My old friend, anxiety, paid me a visit over the weekend. She doesn't come very often, and this time her visit was sort of like a whisper. First she descended on me when I was at the grocery, but I'm a good faker--I visited with friends I ran into and one of my favorite checkers and drove home without incident. After lunch and a nap, she was gone.
She came again Sunday and gave me shaky hands, which I so hoped Jordan wouldn't notice as we fixed poor boy sandwiches for lunch. But she said, "Why are you so shaky?" I didn't know, had no idea. I fiddled at my desk until about 10:30, then got up and did a bunch of housework in a hurry and suddenly was shaky. Of course when someone notices, then you become self-conscious about it and get shakier than ever. A good lunch, a little wine, and a nap fixed it.
But anxiety leaves a hangover behind her. I spent much of the morning being terribly introspective: How do I feel? Am I all right? Am I anxious? By noon I went to lunch with a good friend who happened to mention another friend who has such severe anxiety attacks that he calls in desperation for someone to sit with him. I realize the value of sitting is distraction, and lunch did that for me, got me "out of myself." But I also realize that I'm lucky that anxiety's visits to me are lighter and less frequent and that I am not the only one afflicted with these unwanted visits. Anxiety tends to isolate you--you think you're the only neurotic one who experiences these visits when, in fact, it's much more common than most people realize.
In retrospect, it was a good day. And tonight I'll get some reading done if not some writing. My neighbor--the good-looking one--came over to dislodge a dead fluorescent bulb (usually I can do that) and free a corkscrew from a cork I couldn't budge--he said he figured that would be an emergency. We had a nice, front-porch visit.
I can feel the lazies leaving my and my ambition returning. Feels good.
She came again Sunday and gave me shaky hands, which I so hoped Jordan wouldn't notice as we fixed poor boy sandwiches for lunch. But she said, "Why are you so shaky?" I didn't know, had no idea. I fiddled at my desk until about 10:30, then got up and did a bunch of housework in a hurry and suddenly was shaky. Of course when someone notices, then you become self-conscious about it and get shakier than ever. A good lunch, a little wine, and a nap fixed it.
But anxiety leaves a hangover behind her. I spent much of the morning being terribly introspective: How do I feel? Am I all right? Am I anxious? By noon I went to lunch with a good friend who happened to mention another friend who has such severe anxiety attacks that he calls in desperation for someone to sit with him. I realize the value of sitting is distraction, and lunch did that for me, got me "out of myself." But I also realize that I'm lucky that anxiety's visits to me are lighter and less frequent and that I am not the only one afflicted with these unwanted visits. Anxiety tends to isolate you--you think you're the only neurotic one who experiences these visits when, in fact, it's much more common than most people realize.
In retrospect, it was a good day. And tonight I'll get some reading done if not some writing. My neighbor--the good-looking one--came over to dislodge a dead fluorescent bulb (usually I can do that) and free a corkscrew from a cork I couldn't budge--he said he figured that would be an emergency. We had a nice, front-porch visit.
I can feel the lazies leaving my and my ambition returning. Feels good.
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