It’s official: me and my anxiety are breaking up.
We’ve tried cohabitating for a while, and it’s just not working out. For those with anxiety, I feel ya.
There’s a blissful part of my morning where I’m not affected. Then about as soon as I get dressed it strikes like a bolt of lightning, one that turns into a Boa constrictor, coils around my chest and squeezes. First I’ll get overwhelmed at everything I have to do, despite waking up earlier and earlier, then move on to all the things I haven’t done yet and how broke I am, which I will then weaponize and use against myself. You know what’s pretty shitty? Being mean to yourself for having anxiety.
The fact that my anxiety strikes in the morning is something I credit to my years of working as a line cook. Those were the years I ran on adrenaline: wolfing down coffee on an empty stomach, showing up at seven or earlier, and letting the lightning of anxiety basically possess me until the end of my shift. Brunch is war, I used to say. And it is probably the closest I ever got to a war-like experience.
But now I’m a freelancer. I’m a writer. My dreams have come true. And now it’s time to cast off the clammy Boa constrictor.
I now introduce Chill Mark.
I’m adopting a way of life where I slow down, have more fun, take things less seriously. Anxiety is my body’s way of telling me to slow down, eat more, get a massage, take deeper breaths.
This is me and Chill Mark’s first day of working together, but already we’re getting along great.