STUPID ANXIETY AGAIN.
When the dinosaurs of stress roam the earth, eat my young, steal my foliage and clip my wings with their claws, I’m all “Oh hey, no problem, I’ve got this.” I run faster, I survive on 600 calories per day of Toblerone and Corona, and I stitch my children back together with my teeth.
Then? The dinosaurs go as fast as they arrive, leaving in their wake a stillness, a warm breeze, an exhale. And that’s when the real monster shows up donning bitch face, an extremely rapid resting heart rate and an incurable disease diagnosed by Google.
My anxiety feeds on post-crisis peace like a fucking T-Rex on a bunny. Okay well, the T-Rex isn’t, you know, the bunny. Just eating it. Am I still typing?
The good part in all of this is that I am self-aware, and self-awareness is THE KEY to self-management. You can’t manage a bum rash if you’re not itchy. And no, that is not what I Googled; I am dying of something else entirely. But at least I know that once the crisis passes, anxiety will peak and so I can line up my tools in preparation.
-My sisters (I phone and text them)
-People (Susie saved my life this morning) I know who deal with anxiety (I just text them, because most people with anxiety don’t like phone calls LOL)
-Razor, tweezers, magnifying mirror (because picking, squeezing, plucking gives me a sense of control)
-Andrew’s penis (sex totally helps)
-My MacBook (writing it all out helps too)
-Corona, red wine, vodka and Coke Zero (just to seal the deal on the deadly disease)
-Chris Farley movies
And if shit really gets bad:
-Family doctor (I love her… it’s SO important to have a good relationship with your GP)
-Meds (short term like Ativan or long term like Cipralex)
So? What would you guys add to the list?
If you were a dinosaur, which one would you be?
The flying ones totally freak me out.