Disquietude

Desperation, alarm, foreboding, confidence, calm, comfort. So, I'm sitting here at work (obviously not working), looking up anxiety in thesaurus.com, and reading the synonyms and antonyms. Why? Not sure, other than to see how many words I can find to describe the way I am feeling lately, and the way I am not feeling. The answer is, a lot. Who knew there were so many words for anxiety and so many words for a lack of. My favorite, disquietude. I think that captures it accurately.

The anxiety has been overwhelming me - free floating anxiety I guess. Anxiety about everything and about nothing at all at the same time, triggered by nothing in particular. Generalized Anxiety Disorder as the DSM IV defines it, under which you must have 3 or more of 6 symptoms for 6 months. I get disqualified by the time period every single time. It comes and goes - but it is never consistent for 6 months. My psychology degree comes in handy sometimes as I like to diagnose myself with mental disorders. A common thing among psychology majors I think after taking the class on the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual. I manage to never diagnose myself with depression, although I think I might have just technically qualified myself for mixed episode bipolar disorder. Seems the criteria have changed over the past 10 years and the episode is much shorter than it used to be - what they were just starting to call rapid cycling back in the day. Ha - back in the day, as if I am so old.

Anyway, whatever I have, I don't feel right (have I ever felt "right," do I know what "right" even feels like?). The anxiety kicked in two weeks ago - the day I had the breast cancer scare, and multiplied exponentially the day I had the most horrifying conversation with my mother that I have ever had. I wake up in the morning and I feel great and I go to bed devastated, nearly every day. According to thesaurus.com, devastated is the wrong word. Crestfallen might be a better choice.

All my life I have cycled, rapidly through episodes of up and down, depression, something like mania, but not quite qualifying for either, back to depression, elation - always underlying is the anxiety that weaves in and out and around everything I do and everything I think and the OCD that goes with it (which I undoubtedly qualify for under the DSM IV). For a couple of years I saw a therapist, but I don't think we ever got to the bottom of it. Could it be because I don't tell the truth? Well, probably. Sometimes I think I should add compulsive liar when I introduce myself. Like people sometimes say alcoholic and addict, compulsive over eater, compulsive shopper, debtor - people add all kinds of things in. I mean, I don't really lie compulsively necessarily, but I am not a compulsive truth teller either. My favorite thing to say in response to a therapist's questions is "I don't know." Finally, my therapist asked me if I really didn't know or if I just wasn't telling her. I told her I just wasn't telling her - and then I got a new therapist.

AA is helpful, but sometimes praying for God to relieve me of the anxiety so that I don't have to check the stove and the bathroom light one more time before I leave the house, so that I don't find out that I am dying of cancer - well, let's just say, I've been wasting a lot of time checking the stove and the bathroom light, unplugging lamps, not wearing certain clothes, cleaning compulsively... So I made a few phone calls, called a therapist, called a breast cancer support group, felt better and then stopped the process of looking for other ways to help myself. I talk myself out of it every time. Part of it is a resistance to asking for help - to admitting that I need help, part of it is a lack of time (excuses, excuses). The rest of it is just plain not wanting to look at it. I mean, obviously something serious is festering under there if a conversation with my mother can send me into such a tail spin - the problem is, is letting it come to the surface and wash over me better or worse than sticking my toe in and then erecting a barrier between me and it?

I've always been good at erecting barriers. Not so good at setting boundaries, but good at erecting barriers. I always used to pride myself on the fact that you couldn't hurt me because the barrier was impenetrable. It isn't these days - impenetrable - but it is well fortified.

So do I deal with it now, or do I deal with it later.