Do you ever get that feeling that you just might be as anxious as you are right now for the rest of your life (a thought which only serves to make you more unsettled)? Every now and then it hits me. And then I shake and shake and shake because I can’t think of anything else to do.
Often times I twitch or shake for no reason, even (especially) when I am feeling perfectly happy and fine. All my life I have had this thing where I will be sitting, and without even realizing it my knee starts bobbing up and down. Could be my right knee, could be my left knee, could be both. I seem and feel calm, without a care in the world, but I cannot for the life of me sit still, I must constantly be moving. And oh, when I am filled with ambiguous dread is when I am most capable of sitting still — on the outside, at least.
By the way, I fucking hate butterflies. I wish I didn’t.
Anyway, tonight is one of those very rare nights that my brain is doing a thousand different things, but mostly I’m just nervous for the sake of being nervous. I live with the notion that anxiety is an inevitable part of life (Sartre taught me that), and usually when I think about that, I am calmed — because why worry, when worry is just another thing? So I don’t normally have to try too hard not to worry. But it must be like a dam — no, a camel. Yes, a camel. I store up the worry in a funny-looking hump on my back. But I cannot simply absorb it the way a camel does. I have to release it, my quota of worry, and I guess I just tend to do it all at once, when I am alone and have nowhere in particular to go. So I sit and I shake.
Tonight this worry feels warrented — deserved, more than deserved — so I am especially anxious. This is focused worry. Almost. So what can I do? Nothing. Just endure it, wait it out, pace back and forth like I always do.
Tonight I decided to throw up. It seemed like a good idea, like it might relieve something, so I tried. I paced into the bathroom, took off my headphones, took off my glasses, prepared a paper towel, got comfortable, and stuck my head into the toilet. And then I threw up. It was surprisingly easy, in fact; I was caught off guard by how willing my body was to expel what little I had in me. It reminded me of junior high, how when I would freak out over nothing or something temporary, I would just stick my head in the toilet and throw up. I never really think about that time, it’s unimportant, but tonight I couldn’t help but recall the images.
Like beautiful girls who are so much taller than me. Like boys in my own grade who have already started shaving and wearing deodorant and boxer shorts, while I am stuck visibly in tighty-whities. Like the word “potential” and everyone who always talks to me about it. Like cheerleaders. Like the disdain of the cool kids who aren’t in band. Like the disappointments. Like the fear. Like the anger. Like the short walk home. Like afternoons wasted watching TV shows I don’t even like.
Fuck it. Images of junior high do nothing to soothe me, nothing at all. The process of preparing to puke was much more comforting, much, much more. Almost like an old routine. I don’t really have routines these days. This may be the cause of the bouts of anxiety. I had too much time back then, too. I’m trying to clean the apartment, but not much can be done without help at this stage (how appropriate). So I suppose I’m just stuck with nights like this from time to time to time.
Goddammit.
Filed by Trevor at 7:25 pm under General, Shameless Plugs, UU, The Arts
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