying.  It keeps trying to fix on the usual sources, but those sources aren't legitimate sources anymore.  OH MY GOD MONEY YOU DON'T HAVE ENOUGH MONEY.  *Checks bank account balances*  Oh. We're totally fine.  Okay.  HOLY SHIT RELATIONSHIP YOUR RELATIONSHIP IS BAD.  *Blinks*  Oh we're not in one anymore and life is good again.  Um.  JOB! YOUR JOB IS STRESSFUL AND MISERABLE AND INSECURE PANIC PANIC PANIC!!!  *Pauses*  Oh.  We love our job and are kicking ass at it and our bosses appreciate the hell out of us.  Huh.  HEALTH HOLY CRAP OUR HEALTH COULD GO AT ANY MOMENT.  Well, maybe.  Blood pressure is high again and I haven't been exercising regularly for a really really long time.  So on Wednesday I put myself back on my old BP medication dosage (I'm so annoyed with my current general practitioner that I don't even want to write about it at the moment), and Friday night I started working out again, which felt fucking AMAZING, so much so that I did it again yesterday, with plans again for today, and a resolution to return to my hour-plus-long evening workouts, since I'm finally adjusted to my work schedule and need the extra time slots I have in the evenings to get the kind of workouts in that will get me back in shape.

Which, you know, is one of the purposes of anxiety, evolutionarily; I read somewhere that people with anxiety tend to notice and react to problems more quickly, and think more creatively under pressure to solve them -- probably at least in part because they have already considered the fifty different ways a situation can go wrong and planned out ahead of time what to do for each one.  So my busy brain's constant planning can come in extremely handy, and makes me more quick-footed and competent at work, and swift to notice and solve my own problems (like not exercising enough, which affects, among other things, my blood pressure and my anxiety levels).  And I do tend to respond cool-headedly in crisis.  Which is nice; it's preferable to freaking out and melting down when moments matter.  But anxiety running amok means a shit ton of wasted emotional energy and unnecessary bad feelings when everything is fine.  I'd like to strike some kind of reasonable balance so that I don't lose any of my preparedness while still feeling relaxed and peaceful and empowered on an average basis.

So I have an appointment to see about getting medicated, at least temporarily, for the anxiety.  Unlike the depression, for which I plan to remain medicated for the entirety of my life, the anxiety only requires medical attention periodically.  I waited a few months to see if it would pass, but it hasn't, and it's interfering with the quality of my daily life.  And fuck that.  I've spent enough time feeling helplessly miserable.  Life is GOOD, goddammit, and I've worked hard to make it so, and I refuse to let a chemical problem detract from my enjoyment of my achievements, or prevent me from achieving and enjoying further.

One of the best aspects of learning to cope with trauma, depression and anxiety over the years has been the acceptance that comes with growth and healing -- learning to look at these problems in less polarized terms.  In this instance, I could hate my anxiety and hate that I have it and think that I'm screwed up and need to get rid of it altogether; or I could view it as an occasionally useful product of human evolution (quick responses to potentially bad situations and rapid, creative solutions) and accept its purpose while finding ways not to let it steamroll me into the ground or immobilize me into a glassy-eyed bundle of twitching nerves.  Looking at it that way has the added benefit of moving me out of the "I'm a failure for not being perfect" paradigm and into a place where I can fully accept myself, and forge wholeness and health from that acceptance -- be my own best ally, recognize the ways my coping mechanisms and responses are intended to be helpful, set appropriate boundaries for them, and know exactly what goals I'm striving to reach in order to live a full, healthy, happy, satisfying, meaningful, purposeful life.

So anxiety, thank you for caring about my wellbeing, and thank you for your watchfulness.  Also, prepare to chill the fuck out.  I have shit to do and you're overstepping your bounds.