Anxiety

Hey, blog.

So, it's been a while. Previously, this medium has been used to write up funny little posts for the reader to enjoy, but I think now it's going to be used for something much more personal. I can't guarantee that I'll post more than even this one blog, but for now, it's something that I need to post for my own reasons. 

From my teen years into the present, I've been suffering with some (at times) severe anxiety. Everyone has anxiety-- I know this. I do feel, however, that my anxiety is something that has really stopped me from becoming who I know I'm meant to be. Throughout this expanse of time, I've tried several methods to help cope with and manage this anxiety-- some healthy options, and some much less healthy-- but ultimately nothing has left me with the ability to say that I have "overcome" it. Family, friends, and lovers have all endured and been affected by my inability to cope with this affliction, and I'm sad to say that this has been the main cause of many of my failed relationships-- whether we knew it at the time or not.

So, why am I writing about this, you may ask? It's not to inform anyone of anxiety, not to bring awareness; I'm writing this down for ME. To help get the monster out of my head and into reality for a moment, in hopes that it will help me understand and better manage this-- if I may call it so-- "disease". If this doesn't help, at least I can cross it off the list of things I've tried.

Well, now that we've covered this disclaimer, let's start the show, folks. Prepare for some serious "stream of consciousness" shit.

                                                                                                                                                                   

I broke up with my boyfriend today. It wasn't fun, it wasn't easy, and it wasn't fair.. but it was necessary. He is an amazing person and an amazing boyfriend-- did EVERYTHING right-- and somehow I'm still left with this horrible, gaping ache inside of me, waiting to be nourished by a man who will never be able to feed it. And the worst part is, it's not even his fault.

I don't know where or when it happened, but somewhere along the way I developed this overwhelming self-hatred that has slowly consumed my life and dictated all of my actions. I sometimes sit and wonder at the root cause of this self loathing, but have come to the conclusion that it's less important to place the blame, and more important to remedy the present. I mention this because I think maybe this is why my (now ex) boyfriend could not "complete" me, so to speak. I don't think I ever mean to, but subconsciously I'm always searching for someone else to validate my person; searching for someone to make me feel whole. The catch is, at the end of the day, once that person leaves.. I'm left with myself. It's in those quiet moments of self-reflection that things start to get ugly. 

So today, in my quiet moments, I can't stop thinking about this break up. I can't stop second guessing my decision, even though I know (logically) it was the right decision. My feelings have faded, the passion is gone; it's a hard fact to face, but it's a fact, none the less. I keep hearing his voice in my head, and how upset he sounded.. and I just can't let it go. I mean, I think if I felt zero pain, I would be a sociopath or something.. but I have a feeling it's going to take a lot to erase that moment from my brain. It's hard for me to hurt people-- well, it's probably hard for most people to hurt people-- but that pain really stays with me. It's like one more "tally" in my head on the side of "reasons Alyssa sucks". Like I'm just waiting for something to expose the fact that I've made the wrong decision, so I can regret it, and rub my poor choice in my own face. I wonder why I do that?

As I'm feeling bad about this, there's also this nasty voice in the back of my head telling me that I'm being selfish for feeling bad about this. This constant voice, always feeding my consciousness these nasty little remarks about myself, fueling my negative image. I can't stop thinking, "you don't have any right to feel bad, YOU caused this. stop making it about yourself". It's like, fuck. If people outside of my own head aren't going to make me feel horrible for "pitying" myself, then I'll do it for them. Lets eat another microwaveable pizza to quiet the internal beast.

The topic of using food to calm my anxiety is probably an entire blog post in and of itself, so I wont go into any great depth on it. Really, though, food and a few other things are the only real things that turn my brain off for a while-- maybe it's because it's something I can control. Maybe my parents used food to console me as a child, or something, and that became the only real way I learned how to make myself stop hurting. As I can't consciously remember a situation in which that might be true, I guess we'll assume it's not. All I know is that one personal microwaved pizza can buy me an hour of "quiet brain" time-- I assume this is some weird anxiety-related currency that only fucked up people know about. After that hour, though, it's back to crazy town.

New plan: eat a personal microwaved pizza every hour for the rest of your life, and die at 40, fat and smiling.

We'll end on that ingenious plan for short-term happiness.

Until my next anxiety attack,

Alyssa

Super-Car

Today I decided to take a trip to the nearest five-star restaurant and dine amongst royalty for dinner. On the way home for KFC, I was finding ways to occupy myself in the car (my boyfriend is not exactly the type to offer up any form of stimulating conversation). He is, however, the type to forget that he is supposed to be paying attention to the road and swerve into the other lane, endangering the lives of not only us, but anyone else on the road. He's a gem, really. Irrelevant, but still worth mentioning..


Anyway, as I was saying, I was attempting to occupy myself in his car. For a while, this consisted of making as many weird noises with my mouth as possible. This is something that I frequently do to entertain myself-- my adorable boyfriend says it's annoying, but I know that he secretly loves it and always hopes that the next noise to spout from my face will be at least three times louder. Silent challenge accepted, boyfriend.


After I had made every noise I could possibly think of, I decided to fiddle around with things in Boyfriend's car. At this point, I found this:

What a fine discovery this was. Maybe this is more common than I know of. I do think, however, that the company that made his car perhaps overreacted to the sun. What's next? A third sun flap thingy? Sun glasses that hang from the middle sun flap? SPF 30 that mists your face every time you open your mirror? Although I appreciate the sentiment, I feel that the addition of a second sun shield is excessive. I know that you are just trying to protect me from the sun's harmful rays, unknown car makers, but I don't know if this is the best way to go about it. Are there other hidden air bags, or something, that I should know about? Maybe the entire passenger seat is full of hidden air bags that I'll only get to discover once it's too late. I would hate that.

There are, however, some additions that I would like you to implement to Boyfriend's car. Firstly, I would like a donut dispenser containing multiples of at least three of my favorite donuts. If need be, you may sacrifice the extra hidden airbags to make space in the car for my donut dispenser-- no amount of air bags will protect me from early-onset diabetes. 

Secondly, I would like the sound of the horn to be replaced with the opening scream from CSI Miami. I really don't think that the common horn beep is enough to accurately portray just how cool I really am, and how cool Boyfriend is, inadvertently, for dating me. Y'know?


Lastly, on the passenger side only, I would like a button installed which, when pressed, Rick Rolls whoever is in the car with me. This will also be useful in the following situations:

a.) When Boyfriend is talking about work, or something that I find to be disinteresting
b.) When Boyfriend is not paying enough positive attention to me, forcing me to resort to seeking negative attention.
c.) When Boyfriend is forcing me to listen to a song on the radio that I absolutely can't stand.


If you have any more weird car additions, let me know. Maybe we could all build some sort of super-car plan and send it in to a car manufacturer. 

The Pains of Having Soft, Well Conditioned Hair

So, here's a bit of information for you-- I just recently got a hair cut. Neat, huh? My hair was getting long and dry, so I figured that it was time to hack that shit right off. In doing this, my hair has found it's "second wind" and is no longer dry, which means it's very, very soft. This is both a blessing and a curse for me.

For as long as I can remember, I've had some weird addiction to twisting my hair. I can recall sitting in band class and twisting my hair, not even consciously, during the portions of songs that I did not play. Anyone who knows me knows that this hair-twisting addiction is a defining "Alyssa" trait.

Now, to the average person, this hair twisting addiction may sound, well, almost endearing. You may think that a person would be lucky to have as soft and wonderful hair as me. You may think that my complaining is irrational and unappreciative towards the gifts that God has bestowed upon me (namely, soft hair.. among so many other things..). YOU WOULD BE WRONG. Although I love my soft hair, it has begun to consume the attention and time of my hands. It's like they are crack addicts, and the only way that they can get their fix is to spend hours and hours twisting this one strand of hair that is slowly starting to become straight due to the copious amounts of attention it is getting.

I can no longer plan daily activities for myself that involve the use of my hands because I am never certain of when they will get the "itch" to twist my hair-- and God knows I can't ignore that. I find that my hands' favorite time to scratch their hair twisting "itch" is at night, generally right before I'm about to fall asleep. I lay awake for hours, begging my hands to give it a break already... but it just feels so good. I know that I should really put my foot down because every time I become a slave to my hands' addiction, I am only enabling them. It's hard to say no, though. I mean, they've been just like a part of me for over twenty-one years, now. I mean, every time I want another bite of chocolate cake, they are always right there for me, ready to help me out. How can I deny them their one and only desire in the world? That would be cruel of me.

Sigh, why am I troubled with such intense problems? Everyone else is so lucky... My life is clearly the worst, oh, just the worst! Curse you, Universe, for blessing me with beautifully soft hair, nice lips and eyes, and pleasure-addicted hands!

Awkward Situations

In lieu of an awkward situation I just forcibly endured, I've decided to write a blog post on them.

In case you are wondering what exactly an "awkward situation" entails by my standards, it's when you are forced into a social situation that you'd rather die than experience. Anyone who knows me personally would be very surprised to find out that I actually dread most social situations-- shocking, I know. My least favorite of all social situations has to be the "forced interaction" social situation.

I guess the best way to describe "forced interaction" would be to tell you of a time that I had to suffer through one. This happened less than fifteen minutes ago, so it's still fresh.

At 2pm every Wednesday, I make my way to a little coffee shop on campus to order my lunch. I must preface by saying that I look forward to this one hour of "alone time" every day, where I can just eat my lunch, not having to pretend to be interested in the drama of anyone else's life. Normally, I sit in the far corner of this coffee shop, because both chairs at said table face towards the wall and I can avoid eye contact best at this location. I don't know what exactly possessed me to change my normal routine-- because I am a very routine-based person-- but I decided to sit at a different table, and of the two chairs, I  opted to sit at the one facing the entry doors. This was a mistake, I came to find.

After I ordered my food and returned to my seat, my anxiety level began to exponentially grow. If my anxiety was to be graphed, it would look like this, I'm sure:

Anyway, the moments prior to the arrival of my sandwich were like my own personal little hell. I was filled with feelings of dread at the thought of a familiar face walking through that door-- what if we made eye contact? Then a whole slue of common-practice social interactions would follow, such as smiling or waving-- maybe a brief conversation about our respective demeanor for that day-- I was starting to sweat at the thought alone.

I eyed the chair in front of me... all I need do is move to that chair and I'd be home free. My back would be to the door and if anyone entered that I knew, I could pretend that I didn't see them. I even had my ipod sitting next to me to help reinforce the idea that there was no possible way that their presence could ever be brought to my attention. Instead of moving, I opted to sit there in a fit of my own anxiety.

I guess the universe has a sense of humor because two familiar faces soon appeared through the entrance doors. Great. Now, had these been people that I felt very comfortable with, this would not be a problem. But, no. It was my younger sister's suite mate, whom I have had a total of three conversations with, and my father's fiance's son. You would think that He and I would be close, considering that eventually, we will be forced-family. Wrong. It was obvious that he was dreading the impending social interaction just as much as I was-- at least I could feel content in knowing that my discomfort would not be suffered alone.

I like to refer to the first five minutes of this experience as the "BATTLE OF AVOIDANCE"-- and boy, we were pro. We were both in visible range if each other, but it was as if suddenly we were terribly occupied with something across the room-- so occupied that we had to stare it down with a look of pure concentration on our faces. I could see him out of the corner of my eye, and I was impressed with his ability to pretend that I was non-existent.

Everything was going according to plan, and I could tell that we were counting down the minutes until their fruit smoothie order was complete and escape was possible-- right as I was mentally applauding our efforts, the lady making their smoothie caught me staring my "intense glare of intensely concentrated concentration" in her general direction, which I can only assume she took to mean, "SAY HI TO ME OR ELSE", because she smiled and waved. This would have been a perfectly nice gesture if it had not forced the people immediately to the right of her-- the two individuals I was aiming to avoid eye contact with-- to glance in my direction. At this point, there was no avoiding it-- we had to wave. We did our best to act surprised at the appearance of one another, as if it was so outrageous that two people of the same college would choose to eat lunch at the same on campus coffee shop.

It figures that immediately following our painful social interaction, our respective food orders were completed and my awkward companions were able to leave. God really does have a sense of humor.

Day One: Being an Adult

Well, this is my first blog.. obviously. I'm sure we're all very excited for all of my future posts. I'm sure you can tell, already, just by these first few sentences, what a success my blog will be. I could dominate this post with unimportant details about myself, but I think I'll save that for a later date, and instead I'll cut right to the chase.


Very recently I decided that I wanted to start taking those "baby steps" towards being an "adult". I am 21 and I no longer live with my parents, but I find that I am clinging desperately to all forms of co-dependency possible. My first act as an adult is one that may shock you: flossing daily. 


Now, I'm sure that most of you are saying, "But, Alyssa.. I've been flossing every day for the majority of my life.." And to those people, I kindly reply, "LEAVE ME ALONE, I'M JUST A KID". I don't know what it is about flossing that makes it such a freaking task for people, really. I mean, maybe it's the fact that when you wind the floss around your fingers, nine times out of ten it's going to be too tight and cut the circulation off-- or maybe it's because if you're not an avid flosser, like myself, your gums tend to overreact and bleed all over the place. I leave my oral-hygienic experience looking like my teeth have just lost in a bar fight. It's not cute. 


People always feel guilty for not flossing, too, yet they continue to practice the same lazy habits. I can only assume that I'm not alone in lying to the dentist when they ask, "Hmm.. have you been flossing?" in that accusatory tone that screams, "YOU HAVE NOT BEEN FLOSSING, BUT I AM GOING TO ASK YOU AS A MEANS TO TRAP YOU INTO FEELING OBLIGATED TO LIE TO ME". After you lie, you're always left with one of two feelings: extreme satisfaction or debilitating guilt. Because I'm a good Christian (scoff) I'm generally left with the ladder of the two emotions. I can't even enjoy the victory of having told a successful lie.


Anyway, I am now on day three of my "quest to be an adult by flossing every day" challenge. So far, so good. I don't know why, but after I floss, I always feel very accomplished. Like, I could have slept all day, skipped three of my four classes, and generally been sloth-like in all of my endeavors for the day-- but if I've flossed once-- and I don't even need to leave my bed to do this-- I feel like I've saved a bushel of babies from a burning building. I feel like I deserve some kind of special award for being so productive.


I'm wondering if this whole flossing thing is getting a little out of hand...