F-Off Anxiety

Does everything in life hold a meaning?
It's true everything you see and do will trigger an emotion, whether it's anger or content, and emotions towards an object are what gives it meaning to you.
But in turn what does all of that mean?
Justify a object by an objective view, an endless search for validation of what? You don't look to justify the means, you are only ever asked to justify the emotion that triggered the means, and it's your own subconscious, that you can't control, that triggers the emotion.
So you're asked to explain the un-explainable, Describe the indescribable. To look for a meaning behind the indeterminable cause.

I think this is the main reason behind my anxiety, over analysis. To search for the meaning behind the object, you open a door to walk through; but why do you need to be on the other side?
There's no simple acceptance that it's an end to a means.
You close a door to keep something out, but why do you want to be boxed in?
It's almost like a never quenching thirst for pointless knowledge.

To understand that everything is just something with no need for expansion, that I can only dream of.
Now, you yourself might be wondering at this point why I'm waffling on about objective nonsense.

This is something I don't need to question myself on. There are acres upon acres of trees in the world that nobody understands why they are there. Just like there are millions upon millions of people in the world that nobody understands why they are suffering.
So for you to perhaps make steps to understand me, and realise it's not stupid, it is in no way silly, and it's effects are deeper than the foundations of some homes.
There are other people, who suffer in silence; frustrated, fearing, and fleeing from their own figurative thoughts.

I want anxiety to #F-OFF.
Only together can a society stamp out the stigma that surrounds the subject.


I am open to suggestion,
Ask me a probing question,
I'm an open book, I'll try to teach,
How to put your worries out of reach,
Yet I don't take note of my own word,
I scream and shout, but never have I heard,
Am I alone in this myself?
wallowing in misery and filth?
Or do I also have a shoulder,
As I lent to you, growing older,
Maturing in age and mood,
If only I thought I could,
Move past what seems a great expanse,
A desolate and lonely trance,
I don't want to admit that I am weak,
But I must face facts and look to seek,
A deeper form of understanding,
Of an aircraft almost never landing,
Of a state of constant suspense,
Leading me to feel this way, and hence;
I plea to you my faithful friend,
That we stop trying to against fend,
The laws of unknown emotion,
The source of this unruly commotion.

Terrified

Words I thought had never been said,
Let me open up,
Like a book,
Waiting to be read.

I am in a somewhat horrible position. I am a person who wants to believe the best in people. It might be cliche, but it's very true. However there is an extrapolative to that in that I find it incredibly difficult to trust people. Once you've got me, I'm there but once it's broken, it's gone.
I had the opportunity recently to undertake a new therapy course of cognitive analytical therapy, which I regret in not taking said opportunity. I believed myself strong enough to continue down the road I am currently on and make it to my destination a considerably happier person.

This has not been the case.

It's very hard to admit you have a problem, when the problem is so situational. Is it down to my personality? Am I just generally a horrible person? Or am I cursed with this "critical hindsight"... THING?
It's moreso frustrating when the people close to me become a victim. The timekeeping of some of the people I am close to is woeful, and to that when I do become whatever the hell this is, I can only apologise.

The phrase "what doesn't kill you makes you stronger" has met it's match here. A mental assault does not strengthen even the weakest of people. Instead it brings them to a new low, and whether it be for a minute or a millennia, they're no better off for it at the other side. I sometimes wonder what type of person I would be now if I kept shut inside of myself all of those years. I also wonder what type of person I will become if I carry down this path of self-destruction.


Define control,
That hyperbole,
A journey to find out what you can make yours,
Painting your walls, laying your floors,
But what happens when floor become flaws,
Fun is over-run, hobbies become chores,
Once what you deigned to enjoy,
Now feels like an evil ploy,
To make you give in,
Frown and not grin,
Close yourself off from commitments,
But are they commitments, or merely figments?
For imagination is a wonderful thing,
When you think of what it brings,
A certain modicum of control,
You can make that bell toll,
You can force that tree to grow,
You can stop time, or make it slow,
Just because you think of a meal,
Does not mean you cannot make it real,
To dare to dream, to act on thought,
That control is rarely sought,
I find myself here, with open eyes,
I think back to all of my highs,
Were they not once also a dream?
An intangible, pure, blinding gleam.

(insert title here)

I have this problem with motivation when things are going good. Motivation to let things how I so often refer to "flow" be published to this here little diary I keep of when I am most down. Yet there's still this somehow pressing need to share. I say pressing yet I seem to find it very easy avoiding it, which I'm not sure is a good thing, or bad. Writing generally makes me feel better when I'm down, so is it therefore plausible it would make me feel better when good? Yet to be tested, we will see very soon.

Here I pour my heart, my soul,
Here I admit emotions stole,
Here I try to be everything I aspire,
Here I can agree my deepest desires,
If I ever cry alone, in deep and painful love,
Is it you that gives me strength from up above?
A lord in life, my religion revolves around your words,
Now comes a time to abstain from all that I have heard,
A law is that which you make to prevent a crime,
And yet the same is what people break from time to time,
I never agreed to being what you would expect,
As if I knew what anyway, your attempts to protect,
Innocence perhaps? Growth potential too?
Besides the point, this is my way of saying, I've been thinking about you,
Anyone who knows me may agree,
Through written word I can enable others to see,
Assist in a broader view of how I think and feel,
Yet who I want to know... This may sound surreal,
I kneel, and pray, and try to say, I hope I've made you proud,
And imagine that smiling face in amongst the crowd,
"Listen, you're doing fine, believe my face if not my speech,
For as long as you remember me my helping hand's in reach."

The value of 2 cents increases dramatically

For once, let's not script anything. I'm going to give it to you straight, it's up to you, if you can handle the single shot maybe come back for a double next time.
If I were to give a current mood assessment it would be terrified.
If you were to ask me why, I couldn't answer.
If I were to think about it I'd consider any thousands of reasons why I should be terrified.
Only none of them make sense.

I read shorts on how anxiety effects people all the time. How it convinces you of certain events that are beyond outlandish. How you push everyone you know and love away. I want to rebel, but I struggle to find the strength past pushing the person closest to me away.
I can't describe this through speech, it's not possible. There are words in my head I don't know how to say, but writing, well writing makes so much of a difference to being able to find exactly the right word.
It's crushing, and strangely liberating. To be able to dream that anything is possible, if it were ever even remotely plausible to harness that, and create a new state of mind. That would be a marvel, if I ever found a way, that would make my life.
However, right now, it's not the case, and dreaming anything is possible is a terrifying prospect.

Now I want to make you a promise, only I want you to promise me the same.
I promise that nothing will ever be this bad again. I promise that even in the darkest of places, a light can be found. I will be your light, whenever you need me to be. I will tear at the walls of darkness until there is nothing left, if you'll let me. Between us, darkness will cease to exist past the point of moonlight.


Here's one from months ago, I kind of left the one I intended to publish at work.

These days pass, no thought here,
A smile there, a little cheer,
To laugh, love, live each day,
And barely give anything away,
There, you stare, with mounting fear,
A false hope that the fog will clear,
One thing remains uncertain,
One thing that's clearly hurting,
What it is, you'll never know,
Or feel unknown's glancing blow,
You are designed to withstand,
But does this emptiness force your hand?
Make you live a different way?
No, you make do and stay the same,
Worry seems normal, and fear too,
The absurdness appears in how you do,
Simple tasks with such restraint,
And all because the emotional pain,
Becomes unbearable? Maybe no?
Immobilized by fear and so,
Anew you start every day,
Waking to a new sun's ray.

Frozen

A one of those weekends that make you think, "I'm here, but I don't feel it at all". When your body is all there, you can feel the world working around you but your mind refuses to accept that you're even alive at all. I can't put into words how scary it is when everything is going 10x faster than it should, you're frozen to the floor as your body slows down to a complete stand still by somehow speeding itself up. It's a collision of two polar opposites, you stand still while the pace everything seems to go forces your heart to pummel, over beat, and the gradual numbness of each limb creates the complete feeling motionless.
Twice that's happened now.
It's like a waking paralysis, if you've ever had the sleep version.

Two pieces of sad news over the weekend of people struggling to cope day to day, and as a result, sadly taking their own lives. Nobody knew of their struggle, or even if there was one, until everything came to an end. If this was to ever be you in that situation, as I have, and many millions before, talk to someone. Anyone, before it does become too late.
That's the key, before it's too late. It's easy to ignore a problem, but when it's on an emotional level, it has a way of manifesting itself into something much more, and becomes something else entirely.

You're never alone, it's only ever if you leave things so past far gone that you'll ever feel it.


Ethereal, as if smoke,
Thick, black dense fog making you choke,
Abated breath, a giant sigh,
You lay and ask the world why,
What have you done to force this hand,
What have you done to wear this brand,
It shows, and threatens like a bull,
And charges down looking to cull,
To strike down false labels worn,
False that you could have sworn,
For it feels truer than ever else,
No comprehension, your brain melts,
It's not for a path for you to walk,
Without that friend to sit and talk.


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The World's Longest week

After really does seem like an eternity, this week is finally over with. The losing of jobs, moving of roles within the same job, and all the stress that came with it has been unbearable. No, it wasn't me who lost the job but I feel like I've been put far enough through the ringer that it may as well have been and then some.

I have gradually more and more been putting how things have transpired particularly over the last couple of weeks into words so expect an influx of feelings with maybe a dash of purpose over the coming months, and in my new job role I'll have a lot more free time in which to write more creatively and put way more thought into it than I ever have been able to do.

Every cloud has a silver lining, but it's finding that precious glint within the mountain of uncertainty that's the challenge, I don't really want to find out what will happen over the next month or so but I don't have a choice in the matter either. People around me remain optimistic to a degree I would not think possible, I just hope that shines a light of hope that I can cling onto as well.


Excuses, I try to make,
To renew myself, for goodness sake,
Escape monotony and start anew,
I thought, past this, I'd grew,
That constant looming, snarling tomb,
Encasing not only me, but you too,
Putting myself out on a limb,
Yet worry stays and things look grim,
How on earth are you so calm?
Assuring me there is no harm,
But you know me, and how I work,
Forefront of my mind, is getting worse.

Relapse

If I could just make it disappear,
Wipe the slate entirely clear,
I would without a second breath.

I have dreaded this day, I have dreaded this day for the past year and half. The day I admit my mind has decided to relapse, to fall back into the murky abyss of my own old enemy, the anxiety and it's partner in crime depression, or would this be repression?

I stopped writing, maybe publishing, because I had really ran out of things to write about. There were no more lingering, overwhelming feelings of hurt or panic, just a steady flow of normalcy. Yet here I am again, stringing feeling to feeling together in a matter of seconds, minutes, because for some strange reason, a pen feels like a better tool of portrayal than my mouth.

Just admitting a problem exists feels like a first step, before going back to some form of therapy and regaining lost tools in order to repair, or begin to repair, a daily state of mind that is copeable. You know the saying, "A bad workmen always blames his tools"? What if he had no tools, what if the only thing standing between him and the repeat failed escapade is himself?

I digress.

As a way to reconfigure,

I opened up to reconsider,

Terrifying states of mind,

Blind leading partially blind,

I can't see through clouded eyes,

Clouded by my feeble cries,

Cries so blunt they cannot pierce,

Desperate tries to be fierce,

To scare the darkness away,

To keep the fear at bay,

A bay, a beach, a gleaming smile,

The waves arising, trying to rile,

To ruin, to quash, the growing joy

Growing tepid, growing coy,

Growing up and growing old,

Fears folding, feeling old,

I expected to find a meaning,

Yet here I am back at the beginning.

Reassurance

Over the past month or so I've concocted a blog post or two in my trusty notebook, but not got round to actually posting them at any point. Before I get round to one I wrote quite some time ago, I'd like to touch on something unrelated to the post itself. Whilst browsing social media last week, I came across a post that a friend had commented on regarding someones survey to help with their university dissertation. Usually I would just ignore such posts, however, on this particular occasion, the title rather caught my eye. "The role of masculinity in men seeking help for a mental illness". In relation to my own situation, it's clear the more unmasculine a man the more likely they are to seek help for such issues. Me personally being petrified of confrontation showing simply, considering I've met some and a half brash, outspoken arseholes in my short time, who are quite clearly hell-bent on remaining housebound, anxious and depressed yet so stubborn and blinded by their own pig ignorance it will just stick like a huge cloud constantly raining, dampening their already drowning spirit.

Oh those lovely mental images.

That took up more paper than intended.
/rantover
Until next time.


Two stones, one bird,
Second chances never heard,
Forgiveness comes, regret goes,
Guiltiness never shows,
Pack it up, get out of here,
You're a memory not a fear,
I'm not alone anymore,
Here, safe I am, but you still are,
Dicing with destiny, fate
There are those that would relate,
Am I one? Unknown,
The only certainty is I've grown.

Capable

Some people's life dream is to meet some random celebrity or to visit some hot island in the southern hemisphere. Mine is to meet someone who's music makes me cry. There's something about Passion Pit's music that hits me right in the back of my throat, particularly if I'm having an off day. I've cried outside and inside the four walls that I would call a home, all to reach some form of "capable" state.

It's amazing how often I use that word in my own mind, nothing is ever capable until the situation has truly passed.I find it somewhat ridiculous, certain situations popping up that are quite unbearable in their intensity and yet the actual concept of the whole idea is laughable. De-realisation, nothing is true, it may seem like something from Assassin's Creed but for someone who suffers from anxiety, the unsaid rule of every paranoiac thought, every irrational worry. It doesn't matter how ridiculous, how outlandish, as if the odds are stacked in the "defences" favour, there will be a time where the worry train comes off the tracks. So find someone who will live with that, you find someone who finds it themselves "capable" and who is actually willing to help the situation. You'd guess the difference that makes and go figure how happy you'll become, if politeness costs nothing, ignorance can cost a sanity.


Effort, if you could just learn to control,
What you are putting in, will drive you in to a hole,
Who's arms will be there to pull you out,
Mine for all, I've been thinking about,
All you've done for me and the position we are in,
Is there a day goes by that I'm without a grin?
Since the day we walked hand in hand, your face has been alight,
And after finding out why I can't sleep at night,
All you've wanted to do was help, and you still wear that smile,
Some day, you'll be repaid, while,
My thoughts don't exceed the expression of feelings,
I'm a dreamer, I deal in reelings,
The biggest compliment I can pay to you,
You're better than my imagination, that's the full truth.

Open up

I genuinely wish people were more open about mental illnesses. No matter how much awareness is raised for people who are actually suffering, the fact is everyone is at a vulnerability, anyone can fall ill without a warning and those are the people I worry for the most. They're clueless as to what they're actually going through, unaware of help and support available to them. We as a country with free health care should be educating children about mental illnesses, showing them how to recognise signs not just for their own sakes but for their friends and family too. Just having someone who understands, or at least understands to how to react (yes, everyone is different in every separate case but the fact remains that when the dust settles, there is one person stood alone in a barren wasteland not knowing which way to turn) to someone who is desperately crying for help in most cases, a simple arm around a shoulder can do wonders on a road to recovery. Even someone who has recovered needs just as much support to make sure that any relapse however minor is dealt with in the best possible way as to avoid any huge deal made, just having someone to talk to can make the world of difference.

I have found personally that any relationship, whether family or love, is impossible in a situation where one is not accepting, be it the sufferer or anyone who cares about said, of the condition that they've found themselves in. You need to be able to rely on one another for support, because as difficult as it is for one, it's as difficult for the other. Even the person without an illness suffers, they need just as much support, it can actually help the person who is suffering to know they're being relied on just as much to hold someone else together, it brings about an element of realisation. This can't really happen if the gears of the relationship aren't turning as one, but it's often to realise such things as depression and anxiety can cloud judgement to the point of delusion.

I believe in emotional karma, being happy myself will make those around me happy too, one good mood deserves another. It works both ways though, being sad will bring other people down, that's why the effort of others also triggers emotional karma. If one person smiles for half an hour in public, at least one other person will smile, thereby triggering a waterfall effect, only becoming stronger with time.

If one person smiles, everyone can smile with them.


Love lasts forever, as long as one half lives,
But love cannot exist, if only one half gives,
Taking your whole life is easy when there's nobody to repay,
You'll realise one day.

Nobody goes through life without giving love,
Feel sorry for those who think they are above,
One day they'll be taken in, unable to breathe or say,
As the winds of love take their breath away.

It'll be hard for them to realise give them a helping hand,
That could have been you without emotion, bland,
Some people will refuse to let you help them find their way,
They'll fall in love too, one of these days,
A love so true, it will stop their thoughtless ways.

So pray for the thoughtless, the mindless and the fake,
When somebody decides to take the time,
To love them more than they love themselves, they'll finally be awake.