Living alone diaries #16; What its like dealing with anxiety
This week, Oluwa.
I’m not even sure if I have it in me to write a full journal entry, but commitments are commitments, regardless.
I feel like I just write about the same things over and over again in this series, and I don’t know if that’s even interesting to read at all. I don’t live a very interesting life, to be honest, I don’t think I’m a very interesting person at all, I’m alone, at home most of the time, and once a week I word vomit onto the internet about my weird inner ramblings and ruminations.
At this point, I’m surprised people read my work at all. But still grateful, nonetheless.
It’s been a surprisingly non-rainy week in Jos, which is very strange, but I’m not complaining. Mostly, I’ve been germinating in bed and overthinking.
Like, what’s really going on in my life? I feel like I have such little direction and motivation. I was reading a book, and the author said, the essential purpose of your life should be to make yourself the best version of yourself you can be, but lately, I don’t even have the strength to do that. I’m in a state of constant lethargy — both physical, and mental.
I finally got the medication the doctor recommended, and I’ve started taking them, so, yay.
I had a bit of an anxious breakdown this week as well, and the reason seems kind of stupid, but I’ll tell you about it, regardless.
Since this whole thing with the tinnitus, and consequently, my blood pressure started, I haven’t called home to ask for money, and up until this week, my dad didn’t know anything about all this, the only reason I told my mom, actually, was because I initially wanted to go home to Abuja and go to our hospital to get checked out and all, but with work, CDS and all, those plans fell through; the process of seeing a doctor and then an ENT and then revision…too long.
And there’s this whole thing our Local Government Inspector (basically the boss of all core members in the local government I work in) was saying, about us not being allowed to leave the state or miss our weekly meetings and the punishment for all that…all that jazz.
Anyways, I’ve segued, sorry.
Back to me calling my father.
Basically, I have a problem with asking for things from people, most especially my parents. Since childhood, my father — who is the breadwinner — has always been fundamentally unapproachable.
And its quite intentional on his part. He would deliberately make it difficult for you to come and meet him for things or request beyond what he himself gave you.
It’s a very deep thing I could write pages about, but I’m not comfortable sharing all of that, and I’m also too tired to verbalize feelings that are so heavy.
So yeah, I have a problem with asking people for things, because I was made to feel like a burden as a child.
Then asking my father, the cause of these feelings and anxiety?
Omo, it’s tough.
Anyways, I decided that with all the money I’d spent on hospital bills and drugs, and just how I was feeling generally, I should at least tell my father about it.
And I found that I couldn’t do it. My anxiety was so intense that I had palpitations, and I physically could not dial his number. For hours I stalled, trying to muster up the courage to call my him and tell him about my hospital bills and near health crisis.
Crazy stuff. And people wonder why I’m not close to my parents and don’t like interacting with them and being in their home.
It’s a horribly debilitating thing sometimes, my anxiety. It’s rarely as bad as it was that day, but when it is, it can quite literally stop me from functioning. And what’s even more depressing is that my anxiety manifested as a result of my home life as a child, and how I grew up.
I don’t know how it is with other people that deal with/experience anxiety, but for me, it’s never something that every really fully goes away. Its like a continuous current in my chest that’s always there. Sometimes it feels like its masked, and I’m able to do other things and function, but on other days when it spikes, it takes considerable mental effort to bring myself out of it to do the things I need to do.
People have this notion in their head about anxiety, they ask “Well, what are you anxious about?”, and the thing is (at least for me) I don’t need to have anything to be anxious about. Its like being in a constant state of worry — it may fluctuate and feel like it’s gone sometimes, but it’s really almost always there.
I’ve learnt to live with these feelings and its shaped me who I am today, for better or worse;
I love the concept of minimalism and try to practice it as much as possible, because having too many things, and having clutter that’s attached to me or my space, makes me anxious. I like muted colours for my space and clothing for the same reason; bright colours and patterns make me feel over sensitized and unsettled, which is horrible for me. Loud music and parties make my stomach knot up and give me anxiety.
Story on that last bit; when I was a child — single digits — they never took me to parties of any sort, weddings, birthdays, any type of ceremony that involved loud music and crowds, even markets. Because I would be crying my eyes out the whole time. One birthday party I cried so much my sisters had to take me home in the middle of everything. I remember feeling like the music was a huge monster ‘choking’ me. And it still feels that way even now. I just don’t cry as much anymore.
I need organization and order, because unknowns and uncertainties exacerbate my anxiety. I feel the need to control and plan things that are directly connected/associated with me, because I want to be able to know what’s going to happen, when and how it’ll affect me
It’s a lot. So, you see, just living life itself gives me gives me anxiety, because life is full of unknowns and uncomfortable situations and things you can’t control and the future and loud music, and people.
I hope this gives people who don’t have this issue some context and empathy when dealing with people that experience anxiety.
Anyways, later that night I calmed down and was able to call him and tell him about it all, and ask him for the money back and all.
The funny thing is, I was less anxious about him not giving me the money — it’s not as if he doesn’t have the means — and just more anxious about the act of actually asking him for it.
I don’t know if that makes sense.
Anyways, yeah. Anxiety is not fun, and it can get pretty bad.
I wish people took it seriously.
I’m not sure I can write any more, and I have an article to edit.
Do you guys experience anxiety? Even if its on a really ‘little’ scale? Sometimes I think I'm ‘overreacting’ but then I know that’s just me gaslighting myself.
Anyways, I hope you have a good week.
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