Get away from me, you bitch

I spent this weekend in an anxiety spike, which is this weird version of anxiety that is not an attack, quite, but keeps my heart rate between 110 and 120 and makes it hard to breathe. I end up thinking way too fast – you know that friend that everyone has, the one who talks at a mile a minute and you end up out of breath on their behalf? My brain turns into that. It’s not thinking any brilliant thoughts, either, just like


Also instead of being filled with energy, which is what it seems SHOULD happen, I am exhausted. I feel like I have mono (I’ve had it, so can attest) where you’re nearly paralyzed by the lack of energy and are forced on to the couch to cuddle blankets and cats and try to feel calm. Nothing has gone wrong. Nothing has happened. I slept, I ate, I moved, I took my pills. Nothing has happened. There was no reason for this stupid, weekend-sucking event.

I’m better today, but my muscles are weirdly sore. Like I slept in full flight-or-fight mode, which is possible. My jaw aches from clenching my teeth. And again, there was no reason for this horseshittery which seems unfair because I will give you a thousand dollars if no one says “Why?” when I tell them of the horseshit. Or rather, there are a thousand potential reasons, none of which stand out, and if their jobs are to cause anxiety then they are fucking slacking on a regular basis.

Depression and anxiety go hand in hand and are part of me, but I imagine them as separate. I imagine depression like a hideous, slime-dripping gremlin who sneers horrible words at me and laughs when I cry. I imagine anxiety like the alien from Aliens, and thus have been playing the line below over and over in my head. (Yes, in this scenario I am both Ripley AND the fucking alien.)

Do something nice for someone with anxiety today. Hugs and flowers and blankets (FOR PANIC CUDDLES) are appreciated. Also cats, but only if they’re the cuddly kind, not the stabby kind.

One thought on “Get away from me, you bitch

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