Floods
16-08-15, 21:13
I am in the midst of it all. They tell me it is anxiety, that it will pass. I want to believe them. I try to tell myself that. I remember countless phone calls, countless breakdowns. Each time they offer me hope; this can pass, this is just anxiety.
The perception changes, sure, I tell myself; this can be anxiety. The world feels unfocused and strange, drunk even. I question reality: how can anything exist? How do I know all of this? Scary, but I can label it an anxiety symptom. An over-stressed mind, or whatever. It will go away. I tell myself this, I don't always believe it, but I hope it.
The rest of it, I can't just see as anxiety. Life feels incomprehensible, which is derealisation I'm sure, but more than that - life feels pointless. Meaningless. We're born and we die and nothing ultimately matters. We can do whatever we want - I used to find this freeing - but now it all seems futile. Why do anything? Why live rather than die?
And then there's the worst fear: death. For a fortnight now, out of nowhere. Even when I can view derealisation as anxiety, even when I can view meaninglessness as anxiety I am confronted with this: 24/7 fear of death - it makes life meaningless. It makes living futile. I am terrified of not existing. I am terrified of the finite. And thus even if I can get over derealisation and existential meaninglessness, what's the point anyway?
These last two fears seem grounded and real - they don't feel irrational. It feels irrational to NOT feel this way; like to feel any other way would be kidding myself. I find parallels in philosophy and science. I am not facing anxiety, I am facing facts, I am facing reality. And so as much as I try to tell myself "this is anxiety and can get better" for other symptoms, this doesn't stick. And even if I can have some half-hearted hope, this horrible feeling persists nonetheless all day, ruining my life.
My hope - my only hope - is that it won't always feel this way. But given how sensible these feelings seem, given they seem "atypical" of anxiety to me, given how citalopram has had no effect at all in 5 weeks, and given how I can barely remember feeling any other way at this point, that hope feels so very weak.
I see a beautiful landscape. But no. It is merely light, shape, dimensions, collections of atoms and particles. It brings about a pleasant reaction only because my brain - itself a collection of neurons and chemicals - releases endorphins. And above all, it is pointless. I see no beauty. I break down and cry in the street. I imagine my suicide.
The perception changes, sure, I tell myself; this can be anxiety. The world feels unfocused and strange, drunk even. I question reality: how can anything exist? How do I know all of this? Scary, but I can label it an anxiety symptom. An over-stressed mind, or whatever. It will go away. I tell myself this, I don't always believe it, but I hope it.
The rest of it, I can't just see as anxiety. Life feels incomprehensible, which is derealisation I'm sure, but more than that - life feels pointless. Meaningless. We're born and we die and nothing ultimately matters. We can do whatever we want - I used to find this freeing - but now it all seems futile. Why do anything? Why live rather than die?
And then there's the worst fear: death. For a fortnight now, out of nowhere. Even when I can view derealisation as anxiety, even when I can view meaninglessness as anxiety I am confronted with this: 24/7 fear of death - it makes life meaningless. It makes living futile. I am terrified of not existing. I am terrified of the finite. And thus even if I can get over derealisation and existential meaninglessness, what's the point anyway?
These last two fears seem grounded and real - they don't feel irrational. It feels irrational to NOT feel this way; like to feel any other way would be kidding myself. I find parallels in philosophy and science. I am not facing anxiety, I am facing facts, I am facing reality. And so as much as I try to tell myself "this is anxiety and can get better" for other symptoms, this doesn't stick. And even if I can have some half-hearted hope, this horrible feeling persists nonetheless all day, ruining my life.
My hope - my only hope - is that it won't always feel this way. But given how sensible these feelings seem, given they seem "atypical" of anxiety to me, given how citalopram has had no effect at all in 5 weeks, and given how I can barely remember feeling any other way at this point, that hope feels so very weak.
I see a beautiful landscape. But no. It is merely light, shape, dimensions, collections of atoms and particles. It brings about a pleasant reaction only because my brain - itself a collection of neurons and chemicals - releases endorphins. And above all, it is pointless. I see no beauty. I break down and cry in the street. I imagine my suicide.