The Anxiety Pirate and the Rainbow Doom-Brella

I should have known that buying this would be a mistake

The problem with anxiety is that, even when you've mostly got it under control, sometimes you still have a Bad Day. 

Anxious days turn me into an anxiety pirate.  This is my new favorite term, invented as of yesterday, so named because I spend my time going "argh argh arghity argh" and wishing I could make myself walk the plank (or head-desk, which, while distinctly un-piratelike, is more practical for everyday use.)

On taking up space

Somehow, over time, I've constructed an internal image of myself.  Like some kind of warped party trick, I can conjure it up anywhere.  I can imagine how I look to others from this angle or in that outfit.

Catching askance glances of myself in windows, I covertly scrutinize - seeking to validate whether my omnipresent mind-self is actually substantiated by reality.

This heightened awareness is like a sixth sense, except instead of granting me a useful ability, my only special skill is that I can visualize in sharp and vivid detail what I look like in yoga pants.

Ever-perceiving the space I occupy, I'm left with a nagging feeling of obtrusiveness.  I wonder if I'm taking up too much space.
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Don't Panic

I have this poster for a good reason

I'm really proud of this one, and am really enjoying writing lately.  This is about overcoming anxiety.  I'm hoping being open about this might help other people feel like it's okay to get help and also that they aren't alone.  As an added bonus, it certainly was cathartic.

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It’s strange how you can be an inhabitant in your own mind for so long, and yet not notice when things have, slowly but surely, begun to go awry.

In my college admissions essay, I wrote about fear – that “it may drive, or inspire, or limit me, but with knowledge, and independence, and powerful motivation, I can conquer the things that strike dread into my soul.”

Little did I know that, sometimes, fear itself is what you have to conquer – and that you can’t always overcome it on your own. 

When I wrote that essay, was I beginning to realize?  Did I have any inkling whatsoever? Had I begun to look inside myself and see what was there for what it truly was?