Posts Tagged ‘Anxiety’

Promises Otherwise Unkept

May 3, 2017

So a promise is sacred, at least in maintaining relationships. But, I guess we don’t ever really get away from ourselves… unless we lose it, and I’ve lost it a few times; had to find my way back*. Anyone who has accomplished this feat of mental health jujitsu understands, basically how not easy the process is

Mostly, because we are dicks to ourselves. Overly critical.

We hold the past against ourselves, even as we say aloud we won’t. We let things hurt because, with a smile we allow the sadness of everything within proximity a piggy back ride. We have settled time and again for our “lot in life.” We said we weren’t going to let ourselves do that again.

We make ourselves promises and wonder in the moment if we even mean it. Such a cynical way to set goals and motivate. It’s amazing we get anything accomplished at all really. It’s hard to stop the negative self talk when you are stared in the face by your irrational decision making… and fully get that it’s irrational.

Because, this is who we are – or, at least that’s what we have cut our selves short for in order to fill the role. It’s lazy. We know it. But, confronting that backlog of shit we didn’t do, couldn’t do, wouldn’t do and so on is a tough mother fucker to sort out. There are emotions we want to avoid and faces known now only by memory. Longing. Regret.

I say “we” in hopes to reach out, express that someone else understands, and for myself because I don’t want to believe that I’m alone. At the very least some culpability in future promises kept.


*Going back, yet recalling the fact that you cannot unexperience/unsee things.

Other Days

February 8, 2017

Tired man waking up in the morning

Some days are a little rougher than other days. Getting out of bed, or waking from a binge watching coma on those other days can be a struggle. It felt mucky there in the swamp of self-pity, a hangover of the soul. His mind was already consumed with each step of each task for the day and beyond, and in-between. Things that needed to be done and those which should have already been.

He re-planned it all again, it felt like a giant tome of great enlightenment lay over his body, weighing him down; challenging him and chastising him simultaneously. There was no doubt in his mind that procrastination was the clasp, insecurity the padlock on that book. Opening it was enticing, but avoiding failure was much simpler process.

He closed his eyes and breathed deeply in threw his nose, hefty out from a mouth full of aweful breath. Counting in his head, he promised himself he would pick a number to get up on. 34, 35, 36, 37, get up. 38, 39, get up. Another big breath and he flung the pilled, faded blanket aside and shut up off the mattress on the floor.

Steps for today’s activities played over in his head with minor revisions and complete re-writes.

No Signal

February 2, 2017


The correspondence operations of the underground compound was unattended. All workstations were logged out, but left on. The overhead and ambient lighting were all off. Emergency strip lighting along the floor was a muted orange-yellow and illuminated the undersides of work stations on either side. Two lanes of dual monitor work stations pushed apart by a wide alley that led to a giant screen that spanned all three, filling out the entire wall, with nothing but large white letters in the center of the screen which the smaller screens reiterated – “No Signal.”

The room, carved out of dolomite and sandstone, was arranged as if a nave directed at the chancel and to the right of it a vestry. The comp controllers office all glass outlined in steel, butted up on all sides by the subterranean rock frame. There were no emergency lights visible within. The strip lights down the aisle stuttered as a generator ran out of fuel and another kicked in. When the power fully returned the strips were a bit brighter and the very bottom of the office’s insides were illuminated, the carpet looked shiny with dampness. The rest swallowed up by darkness.

1st Lt, Philipp Stallworth’s eyes were locked on the 10 foot stretch of lit up glass and wet floor. He couldn’t be sure from here, but the carpet just didn’t seem right. He made himself look away, over to his personal station that he swapped with 2nd Lt, Mancuso, twelve hours on, twelve off. He would have never believed while performing his duties under a high level of stress and rigorous expectations, that he would someday find it simpler, almost comforting.

He remembered to breath.

He looked down the endless hallway of rectangularly bored stone and strip lights on his right, then to the left where the strips only made it about 15 yards before their illumination was diffused, fading to pitch black. His heart skipped a beat and he was stuck on his breathing again struggling to maintain balanced timing. Behind he heard the propped open elevator attempting to close, re-positioning to open, waiting patiently only to be rejected upon each consecutive attempt.

Stallworth let in a deep, deep breath and held on to it. Now he was staring at the long vertical handle on the door a yards reach away. He was talking himself into it, or was he talking himself out of it? He closed his eyes and breathed outward, extending his arm along with it. He opened his eyes and as his hand stretched and his grip made initial contact there was a sudden loud pop and the back-up lightening failed.


After the explosion echoed away down the hallway he was there in the dark, the elevator giving up it’s futile battle fell silent; he only heard his breath and the smack of his lips as he swallowed hard. His finger tips were barely on the cold metal, he could feel the weight of the door and electricity tingling through his body pushing up the hair on his arms and the back of his neck. He closed his eyes and wondered what the point of it was there in the void of blackness, but it calmed him down.

He hesitated a bit longer then swung the door open and began feeling his way through the room. There was only one way out of this facility and it was in that vestry, but first he needed to fumble his way past the pews and up to the pulpit.

“Forward is progress,” he thought to himself sliding a foot forward, and colliding with a rolling chair. A breath out… progress.

Just then a clicking, whispering nightmarish cadence fluttered from the front of the room to the rear and the Lieutenant froze in his progress, third workstation down.

He was holding his breath again.



January 30, 2017

I’ve been asking myself what reasons I have to write. Why exactly have I ever felt compelled to spill my guts on paper (or online) and be accountable for the consequences of that, good or bad? I’ve been asking myself because I try to avoid the anxiety of writing. I work hard to steer clear of dealing with my demons, my guilt, and my inconsistencies in general. I’ve been asking myself to start writing every day, even just something like this, since I stopped publishing to this blog however long ago it was. Far to long.

I write in a notebook from time to time. I scribble down notes here and there. Heck, every now and then I even get a great draft of something I felt was going to be a serious thing. But, then I find that reason, any reason really, to let the guilt and doubt slip back in and give me a chance to avoid going after my passion and in turn stomp on my own creative dreams. Why do I do that?

Well, lately I think I’ve been getting to the bottom of where my anxiety and negative self talk comes into play for a very specific reason. It isn’t a part of me that is mean, or angry, or any of that – I can use those emotions to my advantage creatively. It’s a part of me that’s still a child, likely. A part of me that does these seemingly ridiculous, self-destructive things to protect me. That part just happens to be misinformed.

So, I’ve been talking to that self in me. Asking that part if it’s okay to re-frame the actions it habitually takes and instead turn them into an action that will benefit all of the me’s inside this crazy head of mine. After all this time I’ve been beating myself up for not fitting in and having these ideas that make people uncomfortable because it confronts things they don’t want to deal with. Turns out, this is my strongest attribute; even more so than my talents.

Other people may be culpable in creating this me; doesn’t matter. They don’t have any motivation to change that anyhow. Only I do. And, I may have made a lot of ass backwards decisions that got me in trouble or brought me to new lows; that doesn’t matter either. Well, it counts for getting me to where I am at least. And I wouldn’t trade all that hurt and heartache for anything right now. I’m broken and it’s amazing.

So I’m asking myself right now to make a promise. Today, not tomorrow, I will write something and post it, at least here on this blog, every day. I’m not going to judge it, or get anxious about it, or even have any other expectations of it besides that it’s every day. I plan to write other things, and create whatever comes to mind with a goal and purpose, but that’s not a requirement or excuse for me to back down on the promise I’m making right now.

I’m going to confront my fears.


Depression Can Kiss My Ass

April 2, 2014
Be sad, but get back up again - QUICK!

Bad days happen… Don’t let them define you.

I have spent a great deal of my life “depressed”. I avoided so many things that I regret not being part of because I was afraid. This is something that I recently made a decision to change.

Taking life one little chunk at a time, and confronting those fears that kept me locked inside myself is a priority. I hold myself accountable for taking small, manageable steps in this direction. Instead of blaming others for not getting what I want out of life, or being envious of what people have – I worry about myself. I celebrate everyone else’s successes and offer support to those who feel like things are just to tough.

What I have learned from this self-development is that depression for me isn’t some chemical imbalance or inherited disorder. It is bad programming and years of living absolutely the opposite of who I am. It is denying what I really want out of life and holding this against people who live freely. It is a toxic environment of ignorance imposed upon a young mind that grows up distorted and guarded.

It’s not cynicism that keeps people locked in depression, because I still look at life through these lenses. I won’t change that – because my view is real and honest. It’s the hateful negativity from outside, building up inside, so you wind up telling yourself you can’t be who you want to be or go where you want to go. You really start to believe it – and lots of people may tell you how you need to change.

All that is bullshit. It may be hard, but you need to decide how to change for yourself. There is no single formula, but I can say for sure that if there is a market for some canned response to any problem one may have, well then, you’re probably going to get lied to.

So it’s up to you to decide what reality means. It’s up to you to decide what your going to do about it. It’s up to you to decide which direction you are going to go. No right. No wrong. Just decide.

The way I want my path to develop and how I traverse that path may not be anywhere near yours or anyone else’s. However, I can tell you one thing (and it may not be what some people want to hear) with certainty:

Depression is bullshit.

This site is the cat’s pajamas

Don Charisma

because anything is possible with Charisma

Interesting Literature

A Library of Literary Interestingness

Creative Noodling

Where I, Marian Green, write about romance, relationships, emotional connections, sex and life as a 30-something woman with a penchant for falling in love.

Scrawled Ramblings

Fragments of thought; the building blocks of creativity

The crow's gift

Artwork by Christina Bourgeois

Read, Write, Die

Following a dream one day at a time.

Style and a Half

Vancouver-based illustrator, writer, style blogger

Words Engineer

word speaks,word builds

The Neighborhood

The Story within the Story

%d bloggers like this: