A beginning to my philosophies of life

I have been sitting here trying to feel inspired to write, thinking about how so much of the time I walk around life feeling inspired by this or that, but where is it now? I have nothing coming out. Today is my day off, the day in my week I have assigned to write. I'm sitting in my kitchen, I have a cup of tea and the soundtrack to Amelie to keep me company. But nothing is coming out of me. I think, why am I not writing? A laundry list of reasons surfaces. Is it because I should be paying bills? Is it because I have other work or other writing to do? Does the dog need attention? Of course all of these things are true, but they are always true. There is something bigger going on here. What is wrong with me today?

It's stress. It's anxiety.

I hesitate to write about this because I fear that it makes me sound like a cripple, or weak. I'm neither. I want to share this aspect of myself because it will help me sort it out by writing, and I'm guessing I will have more than one empathetic reader that might take solace in knowing that another person feels this way from time to time.

I have been feeling overwhelmed in my life over the past few weeks. Stress sneaks up on me. It disguises itself as excitement, or as a rough day or two, and before I know it, I'm sucked into its grip. I take on a lot at one time to the degree that nothing gets my best attention. Not even myself. If I let the trend continue, I begin to feel like I'm drowning. I start feeling so stressed out that my arms and legs ache. In what I imagine is an urge to feel control over something, anything, I have violent tendencies. I want to scream; I want to rip something to shreds. And sometimes I do. There was the time I shattered my phone charger when I was lost and over an hour late to an appointment. And the time I broke the visor over the driver's seat of my car for similar reasons. Last year at this time I was an utter mess. It went on for months. I went through bouts of depression and self-loathing, to feeling completely panicked. During that period, I shattered Apollo's water dish. I punted the garbage can, leaving a giant dent in it. I kicked in the back door, leaving what turned out to be a useful dog entrance. These are merely the things that come to mind right now as I write this. (Let me take a moment to note that I have never acted out on another living being. I want to feel power, maybe, but I do not want to hurt someone I love.) After one of these episodes, depending on how far I've gone, I either take a deep breath and get some perspective, or I shift my feelings to shame. I'm provided temporary reprieve when I let my emotions boil over. Like a good cry, my body yearns for a physical method of relief, and when I give in, I escape the worst of it for the time being.

There is little I have experienced in my world thus far that feels worse than the urge just before I break something. I have always known that these physical remedies are not a solution to my bigger problem. Anxiety is my bigger problem. Until last year I did not even know a name to give my feelings, let alone a way to handle them. Since that time I have come a long way, and I have learned new tools to help me cope with and eliminate anxious feelings when they start to creep in and take over. I'm not a master at fixing them yet, but I'm getting good at recognizing what is going on. Believe me, that's a huge step. Infinitely more than destroying something in a fit of despair, it has been empowering to understand myself. This new, healthy, power is what is motivating me to write about this today. I know that we are all crazy in some way. Perhaps some of us more than others, but no one has a squeaky-clean existence. So why should I feel ashamed of myself? Shame, guilt and self-disgust do not help to my situation. Understanding, communication and confidence, on the other hand, do help me.

Last July I reached the pinnacle of what had been one rough year for me mentally. I had been feeling depressed for a long time, and I was not sure how to change it. I tried talk therapy with no success. I went to my general health practitioner who prescribed me Wellbutrin. Besides losing 7lbs in a month, that did me little good either. As our wedding approached and I was trying to juggle a challenging summer graduate class and getting married out of state, I hit my worst point. Small doses of Ativan masked my strongest symptoms of anxiety. I actually credit Ativan for two things: it absolutely took the edge off the physical pains I suffered from stress, but better than that, it gave me a glimpse at how I could feel. Ativan helped me relax after months of not knowing what relaxed felt like. It reminded me that I could get through it. But of course it's an addictive drug that I had no interest in getting hooked on. I found my way back to happiness by thinking my way out of my personal darkness.

Sometime around Thanksgiving something huge dawned on me: there is no standard. I have fallen in love with this concept to the point that it will probably guide my life and many things I write for years to come. It is so basic that many people probably wonder why I make such a fuss about it. On the other hand, many people will not understand it, because like me just last year, they won't be ready to hear it. Even I have a hard time remembering this on an emotional level. I strive to embody it because it is one of my biggest weapons against anxiety. I'm saying that there is no standard way of living. There is no standard that we must 'measure up' to, just as there are no Joneses whom we need to keep up with. I see this through my own lens of anxiety: there is nothing saying that I need to vacuum my carpet before people come over. I can be late to a meeting and the world will not end. I do not have to straighten my hair to feel good about how I look. I do not need to get an A in every class to feel smart. I can't be perfect. 'Perfect' is a standard that does not exist. These are some of my issues, so they could seem simple to you. Think about something you feel self-conscious about, or feel 'imperfect' over. Does it really matter to you?

Around the same time I started thinking about standards, I started thinking about my role in the universe. It's pretty damn small. In fact, in the grand scheme of things, I'm downright insignificant. I have embraced this notion. To me, insignificance is liberating. Even smaller than me, and my role in the universe, is what I did with my day yesterday, or how my conversation with my professor went, or that I lost my wallet with $100 in cash strapped to it. To the cosmos, to eternity, I'm a blip. Less than a blip. I can sit on my balcony of my apartment and look over the hills of the East Bay and see people going about their day. I see the buildings that have stood on their foundation for longer than I have lived. I see hills that have stood in the distance for longer than all of us. It could all go on without me just as it has forever; I'm only lucky to be part of it.

I also realize that I, and only I, am in control of my life. I'm free to be as miserable as I want to be. I'm also free to be as happy as I want to be. If I do not chose to be happy, I will never be happy. No one can be happy for me. And no one, not my mother not, my husband, not my dog, will ever care about me as much as I care about me. That goes for everyone. We are in our own heads, and we live in our own worlds. This is the nature of consciousness. We owe it to ourselves and everyone in our lives to care about ourselves first. Need a good metaphor to spell this out? Think of airplane safety. "If you are traveling with a child or someone who requires assistance, secure your mask first, and then assist the other person." It is not selfish to care about your needs first, it is the responsible thing to do. I need to be happy for the sake of my family as well as myself.

Like I outlined in my first paragraph, I can feel stress creeping up on me again these days. I'm working, collaborating on an academic paper, writing my own things, taking care of a needy (and wonderful) dog, moving into an apartment (still), and getting to know a new coast and a total shift in my life. I could go on and on with a huge list of changes I have undergone in the past few years. While I have been experiencing a multitude of positive things, my life has been a roller coaster. Moving to California has only intensified that feeling. I'm surrounded by a new culture of creativity and inspiration unlike anything I have experienced before. I have taken up running, something I thought I would never be able to enjoy. I have met great new people that I connect with. I have found a great job that continues to open doors and present new challenges that are sending me in a direction I want to be going. All of this feels amazing. I want to take on everything I can all at once--but that is where my trouble lies. I might be able to do it all, but I cannot do it all right now.

Unlike last year, I can handle my life, and the anxiety in it this time. I have found a useful set of tools to keep things in perspective, and optimize my life. I need to filter out all of the non-stop stimulation to find a manageable level. Instead of worrying about the responsibilities I have committed myself to, I need to find a groove of productivity again. To feel inspiration instead of dread in the things in my life. Even for me as I write this, I know it is hard to believe I could dread all of those things I listed up there. That's why anxiety is terrible. I'm not a master at fixing it yet, but I'm getting good at recognizing what is going on. I now have a path to follow that I have set for myself. Along this path I have much to learn, and I'm eager to learn it. I might even change my mind about some things. I certainly hope to grow more. But I will do it all without standards, knowing that I'm the most important person in my life, and I want to be happy. Striving for anything else is a waste of life.


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