Anxiety.
I am so tired.
Tomorrow morning I’m giving a speech in my Public Speaking class about tattooing. I’ve been preparing for and obsessing about this for a week. My wife is so glad this will be over tomorrow, and I haven’t the heart to tell her I have two more major speeches before semester’s end.
Lord, I wish I knew what the secret was to not worrying. I am such a worrier, to the point it keeps me awake all night and makes me physically ill. It’s ironic, really, that someone like me who sees no point in life—who jumps at every opportunity to say “nothing matters”—would obsess over something as trivial as a five-minute speech.
Last night was therapy, my third appointment, and I just don’t know where the doctor is heading with this. He’s definitely not what I had in mind. I was hoping for someone who would say “You’re an interesting case, Admin Worm. Let’s hook up the electrodes, start a battery of tests, and see what’s wrong in that melon of yours.” No, he simply wants to delve into my childhood to see if there’s any hidden memories of horrific, ritualistic sexual abuse that might account for my impatience with myself and with humanity as a whole.
Of course there's ritualistic sexual abuse in my past, but does it count if I'm the perp?
I’m starting to sense a trend in my depression. Tuesdays are therapy night, and thus far every session has seen me in a horribly depressed state of mind. I can’t tell if I have a physiological problem releasing bad chemicals into my system at the same time each week, or if I’m so overwhelmed by the pointlessness of my day-to-day life that things start to look terribly dismal Tuesdays at 5:30.
What’s the secret to just letting anxiety go? Shy of “letting go and letting God,” of course. And I'm asking rhetorically, so no one need post a lengthy comment trying to set me straight.
Tomorrow morning I’m giving a speech in my Public Speaking class about tattooing. I’ve been preparing for and obsessing about this for a week. My wife is so glad this will be over tomorrow, and I haven’t the heart to tell her I have two more major speeches before semester’s end.
Lord, I wish I knew what the secret was to not worrying. I am such a worrier, to the point it keeps me awake all night and makes me physically ill. It’s ironic, really, that someone like me who sees no point in life—who jumps at every opportunity to say “nothing matters”—would obsess over something as trivial as a five-minute speech.
Last night was therapy, my third appointment, and I just don’t know where the doctor is heading with this. He’s definitely not what I had in mind. I was hoping for someone who would say “You’re an interesting case, Admin Worm. Let’s hook up the electrodes, start a battery of tests, and see what’s wrong in that melon of yours.” No, he simply wants to delve into my childhood to see if there’s any hidden memories of horrific, ritualistic sexual abuse that might account for my impatience with myself and with humanity as a whole.
Of course there's ritualistic sexual abuse in my past, but does it count if I'm the perp?
I’m starting to sense a trend in my depression. Tuesdays are therapy night, and thus far every session has seen me in a horribly depressed state of mind. I can’t tell if I have a physiological problem releasing bad chemicals into my system at the same time each week, or if I’m so overwhelmed by the pointlessness of my day-to-day life that things start to look terribly dismal Tuesdays at 5:30.
What’s the secret to just letting anxiety go? Shy of “letting go and letting God,” of course. And I'm asking rhetorically, so no one need post a lengthy comment trying to set me straight.
posted by Admin Worm at 1:33 PM
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