My anxiety killed me, dead.
I really struggle with the anxiety part of my bipolar disorder and we’re beginning to think that it’s an issue all on its own. My last post spoke about my obsessional thinking patterns. I brought this to my psychiatrist’s attention on Wednesday. (There was a cancellation so I could get an appointment sooner than I’d planned).
Some context: I’m enrolled in a writing course where I’m learning how to successfully write my memoir. Lately, towards the end of the course, I’ve been struck with debilitating anxiety.
I explained how I thought that maybe it’s psychosis as I must be delusional. My thought processes are affected. And bonus, it’s affecting my memory.My psychiatrist says that my anxiety may be the cause of all of this.
It’s more than just writer’s block. I am the one who is blocked.
Even writing this, I find that I’m struggling to string words together. I’m at a loss for words even in the simplest of situations. In social settings, I find my body temperature soaring (evident in my glasses steaming up) and I need to remove my glasses or scarf till I’m settled.
I recall experiencing this anxiety when I was studying at varsity. No surprise that I dropped out. Does this mean I won’t be able to achieve anything?
No need to answer that. I’m throwing out questions for myself to think about.
One thing that came out of the session was that I was adopting other people’s definition of success as my own and using it in turn to define who I am.
So, if I don’t submit 10 000 words by the 15 July, I won’t get my certificate. And if I don’t get that certificate I’m going to be a failure, because I never graduated like everyone else. I made my happiness depend on that certificate, this upcoming submission. My livelihood depends on it. I have nothing else, if I do not have this certificate. I am nothing if I do not get this certificate.
These are the kinds of thoughts that I constantly grapple with. They overpower all that I am and I am left, broken. Apparently it’s a combination between severe anxiety and low self esteem. The latter, I assume I need to fix quick-quick and in a hurry. These are the times I wish I were manic, just for the feeling of being invincible. Just to have that taste of power. Because right now, I’m yearning to feel that power and drive I had so many moons ago.
I’m sure some people, especially those without mental health issues are thinking, “Get it together.”
I wish I could. I wish it were that simple. But I’m trapped in my own head.
This anxiety has me questioning my very existence.