There's a quote from Stephen King's Storm of the Century that has stuck with me since my first time watching it and that is, "Hell is repetition." The mysterious newcomer to the small Maine island community, Andre Linoge, says this as he explains the grim afterlife fate of one of the town's sinners. I haven't seen the movie in years, so I can't say for sure, but I think the man's eternal punishment involved having his eyeballs ripped out and consumed over again and again and again.
Storm of the Century is, of course, a movie, but King's description of Hell seems to me an apt one. It describes anxiety perfectly. Anxiety is Hell.
I made this connection the other day when I was in the car. I don't remember which trip it was because I've been on quite a number over the past few days, but I was thinking about how the start of each car trip was the same. It didn't matter that I'd made it through so many trips already that week or even that day; my anxiety still reared its ugly head, making me aware of every sensation in my GI tract, assuring me that those discomforts were a sign that I was going to be sick.
I wish anxiety was more like a video game battle. You might have to fight a bunch of times before you get through the boss, but once you do, that's it. You've defeated it. You don't have to battle it again. Sometimes it does work like that a little bit, wherein if I work through my anxiety enough times, it starts to lessen. But there are other times, such as now, when no matter what I do, it doesn't lessen. These past few days have been a real struggle for me.
It probably wouldn't have been so bad were it not for the doctor's visit, which sent my anxiety into high alert, and the antibiotics, which aren't agreeing perfectly with me. But it happened as it did and now I'm miserable. Each time I've wanted to leave the house, whether to visit family, hunt Pokemon, or pick out some groceries, it has required copious amounts of dedication and fortitude and has left me feeling worn out.
Each day Brian and I will try capturing a couple of nearby Pokemon Gyms so I can get my defender bonus. Yesterday when we arrived, there was a swarm of kids working on those gyms. No way were the two of us going to be able to take on the five or so of them. Brian suggested going home and coming back later. The suggestion was frustrating for me. Here I had worked through my anxiety enough to make the trip. If we left, I'd have gone through that effort for naught and I'd have to wrestle with that manipulative copilot all over again if we did return. I might not have liked the suggestion anyway, even without anxiety, but anxiety made the situation worse.
Today some members of Brian's family were having a lunch get together at Happy China Buffet. When it came time to leave the house, I weighed my options. I could have gone, but I had a feeling that it was going to be one of those trips where my anxiety kept building and when we were halfway to the restaurant I'd break down and beg Brian to take me home. The thought of being in the restaurant was making me feel trapped and I didn't think that was going to lessen any time soon.
When I told Brian I wasn't going, he told me that it was all right, that I didn't have to go if I didn't want to. He was trying to be reassuring in a way, I think, but it only made me feel worse. It wasn't that I didn't want to go. Were it not for anxiety, I'd have been there in a heartbeat. I'd love to chase some Pokemon on the drive down and then munch on some spring rolls while chatting with his family. His family is great and I would have been happy to see them again. What I didn't want was the stomach malaise and those awful thoughts swirling through my head, making me second guess myself, everything. I'm already exhausted from disjointed bouts of slumber and two days of nonstop battling with my anxiety. I needed a break.
When Brian left, I was on the verge of tears. I felt like such an awful person for skipping out on the family get together. That's the thing about mental illness; because you are not necessarily physically incapacitated, you end up feeling like a bad person when you make the choice that is best for your overall well being in that moment. Since the problem is in your brain and not the work of some external agent, you feel like you should be able to control it. I feel like I'm causing that gastrointestinal unrest, like it's all my fault, but I didn't choose to have anxiety. It is just as much of an illness as those caused by bacteria and viruses are and we as a society need to recognize this.
The semester begins in three weeks and the thought terrifies me. I should be feeling those end of summer blues, but instead I'm wondering if there's some way I can give up my assistanceship. If we didn't need the money, I probably would consider this more seriously, but for now it's only a passing thought. The idea that I'm going to have to be physically present X days a week is enough to make me want to give up on the PhD entirely, but I've worked so hard to get here and I don't have a backup plan.
Anxiety is Hell. Rarely do I have a good day when it's not there to rain on part of it, like the drive to Bangor or Winterport, and I've had many bad days because of it. I wish I could make it go away, but I can't.
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