Week 10: July 15-21, 2018

Sunday, July 15

Anxiety Brain: See, Person G thinks you're crazy, too. I told you that this blog was a bad idea.
Me: Yeah, didn't expect negative responses two weeks in a row.
Anxiety Brain: You sure you shouldn't just stop writing in general?
Me: At the moment, I don't know. Certainly seems to be a bad idea lately.
Anxiety Brain: You're going to lose friends if you keep posting this stuff, you know.
Me: I don't think we've reached that point.
Anxiety Brain: Your page view numbers are down. People are sick of you. That's only a step away from losing friends.
Me: Maybe...
Anxiety Brain: Certainly doesn't paint you in a good light. I mean, last week half of our conversations were about you spending more time worrying about yourself than about the fact that one of your best friends was getting married and needed your help with the wedding. And the other half of them were about you worrying about the same topic you've been writing about worrying about for weeks. People think you're a horrible person. And that you're needy and pathetic. And you know I'm right.
Me: I don't know how to not worry about those things. I'm trying. I'm working on it. But it doesn't go away overnight. It takes weeks and months and maybe even years. It's a process. People should know that.
Anxiety Brain: Yeah, well people are sick of it being a process. Either fix yourself now or stay the hell away from other people in the meantime because they're annoyed and fed up with you at this point.
Me: Not like it's a picnic for me either. And I need people if there's any hope of it getting better.
Anxiety Brain: No one likes a negative person. So if you really want people around all that much, figure out how to hide all your angst and neediness and act like a normal person.
Me: I've spent most of the last week trying to hide it. It didn't work. It meant nearly having very public anxiety meltdowns on multiple occasions. I need to be able to talk about it.
Anxiety Brain: Well, you can't. Not if you want people to like you.
Me: What am I supposed to do, then? Because I can't not talk about it.
Anxiety Brain: Well, you could isolate again.
Me: Doesn't that defeat the purpose of wanting people around?
Anxiety Brain: It preserves your image. People will still think of you in a positive light without you screwing it up. Or at least the ones that you haven't already scared away - but at least you won't give those ones a chance to say how awful you are to your face if you avoid them completely.
Me: I hate that you make sense right now.
Anxiety Brain: I make sense a lot of the time. You should listen to me more. Which would happen if you stopped letting other people in.
Me: But I like other people.
Anxiety Brain: Well, they don't like you. Most of them think that you're crazy. The others are sick of your pessimism and self-centeredness. And the only way you can save face at all is if you stop sharing all your flaws. And if you can't do that, your best option is to isolate. And definitely stop writing.
Me: Did I mention that I hate that you make sense right now?
Anxiety Brain: You did. But unlike last week, you're actually listening to me.
Me: Yeah.
Anxiety Brain: So you're going to build the walls back up?
Me: Probably. At least for now. At least for tonight.
Anxiety Brain: And you're going to stop writing?
Me: Maybe. Or maybe sharing it. I don't know. I made a commitment to myself; I don't know that I'm quite ready to give that up.
Anxiety Brain: But you're considering it.
Me: Yeah.
Anxiety Brain: And you're not going to talk to anyone?
Me: Not tonight. Especially because the two people I'd usually talk to are on vacation, and unreachably on vacation at that.
Anxiety Brain: I get you to myself the rest of the night then?
Me: Yep.
Anxiety Brain: You're a horrible, awful, crappy person.
Me: I'm aware.
Anxiety Brain: And no one wants you around.
Me: Starting to think you were right on that.
Anxiety Brain: Glad to see you appreciate my wisdom.
Me: Yeah, yeah. It's going to be a long night...


Monday, July 16

Anxiety Brain: You haven't heard from Person Z in a while.
Me: True.
Anxiety Brain: Pretty sure they don't want to be your friend anymore.
Me: There are plenty of other reasons that could be behind the fact that I haven't heard from Person Z.
Anxiety Brain: Like what?
Me: Like they have a life? Like their entire existence doesn't revolve around me?
Anxiety Brain: Or they've realized how needy you are, think that you're ridiculous and obsessive, and are avoiding you because they're too nice to actually tell you those things.
Me: And the fact that everything they ever actually say is to the contrary of that?
Anxiety Brain: Just them being too nice to tell you that they're sick of tolerating your existence.
Me: Pretty sure you're wrong on that one.
Anxiety Brain: And you're so sure because...?
Me: Because this is why I write down the nice things that people say or write to me.
Anxiety Brain: But what if that was from before they got sick of you?
Me: You know, there are enough recent things that I'm pretty sure it's all still true.
Anxiety Brain: Well, fine. Just don't blame me if you go making a fool of yourself by thinking that they're still your friend when really they're just trying to let you down easy.
Me: Sure. Right. Pretty sure they'll prove you wrong in the end. And for once, I'm going to trust them and not you.


Tuesday, July 17

Me: I think I might have actually finally figured out a blog post that I want to write. It means splitting this old one into two separate topics, but that's probably for the best
Anxiety Brain: That topic sounds stupid.
Me: No. I think it'll work
Anxiety Brain: You're just trying to incur sympathy so that people will like you. Which people hate, so they're actually going to like you less.
Me: Or I'm just sharing the life experiences of the past that give some explanation for some of the struggles I have now.
Anxiety Brain: Yeah, mostly you're just trying to gain friends by making people feel sorry for you.
Me: Not really the goal. Just sharing a story and trying to help people understand me a little more. I'm just going to write it. You'll see. These posts always turn out.
(A while later)
Anxiety Brain: That sounds stupid.
Me: Yeah, this really isn't turning out how I'd hoped it would.
Anxiety Brain: You're going to go another week without a blog post. It's been a lot of weeks now.
Me: Well, maybe I'll set this one aside for a while, and try something different. It's really been longer than I would have liked since posting to my regular blog.
(A few hours and half a dozen partial posts later)
Me: I hate days when I want to write and just can't get an idea developed.
Anxiety Brain: You really ought to give up on getting a new post published again this week.
Me: Unfortunately, I might have to. Just not enough time in my schedule this week. Or, really, the last few weeks in general.
Anxiety Brain: You may as well just give up completely. Not like anyone wants to read what you write anymore. I mean, just look at the post from last week on your blog about me. It has the fewest views of anything you've written in a long time.
Me: So it was an off week. Not a reason to quit.
Anxiety Brain: Better off quitting before you go totally bust.
Me: Or not.
Anxiety Brain: I mean, unless you really don't want to have any friends left. Which hasn't been looking great for you. You haven't really connected with any friends at all this week.
Me: My fault. I thought I should use yesterday and today to pack for moving, so I chose not to schedule any time with friends. The goal was to have the time and energy to be productive without getting distracted. Except it turns out that you're just annoying enough that I've gotten literally nothing done over the past two days.
Anxiety Brain: Except fail at writing.
Me: Yeah, choosing not to schedule anytime with friends these couple of days was a mistake.
Anxiety Brain: Why, because you need them to boost your ego? Because you're completely incapable of doing it yourself?
Me: No, because I've had to spend the last week fighting you with almost no help, and I'm going to be spending most of the next week fighting you with no help, and I'm exhausted, and I need reinforcements.
Anxiety Brain: Sounds like what I said. You're a pathetic person who can't figure out how to be happy without other people telling you that you're awesome. Which is needy. And unfair to the people you call "friends." And it's no wonder that no one wants to talk to you this week.
Me: Yep. Note to self - next time I have a bunch of high-pressure social time, I'm better off using my free time to recharge with people I like than I am trying to recharge by myself where I'm stuck listening to you by myself. I'm not making this mistake again.


Wednesday, July 18

Anxiety Brain: Why aren't you helping get the SUV loaded?
Me: Because it's intense out there, and I'd rather avoid that anxiety-inducing situation.
Anxiety Brain: But you should be helping. You're just being lazy. What on earth is wrong with you?
Me: If I'm going to make it through this weekend, I need to not start it feeling like I'm in the way and like I do everything wrong. Which is what's going to happen if I go out there. So I'm going to stay in the basement and get some quality dog snuggle time before leaving my dog here for the long weekend.
Anxiety Brain: All I hear is you talking about what you need. What you need doesn't matter. You're supposed to be helping other people.
Me: Self care is a thing. And it's what I'm doing right now.
Anxiety Brain: You've said that so many times in the last couple of weeks that it's ceased to have any meaning. You're just using it as an excuse.
Me: No. Self care is an all-the-time thing. And it gets more important in continual high-pressure social situations like the last couple of weeks have been.
Anxiety Brain: More excuses. What is wrong with you? You just never think of anyone but yourself.
Me: (Tries to tune out Anxiety Brain by focusing on giving the dog attention).
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Anxiety Brain: The bikes are going to fall off the back of the SUV.
Me: Person Q had the bike shop people check how the bikes were strapped on, and the bike shop people said it was fine, so I'm sure they'll be fine.
Anxiety Brain: But that was a test run; it wasn't today. Today the bikes are definitely going to fall off the back.
Me: I can see one of the bike tires. It's not moving.
Anxiety Brain: Have you looked out the back window?
Me: No. Not yet. (Looks out back window)
Anxiety Brain: So you see how much their rattling back there. They're definitely going to fall off.
Me: I'm sure it has something to do with physics and how the air is moving around them. Moving doesn't mean they're going to fall off.
Anxiety Brain: Plus, you know the luggage carrier on top is going to fall off, too.
Me: Hasn't yet. And we've used that on lots of trips.
Anxiety Brain: Also, it's going to pop open. And your suitcase is up there. So your suitcase is going to be on the side of the highway somewhere, and you'll never get it back. Which means you won't get its contents back. And you're really going to miss some of those irreplaceable t-shirts. Which will probably be strewn all over the highway because your suitcase will pop open and everything inside will fly out everywhere.
Me: (Sarcastically) Thanks for that visual. It's so comforting.
Anxiety Brain: I'm just saying, putting things in luggage carriers is a terrible, horrible idea, and you're going to regret it.
Me: Person Q says that physics will keep the carrier closed even if it does come unlocked.
Anxiety Brain: But what if it doesn't?
Me: It's never been an issue before.
Anxiety Brain: But what if today it is?
Me: It'll be fine.
Anxiety Brain: But what if it isn't.
Me: And pulling out phone games for distraction now.



Thursday, July 19

Anxiety Brain: You're sitting at a restaurant with your family and your face is glued to your phone.
Me: Which I haven't taken out all day except to take pictures, and I want to post some of said pictures as long as we're in a location where my phone actually has reasonable service.
Anxiety Brain: The workers are going to judge you.
Me: All I want to do is post some pictures while I still have a shot at being close enough to the location in order to actually tag it accurately, and then I'm going to put my phone away.
Anxiety Brain: It's a small restaurant. All the workers can see you. And all they're going to see is a pathetic, self-centered millenial who can't put their phone away long enough to enjoy a meal with your family.
Me: I'm not the only one at this table with my phone out. Because introvert time is a thing.
Anxiety Brain: Well, your whole family is being judged, then. But it's your fault. You were the first one to take it out. And you're also the reason these small-town people are going to judge your entire generation for never putting away their phones.
Me: That stereotype existed long before this moment in time.
Anxiety Brain: But you're the one to come in here and confirm it.
Me: Fine. But the pictures are posted, and I'm putting my phone away.
Anxiety Brain: Too late. You're already the reason that the phone addiction stereotype of your generation will be forever perpetuated in this small town.
Me: (Takes phone back out for distraction's sake)


Friday, July 20

Anxiety Brain: The director knows that you're a music major now. He's going to expect you to be perfect.
Me: I'm sight-singing everything. I'm just here as a visitor for one week because Person W invited my family to join as long as we're in town. And the director knows that. I don't think he's going to expect perfection.
Anxiety Brain: But he knows your a music teacher. He's going to expect that you can sight read everything perfectly. And that you'll sound great.
Me: I bet I still sight-read better than most of the people here did when they first got the music who knows how long ago.
Anxiety Brain: But you have the gall to be singing soprano when you sound like that in warm-ups?
Me: So I'm rusty. I've barely sung for the last couple of months, and I haven't sung that high at least since before this calendar year. At least it means the choir gets to have more than one soprano for this rehearsal.
Anxiety Brain: If you screw up, you'll look like a totally incompetent music teacher. You'll ruin your reputation as a music teacher forever.
Me: (Sarcastically) Which totally matters when the only opinion that will change is that of a music teacher who lives in a different state, and on the side of the state opposite from where it borders my home state.
Anxiety Brain: But you're still totally freaked out that you're going to screw it up, aren't you?
Me: I'd say you have no idea, but-
Anxiety Brain: I really fully understand how totally terrified you are right now.
Me: Yep.


Saturday, July 21

Anxiety Brain: You just got reprimanded for having your phone out.
Me: Not like it was directed at me.
Anxiety Brain: Did anyone else have their phone out, though?
Me: No.
Anxiety Brain: They totally think you're horrible for not wanting to spend time with them. They're family. Now they think you're too stuck up to spend time with them.
Me: So I have a life that extends beyond this weekend. And I'm trying to figure out details for plans for the next week. And it's not my fault that the texts I tried sending this morning before we left on our family outing failed to send. I'm just trying to get them re-sent. It's not like I'm planning on spending the whole day on my phone. Just need to get a few messages sent, and then I'll be done. Waiting until Monday to figure out what the plan is for Monday just doesn't seem like a fantastic idea.
Anxiety Brain: So you're saying that your friends are more important than your family?
Me: If that were the case, I wouldn't have come at all. It's just been a rough week without spending any time with friends, and I'm trying to ensure that I don't wait too late to try to make plans only to find out that people are busy and then go another week without spending time with friends.
Anxiety Brain: You're a horrible person.
Me: I put the phone away as soon as I attempted sending the last text again.
Anxiety Brain: You're still a horrible person.
Me: I'm doing my best.
Anxiety Brain: Then why aren't you participating in the conversation?
Me: Because I literally have nothing to add. And I don't feel the need to talk if I have nothing valuable to add to the conversation.
Anxiety Brain: But they keep asking you to say something.
Me: I have nothing to say. And between you and the added pressure, I can't think straight enough to think of anything to say.
Anxiety Brain: Well, you'll be trapped in a vehicle with them for the next half hour, so you better figure it out.
Me: Or I could just be myself and sit and listen, and there's nothing wrong with that.
Anxiety Brain: You're being a bad family member. You should be talking to them. They just want you to be a part of things, you know.
Me: And when I have something to add to the conversation, I will.
Anxiety Brain: Not good enough.
Me: I'm so done with this level of pressure.
Anxiety Brain: Well you have to participate. You don't dare take out your phone as a distraction like you've done all week so far.
Me: So I'll stare out the window and tune everything else out until I feel okay enough to be a part of things again.
Anxiety Brain: That's not allowed either. You have to participate in the conversation. Otherwise you're a bad family member.
Me: See, this is why you and family gatherings really don't mix well
(After getting out of the vehicle)
Me: At least I can kind of get some space.
Anxiety Brain: Don't wander too far away. This is family time. You aren't allowed to be more than a few feet away from the rest of the family at any moment in time. Even if it is way too crowded at this bakery.
Me: Or I could step away from the main counter where I don't feel so closed in.
Anxiety Brain: So first you had your phone out to text your friends. Then you refused to talk to your family. And now you want to stand in a different aisle than the rest of them? You have got to be the worst family member in history.
Me: If I don't take space to breathe now, I'm not going to make it through the rest of this outing.
Anxiety Brain: See, it's all about you again.
Me: I seriously can't keep doing this.
Anxiety Brain: And don't you dare tell Person G why you're upset. Everyone else already thinks that you two are too closed off to the rest of the group.
Me: And what am I supposed to do when Person G asks me?
Anxiety Brain: Lie and say that you're fine in order to keep the rest of the group happy.
Me: And what about the fact that I'm not fine?
Anxiety Brain: Oh, don't you dare start crying. Really?
Me: Trying really hard not to. Not really working right now.
Anxiety Brain: Suck it up and deal with it. Your job this weekend is to make sure everyone else has a fantastic family weekend, and you have to be part of every moment of it.
Me: (Starts crying) Yeah, now is definitely a good time to step outside instead.
Anxiety Brain: So now you're ditching them completely? What a horrible family member.
Me: Just trying to pull myself together before I have to get back in a vehicle with them.
Anxiety Brain: Where you'll be trapped again, by the way. No escape. Just as a reminder that you can't keep falling apart like this in front of them. You're going to ruin their happy family weekend.
Me: Between you and them, I literally can't handle this much pressure.
Anxiety Brain: What is wrong with you? Suck it up and pull it together. You are a horrible family member!
Me: (Starts having a panic attack)
Anxiety Brain: You're really going to do this? In public. Pull it together before someone sees you and realizes what an incompetent adult you are.
Me: Not really my ideal location, either, but where else am I supposed to go? Because no way in hell am I going back inside.
Anxiety Brain: And now the rest of the family is coming outside. You're ruining their happy family outing. You're going to make them think that they're horrible people when really you're the horrible one. Which makes you an even more terrible family member.
Me: (Panic attack continues)
Anxiety Brain: See, now they're going to start changing their plans to accommodate you and this ridiculous tantrum you like to call a panic attack. And this weekend isn't about you, it's about the family.
Me: You are so not helpful right now (and the panic attack keeps going)
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Anxiety Brain: You aren't keeping up with the rest of the group.
Me: They don't like to read all the things. I like to read every single detail. They were warned.
Anxiety Brain: Well, either read faster or skip things and try to keep up.
Me: I'm pretty sure I'm the only one here who's only been to the Packer Hall of Fame once before. And didn't get through everything I wanted to then, either - mostly because I felt so rushed to keep up with the rest of the group. And it's not my fault I wasn't even born until well after at least two thirds of Packer history took place. And I want to learn things. I don't know all this stuff, and I'm trying to learn and get the most out of our limited time here.
Anxiety Brain: It's not about what you want. It's a family outing. You should be focusing on spending time with your family, not on learning things.
Me: You know, you're being so obnoxiously distracting that I can't even focus on what I'm trying to read, and I'm not retaining half of what I want to for more than a second, if even that.
Anxiety Brain: Even more reason to just give up and wander with the rest of the group instead of trying to go at your own pace.
Me: It's going to be a long afternoon...
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Anxiety Brain: You're a horrible dog owner.
Me: But he's been so good at coming when called lately. I don't know why he's suddenly decided to stop now that Person J is there dog-sitting.
Anxiety Brain: Because you're a horrible dog-owner and have never gotten him to consistently come when called.
Me: We're working on it.
Anxiety Brain: Not hard enough. You've had him for 6 years. If you were any good as a dog owner, you'd have him trained better by now.
Me: Have you seen how stubborn my dog is?
Anxiety Brain: You don't try hard enough.
Me: So I'm still working on it. Not like I've had anything else to try to accomplish over the last six years.
Anxiety Brain: You could have made it a priority.
Me: Well maybe this next year when I don't have roommates and therefore spend less time arguing with you over whether or not my roommates hate me, I'll have more time and energy to work with the dog again.
Anxiety Brain: You're a horrible dog owner. Person J is never going to dog sit for you again.
Me: I don't think that's true.
Anxiety Brain: You should just bring him with next time so that you're the only person who has to deal with what a failure of a dog owner you are.
Me: Except my dog super doesn't get along with the rest of the family dogs.
Anxiety Brain: Because you're a horrible dog owner.
Me: Or because adopting a rescue dog at age 2.5 years means having habits that are more ingrained and harder to break even with training.
Anxiety Brain: That sounds like you're just making excuses for being a horrible dog owner.
Me: I give up.