On Anxiety – Or, It Will be OK, Jay-Z

I want to know if Jay-Z gets anxious about things. Does he lie awake at night wondering if he should have taken the garbage out before bed because leaving it until 7 am the next morning is cutting it close and last time he forgot and missed the garbage truck entirely and then his garage stunk for an entire week due to the excess of trash stuck in there?

Does he worry about his parenting skills? Should he be making his kid eat more vegetables even though ALL she will bloody well eat is cucumbers? Should he have named her after a primary colour?

Do he and Beyoncé have pointless arguments that leave him feeling wrung out and tense for hours after about how much time they spend together, and is it the right amount of time or is it too much and what should they be doing with their time together?

Is there a little voice CONSTANTLY in the corner of his very busy mind telling him “pick up the dog shit before it rains, Jay. Last time you didn’t it got all soggy and smeared into the grass and you were pissed and you can avoid that scenario AND shut me up if you just go pick it up NOW stop thinking about it and just do it seriously all this thinking about it just makes it even worse and now look at you you are immobilized by the thought of picking it up and ALSO by the thought of not picking it up”?

There are two things that are important to note here.

One – I spend an inordainate amount of time thinking about Jay-Z and it is not normal and probably borders on behaviour that can be classified as “unhealthy” or “stalkerish”.

Two – I don’t think anxiety cares who you are, how old you are, what your gender is, or which former Destinys Child member you happen to be married to. I think anxiety is generous in who it befriends, allowing each of us who meet it to become very attached to it until one day it is essentially running our lives like that friend we all had in high school who bossed you around and made you steal brown lip-liner from the drugstore and you did it even though you knew your dad would (figuratively) kick your ass and (literally) confine you to the house until you were 27 and your mom would cry and as a teenager seeing a crying parent is mortifying so you just prayed you never got caught. And, like that friend, you want to tell anxiety to fuck RIGHT off but you can’t. It’s part of you now, and it knows you so well and besides no one else’s parents let you drink in their basement. On school nights.

I don’t know where my anxiety came from, and I’ve never been officially diagnosed with it by a medical professional and also “officially” feels like the wrong word here and should probably be reserved for statements more like “you are officially the chess champion of Delaware” not “you are officially a basket case”, but I can’t think of another word and it sort of makes anxiety sound like a bit of a fun prize or a blue ribbon or something.

Realistically, though, it’s anything but fun. Anxiety makes you live inside of your head, and everything else – like the actual, physical world around you – is secondary. Your thoughts are constant and blurry and impossible to detangle sometimes. It is not a tangible thing, but you come to think of it in terms of a possession that you are required to have with you at all times, as in – “off to the grocery store! Better make sure I have my keys my wallet my coupons that annoying token I need to unlock the carts because some people apparently steal them and now we all have one more tiny thing in our lives that we have to keep track of and my anxiety. Where is my anxiety again I almost forgot it last time – oh there it is under my coat. Phew”.

Sometimes, anxiety is a sneaky asshole and disguises itself as worry (also not constructive) or rage (something I am very prone to especially when behind slow walkers, shitty drivers, or people who have 72 lottery tickets to check when I just want to PAY FOR MY GAS don’t they KNOW they can check their numbers in the paper or ONLINE). But even when it’s hiding behind one of these other lovely afflictions, it can still debilitate you at a moments notice. Suddenly you’re in the middle of the cereal aisle and the choice between Cheerios and no-name wheat-o’s is just too much so you end up back at home with no groceries and the daunting prospect of having to do it all again tomorrow because children apparently need food.

Where is the relief? Is there relief?

I’m sure there is relief to be found in pharmaceutical drugs but my personality is one that is best kept far away from anything addictive and / or in pill form. I regularly remember to be grateful that crack wasn’t big in my hometown because if it had been I would be writing this from under a bridge somewhere.

For now, I quiet my own voice by walking The Beast and writing. I have also rearranged the furniture in our living room so many times that Moe finally, in a very firm, un-Moe like manner, said I had to stop because it never felt like home with everything constantly moving and also he had walked into the coffee table three times because he kept forgetting where it was.

I also try to stay calm by constantly reminding myself that I am not alone. Many, many people deal with anxiety, and many are not lucky enough to be able to talk about it without feeling shame or isolation. More still deal with depression and self-harm, anxiety’s evil, mean-as-fuck sisters. These people are champions, battling something that can’t be seen and sometimes can’t even be described. My issue is mild in comparison, and I am humbled by those that fight against those asshole sisters every day.

I want these people to know that I’m behind them, even though I am literally zero help in any given situation unless it is giving advice on how to nap properly (light but warm blanket, dark room, fan or open window giving a slight breeze and little to  no light).

I also want Jay-Z to know that I, too, frequently worry about picking up dog shit and put it off until the last possible moment. You are not alone, friend.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s