I’d rather have cancer than suffer from anxiety…what a terrible but brutally honest thing to say

At least with cancer, there is an end result. Survive. Or die. With anxiety, there is no relief.

I called someone at work (my job), (after some moments gearing myself up to call) and told them I won’t be in today as I am not feeling very well.

I’ve been suffering from abdominal pains, and it’s probably because of my anxiety.

Guess what I’ve been doing the last three weeks? Since my last blog about leaving work?

I tried to ‘get my shit together’ and go back to work. I can only tell you that right now I am a former shell of myself.

I am exhausted. My head feels full to bursting. My anxiety is overwhelming.

And I’ve been thinking about hanging myself in all honesty.

I made a decision to leave work. And then I berated myself and I didn’t.

And I’ve spent all weekend, absolutely tortured. Going from tears to anger. And cancelling plans to go out for dessert and a movie at the cinema, because my depression told me I’m a worthless piece of shit, and my anxiety confirmed it. All because work is part of my life, and life and everything in it is overwhelming right now.

I was never one to admit I suffered from these things. Depression. Anxiety. But the truth is I do. And I don’t take medication for it, or receive counselling or therapy. (That’s because I believe these things don’t help, and the stigma attached to them will destroy your life better than mental health can – but that’s another blog).

And it’s so hard, when your mental health starts to affect your physical health.

I have pushed myself all of the time, and I don’t even know if I am going to follow through and leave my job and take time off like I said I would. A few years ago, I was going to take a sabbatical. I didn’t. Now I am a graduate in Masters level degree. No time off. Then I went straight into a stressful job. No time off.

All i know is today I had to call in sick. Because my mind just wont shut off.

I couldn’t sleep properly. I keep waking up. And when I managed to get to sleep last night I had a dream I lost most of my hair. I could see part my bald head. Then I had a dream I was stuck on top of a very large cliff. And I had to find a way to get down.

These dreams tell me I’m not happy. Well, of course I’m not. But I tried you know? I tried to be normal and go out and work and do all the things people do.

When I’ve tried to talk to people close to me, they tell me; just push past it. Or, don’t be a quitter… It makes me so angry that even to this day people don’t understand this isn’t about being lazy, or stressed out, or tired. It’s about a debilitating illness. Like cancer, except it’s invisible. I don’t know, sometimes I think cancer would be easier to handle. How sad is this thought?

I might go back to work tomorrow. I might not. Sitting at home doesn’t help either.

I’m stuck in a vicious cycle. Hell, I think it’s called. I’m in hell.

 

Dealing with guilt – Living with anxiety

It seems to be a common theme.

Be brave. Think about your actions. Feel guilty.

Guilt is one of the harshest feelings. It makes you feel sorry for the bad things you may have done to other living beings. But what if the guilt you feel is a side-effect of anxiety?

It’s not hard to imagine feeling guilty for not helping the homeless old man sat outside of London’s Kings Cross Station, with all of the possessions he owns in the world in plastic bags from Aldi. And the guilt one feels for probably feeling worse than him. Angry at the world, though I have a home.

My anxiety makes me overthink. I ponder over every detail, and I try to think about the world in its entirety. Everything that’s right with it and everything that isn’t.

I feel guilty that I am angry, sad and everything in between. I feel guilt when my emotions erupt and I snap at the nice man at the ticket barriers because he can’t tell me which platform my train is on.

I feel guilt when I expect the world to pat me on the back if I succeed in something. And I feel guilt when it doesn’t care.

Living with anxiety is terrible, but it’s even worse when one feels guilty – all. Of. The. Time.

 

 

I’m angry – Living with anxiety

I am furious.

I’m angry that my anxiety has been so debilitating, that I’ve not been able to live my life.

I’m angry that the older I get, the more regrets I have. And with every passing year, Mr Anxiety triumphs over me. He, who celebrates a private victory with every hour that he steals.

I’m angry that the world doesn’t owe me anything. That it would chew me up and spit me out and not give me a second glance. I’m angry that that is the way it is.

I’m angry that I’m sad all of the time. I’m angry for being a sensitive child, to this day, she lives inside of me, fearful and pathetic.

I’m angry that my confidence and self esteem is so rock bottom that it almost drills into the earths core.

Today I screamed. I shouted out loud because I could not contain my despair. My utter torture at being the one left behind. Because this anxiety is killing me. And while my peers, and those who are much younger than me seem to be living. I am dying.

The white cloud of Worthlessness has all but enveloped me completely. I’m suffocating.

Yet I persist.

In a way, I am two people, living side by side. One resentfully bitter. The other drags me through life, albeit screaming.

Yea, I am angry. Angry that life has been so cruel to my loved ones.

Yet I persist. I’m tired. But I’d drag myself through hell if I had to.

Because I am not dead yet. Therefore I must live.

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