“If you pile up enough tomorrows, you will find you’ve collected nothing but a lot of empty yesterdays.”
–The Music Man
Anxiety courses through my veins every day, like the endless flow of water through chilled pipes. Everything makes me jump, instantly causing little pin pricks of adrenaline to spread through my body: A movie scene, the drop of a spoon on a hardwood floor, the dread of change, the pain of loss, procrastination, depression, and the worries without tangible reasons startle me. I cannot keep a part-time job because of the enormous mountain of stress weighing on my shoulders at every moment. Stress exacerbates my illness.
I was diagnosed with Bipolar 1 Disorder when I was sixteen years old, nineteen years ago. My life has continuously improved since. The right doctors, listeners, medications, family and friend support have come to my aid throughout these years of struggle. This trek has been arduous. Through knowledge and experience I have trod this path, learning much over several years. For instance, “lazy,” and “procrastination” are terms used when a person is literally “not in the mood.” Mood swings are real and often misunderstood.
In college, I studied fine art. In order to graduate, I had to pass a drawing class. I have never been able to replicate images on paper. My mind is not wired to do so.
When I was younger, I took afternoon art lessons every Thursday afternoon in a cozy loft above a frame shop. It was my favorite day of the week, surrounded by other people in pursuit of artistic guidance. I remember the excitement of new canvas. I can feel the freedom from all other distractions with the lifting of a paint brush. The texture of fresh pre-molded clay, the messiness of charcoal, and the powerful smell of a tin can full of crayons are forever blazed in the recesses of my mind. Magical as those lessons were, I became distraught easily when I could not translate from mind to canvas. I thought art was all about recreating “reality.” When I learned that art has many different faces, I was relieved. I set about my work with an air of confidence, which had alluded me in the past. Unfortunately, I have not mastered every face. In order to obtain a degree in fine art, one must study all forms of creative expression. Hence, drawing class.
I could blame it on subject matter or lack of perspective: I did not succeed, despite my tireless attempts. After a while, I started skipping that class. One skip turned into two, which turned into weeks. In the beginning of this truancy, I could enter the building. Sometimes I made it to the end of the hall. On other occasions I could stand outside the door. Most days, I turned around and drove home to fall into bed. Misery engulfed me. I was drowning in anxiety. I failed that class twice (I was allowed to substitute drawing class for graphic design, so I graduated).
Anxiety eats me alive, and though I have discovered tactics to avoid stressful situations, the anxiety follows me everywhere. It needs no origin. Supposedly, staying away from caffeine helps, but it is extremely inadvisable to be in my presence before my morning coffee. Beware the grumpy, impossibly intolerable person I am without it!
–SJB
I wonder if anxiety can be befriended…understood as a protector that still things you are a small one, instead of a competent adult with many tools and abilities. Hey, anxiety…I”ve got this! Thank you for protecting me the best you could. I heard an interesting description of what anxiety is. It is brain spin without the presence of the body. The recommendation was to take slow belly breaths to activate the ventral vegal network and notice where your hands and feet are, the colour of the sky. Give yourself a big hug and say ‘Of course, I’m feeling anxious…I’m feeling….I need…’ Finding our way back to embodiment. I know you dance with all of the above already because you are doing so well. I hope each day gets easier. I love you, brave gal!