As a note- I thought about it and have come to the conclusion that I need not post every day. A lack of posts does not indicate failure or a lack of things that have been done; at a better hour, I can look back at the previous week’s work and feel satisfied.

… however.

It started on Monday, with Answering The Phone.

Student Counseling finally got back to me, and I was informed I needed to speak to Financial Aid. They gave me some contact information, including a phone number, and then transferred me. The transfer didn’t go through correctly and I lost my nerve.

On Tuesday, I grit my teeth and called Financial Aid. I waited on hold for fourteen minutes and twenty seven seconds; Skype has a timer. I had the correct data at hand- SSI number, student ID number- and I was told I needed to submit an Academic Appeal. Something along those lines, anyway- for the term that I had Failed all my classes because I didn’t drop them.

I had a big No moment, I almost froze, because it was hard enough to contact the college, to do what needed to be done- but this bit of paper had to be submitted ASAP. So I clenched my teeth and left the house before I could change my mind. I spent the entire way there trying to calm myself down, because there really was no reason to be feeling the way I was- it was not something to panic about.

When I got there, I filled out the paperwork with a knot of apprehension in my belly, before speaking to the woman at the counter. She was very helpful, and told me right then and there that the policy had changed since I had had my aid suspended- one term was no longer grounds for suspension, but rather, a warning. She changed my status right then and tore up the paperwork I’d agonized over; she answered my questions and Everything Turned Out Much Better Than Expected. Now I’m just waiting on the reevaluation of my aid prospects. We’ll see what happens. I am still concerned I made too much money last year.

However, when I finally got home again, I gave myself permission to blow off a raiding obligation. I was mentally and emotionally exhausted, and the thought of dealing with my raid anxiety was just too much; I’d much rather save my emotional fortitude for handling Real Life Important Things, than just barely coping with a hobby.

I am not one to blow off raiding, though. Not ever, if I can help it. I take myself very seriously. Yes, it’s just a game- but it’s one of the things that brings me some serious joy, makes me feel competent and in control. Unfortunately for me, the new raid group I joined a few months back is the best group I have ever encountered- and I feel constantly anxious while raiding with them as a result. I feel inadequate, regardless of my performance. I feel awkward. I feel like I don’t fit in, like everybody’s judging me. For me, these are… pretty normal feelings, in anything I do. Usually, they pass once I feel like a part of the group or team, though they frequently return in any and every social circle I frequent.

Part of what I love about this raid team, is the sheer amount of organization that goes into the raids. These are exceptionally well planned, well run events; everything is smooth and almost… business-like.

And unfortunately, that means my absence was definitely noted. It would have been different if I’d just… left a message on the forums, at least informing them that I wouldn’t make it. But I couldn’t bring myself to do that, and, at the time, it seemed less important than the fact that I had managed to do other things that Needed To Be Done.

I got a message that night from the raid leader, which I should have responded to pronto. Instead, I haven’t checked it. I am pretty sure it says something along the lines of ‘Hey, you signed up from the raid, why weren’t you there?’ I doubt it says ‘Hey, you signed up for the raid you piece of shit why didn’t you come- you suck and we’re throwing you out, we hate you and we were all secretly really relieved when you didn’t show. We hope you’re dead.’

I’m making things worse and worse by not responding, but the more time passes, the deeper it builds. This is just one incident, but it’s the beginning of a build-up.

Even if- no, when, I go back and take responsibility for my absence- which I refuse to explain with the truth on the grounds that it makes me seem neurotic, something that I don’t feel the raid group needs to be aware of as it is personal- I will still feel self-loathing for having failed on so many counts. Even though this is ultimately a very small thing, it acts as a force that draws all negativity to it.

This one, isolated incident is something my traitor brain can point to and say ‘Aha. You are terrible. You are flaky. You are weak. You are unreliable. You are irresponsible.‘ And every small failure since gravitates to it; and now it is three fifty seven in the morning and I cannot sleep because every time I close my eyes all I hear is a litany of self-loathing and I don’t know how to make it stop.

I breathe and review the things I have done right and well, but it’s never enough to keep my mistakes from overcoming them. The only thing that sort of works is putting my mind somewhere else; read a book, watch a movie, write fiction, focus on some task that holds my attention and keeps my mind from wandering. But it’s worst at night, as I drift to sleep and cannot… defend myself. Can’t distract myself.. can’t keep myself from dwelling on all the things that are horribly wrong, no matter how ultimately small or trivial they may be.

The raid went on without me, I guarantee it; they have extra healers, and people with off healing specs. The biggest consequence was that I capitulated to my fear of inadequacy, and, if I had to choose between getting my Financial Aid shit done versus attending a raid I had signed up for, in a pretendy-world video game that I play for fun- I will choose Financial Aid every time. It’s silly, to feel so horrible about something so… small.

In the span of this week, I did laundry, I went to Freegeek, I stuck to a very limiting diet for- going on six days, now, and this is the first time I’ve ever tried something like this. I’ve kept the one room clean and made incursions into the others. I’ve maintained, mostly, in spite of the growing knot of tension I carry. But now it’s four o’ three AM and I can’t sleep and I can’t make the fear go away; the nights have progressively gotten worse as the week has worn on. I have to be awake in two and a half hours and my eyes are heavy, but even as I lay back and close them- I feel overwhelmed by everything.

It’s incredibly frustrating. And it will only get worse.

It is very hard for me to talk about the negative as it happens. My impulse is to say that everything is fine, that I am fine, that I will always be fine. To admit otherwise is to admit defeat. I am not defeated- not by this, not today. But sometimes, it sure as hell feels like I am. I catch dangerous murmurs in my internal monologue, things I don’t really believe or want to hear inside myself; it scares me, a little. It makes me feel out of control. It taints everything I do, casts uncertain shadows on every aspect of my life- and no one deserves these thoughts. As a human being I can recognize this is all so illogical, irrational, infuriatingly wrong. But it persists.

It is four eleven AM and I still can’t sleep.

No matter how far I come, no matter how hard I fight, there will always be times like this. I don’t know what to do with myself. I’m exhausted.

I am full of doubt.

If I can barely handle things as they are right now, how the hell am I going to be successful in school, too? Why do I have to be so god damn damaged?

Why can’t I just- cope?

At least I know this, too, shall pass.

Yesterday I gave myself license to be as antisocial as I wanted to due to the previous day’s abundance of interactions; in my experience working with the Bad Feelings instead of beating my head against them and berating myself for having them in the first place, an ounce of prevention is worth a pound of cure.

It’s a hard line to walk- the difference between avoiding doing things to prevent ‘triggering’ yourself, while simultaneously making sure that the problematic condition is not a ruling factor in your life. I often worry I give too much power, too much credit, to the things I feel. It’s the way I was raised, to accept personal responsibility for the things I can control, and if I can’t control what my brain is doing, then what can I control? I hesitate to excuse myself from any of the problematic behaviors I’ve engaged in throughout the years. I worry that because it’s all in my head, if I capitulate to these feelings, I’m allowing them more control- and I’m giving them more power. If I pretend they aren’t there, if I ignore them, shouldn’t that make it better?

But the problem is that it never makes it better. Regardless of how illogical it is that they exist in the first place, I do feel these things, and have spent years trying the stiff-upper-lip stoicism method. It doesn’t work.

It’s hard to live life believing you’re fully in control, that bad days are ‘flukes’ and everything that you fail to do because of those ‘flukes’ is just a symptom of moral neglect and laziness.

I still think I’m a pretty lazy person, and, coming from an unbiased logic-based standpoint, I believe that’s accurate; I am capable of surpassing that and working my ass off when I need to, and so I am (mostly) okay with it. All that needs to happen is that the end goal needs to matter to me. Maybe that’s selfish, but it’s comforting to know what I am capable of.

Still, it’s easy to tell myself that I just choose to feel anxious so I can avoid doing things- that my failings are because of my low character and that I am inherently worth less as a human being because of how lazy and neglectful I am. It’s one of those voices I try to be aware of inside myself, because it’s a dangerous and unhelpful train of thought.

So it’s hard sometimes, to give myself a day ‘off’ from doing Things with People. I feel guilty if I think about it. It seems like no one else in the universe has a hard time dealing with everyday things, like registering to vote and spending time with friends; I enjoyed those things while I did them. So why on earth would I need to give myself down time? Obviously I’m overindulging my pretend condition, obviously I’m making it up as an excuse to be lazy and avoid people.

… do you see how it spirals?

Still, I paid attention to my brain. I could hear little eddies of neurosis swirling up and, because I was whole-mindedly processing the previous day instead of Accomplishing Every Thing, I was able to see them for what they were and dismiss them. You messed it up, they probably hate you, they’re probably getting together to talk about how awkward and awful you are as a person- sneaky little thoughts, so quiet one almost doesn’t consciously think them; yet they change the whole feeling of one’s day, like a splotch of cat-puke orange in the middle of the inky night sky. If I let them go on, if I don’t take a moment to actively say no, that is not how it is, it gets louder, more insistent, spreading to taint every aspect of my life as the hours go by.

I theorize that this is how it starts, when it gets Bad; when I don’t notice, or feel too down to fight myself and my traitor brain. When I let such thoughts run rampant and reach their conclusions, only to spawn a myriad more questions and doubts. And suddenly, nothing feels like it’s going to be okay again, nothing feels right or good or real- any thought I have, any creative endeavor I try, any walking or communicating with the people I love, is infected by the violent wrongness of my thoughts.

That’s when I stop being able to leave the house, or can’t find the motivation to do anything at all other than hide from myself and the world at large to escape my own head.

With this in mind, it’s important to pay attention to one’s thoughts.

So yesterday was a quiet day, and I am okay with that. I gave myself the day to process, to quietly fight mysef, and I didn’t accomplish anything monumental.

I did, however, sign up for the Oregon Women’s Sailing Association; I told my mom I would do it two weeks ago. I’ve been wanting to do it. I just… hadn’t, yet. The prospect of meeting new people is admittedly unsettling, and there’s all that opportunity for stranger-judging and extreme awkward feelings. I’m going to have to come out myself a little and talk and smile and laugh and repeat all the lines I practice to myself before going out in public. I really dread doing these things. They don’t come easily to me; or rather, I’m good at it, but it doesn’t mean I enjoy it.

The trade off, though, is manifold. As much as I dread meeting new people, there’s always a chance I might make a new friend- I love being exposed to new ways of thinking, to seeing and understanding new folks. And I am very excited at the prospect of learning to sail, which is probably the primary reason I’m joining in the first place; it’s a physical hobby, which would be good for me, and it involves being outdoors, which would also be good for my sun intake. And there’s boats. And water. And the dues are pretty inexpensive, and I’ll get to learn things- really, only good can come of this! Plus, it’ll be something my mom and I can do together, which is always exciting.

So I am glad to have finally gotten that done; I don’t know why I was putting it off in the first place. It wasn’t particularly difficult or scary for me, but yesterday was a quiet day. I guess it’s alright.

I didn’t precisely set out today with this goal. I knew it was going to be busy, between visiting friends and working at my internship, and I wasn’t sure what I was going to do- whether or not ‘visiting friends’ counted as a hard thing is largely subjective, but if I felt it didn’t ‘count’, there were always cleaning things on my internal tally that I could use.

Like many people who feel anxious, I sometimes have a hard time dealing with the city, as a whole.

Portland, Oregon, is home to not only a massive, indigenous hipster population, but also a great number of homeless people who have no problem approaching a stranger to ask for change. I won’t go into the politics of homelessness, because a person’s housing status, cleanliness, or sanity don’t particularly seem to matter when it comes to the jolt of fear I feel on being talked to by a stranger; but as a person who has a very difficult time with strangers, walking through this city alone is frequently a very daunting task.

There are some people who legitimately seem threatening. For example, the probable crack addict screaming about Reagan who randomly directs a verbal tirade about the sale status of my female parts is very threatening to me; realistically, he’s probably not going to do anything, but he’s utterly terrifying. Of course, this hasn’t actually happened, though I have encountered my fair share of screaming drug addicts. Unfortunately, every stranger I meet elicits that reaction in me now.

So today, whilst in the grocery, a random man started talking to me about his novel about dogs. Instantly, my spine tensed. Was he all there? Was he planning on murdering me and wearing my skin as a jacket? Was he hitting on me? What does he want from me? But instead of allowing that fear to dominate my mindset, I actively, consciously decided that this was probably someone lonely and just wanting to make conversation.

I can’t say I properly engaged him, because my pulse was still jumping and my palms were certainly sweating. But I didn’t smile and offer a feeble brush-off. I at least tried to reciprocate conversation. Unnervingly, it happened again, mere blocks away, where I made awkward small talk with a stranger instead of just pretending not to hear them.

I don’t like talking to strangers, especially not in vast, public spaces where there’s no guarantee I have anything in common with them besides breathing air, but it goes against how I feel about interacting with the world- to be unpleasant to someone, intentionally or not. I want to be positive. I want to help brighten the world around me. And if listening to a stranger tell me about the story he’s writing about his dog for fourty seconds, then… okay. Maybe I can do that much. As long as there’s lots of other people around and he’s not driving a knife into my skin.

In a similar vein to point the first, I was lounging around Pioneer Square soaking in the sunshine (while in the shade, because I burn very easily,) and I heard someone registering folks to vote. Usually, when a stranger comes around with a petition, I feign intense interest in something- anything- else; I might agree with the cause but I’ve been dragged into listening to hour-long lectures simply because I lacked the spine to say ‘leave me alone’. I feel very, very threatened by people with petitions or money or anything at all. However, I’ve been meaning to register to vote… for a very long time. (I am terrible at being an American, I know.)

So not only did I talk to a guy with a clipboard, I flagged him down to register. I raised my voice, in public, where people could hear me, and asked ‘are you registering people to vote?’ And then I did it. Even though I felt pretty awkward and uncomfortable with him just looming there trying to make a bit of small talk while I dutifully filled in boxes and wrote out my address in the horrible chicken-scratch that is my hand-writing.

This is a good thing, and a positive step- I hate paperwork. Politics both scare and depress me. Bureaucracy is a definite trigger to anxiety- the DMV shoots my system full of flight-or-fight adrenaline terror. Registering to vote in itself wasn’t that hard, but it represents an obligation to follow rules and dutifully fill out paperwork, to use the mailbox, to do research and understand things that upset me. It’s a small step, but it’s an important one.

And then the third thing today is something that I was really looking forward to.

Over the years, I’ve managed to lose contact with most of my friends. At times, not even my family really knew where I was or what I was up to. Lately, there has been an outreach on both sides of the divide, and I’ve managed to explain a little bit about why it was that I vanished.

There were some that really held this against me. But grudges fade, and… I think it helps now, that I have begun to understand what’s happening instead of just experiencing it without recognition. At the same, I gave no opportunity for my friends to know what was happening. I didn’t even know myself, all I knew was that I couldn’t be around people and that I didn’t want to talk to anyone. I wanted to disappear, and I did precisely that, but I didn’t know why I felt that way, or how to combat it, or whether or not it would ever fade.

I can explain, a little. I can apologize for the feelings I hurt. I don’t think it’s fair to say ‘it’s not my fault!’, because it is something I did, whether or not that was my desire or intention.

But it helps, to explain a little that it was never out of spite or hatred or smugness.

Anyway… building bridges.

I wasn’t sure whether or not I’d include this one on here. I wanted to do it, I didn’t feel any ‘NO’ feeling, I felt no trepidation- only excitement.

But once I arrived at the location, I have to confess that the anxiety went into overdrive and I began to psych myself out. They’re playing a joke on you. They’re going to stand you up and laugh about it. Everyone hates you. They’re not going to show, why would they?? You’re sitting here by yourself for nothing, you should leave now.

I could hear it happening in my head, could feel my heartbeat quicken every time the door opened. So I set boundaries. If there were half an hour or more late, I would leave.

Giving myself a plan to fall back on helped assuage the fear that grew tighter and tighter in my stomach. Having a way out that didn’t involve me waiting endlessly for people who wouldn’t come- of course they did, I was just scared, and no it wasn’t a trap- was a motivating factor. I was firm that I couldn’t leave just then, that I had to wait, because I could hear how silly my thoughts sounded. It didn’t make them feel any less real to me, but I could recognize that I was being irrational. Instead of getting angry with myself for having those feelings, I refused to cave in to them, but gave them a plan, just in case, instead of dismissing them outright or feeling disgusted.

Ultimately, I had a fantastic evening, and it was great to talk to old friends, even though the plan was rather spur of the moment and The Crazy doesn’t tend to like that. I was proud that I dealt with things.

Overall, today was a little more anxious than the last two days. But I also spent the entirety out of it out and about around people. I am pretty pleased by my anxiety level by the end of this day. I feel not as settled and cheerful as I did yesterday, but I’m also not a nervous wreck. This is good middle ground.

This has been one of those days I mentioned where it feels like ‘anxiety’ has never existed and the world is comprised entirely of sunshine and daffodils and warm, fuzzy puppy bellies in which to bury one’s face.

On days like this, it feels silly to ascribe so much power to something I can barely fathom, let alone write about my experiences struggling against it; what’s there to struggle about? I doubt myself at times, because it feels as though the whole thing is something I’ve made up- maybe I’ve just overthought everything and really, it’s something I merely do to myself.

Before I really started taking intentional notice of how I felt, of the physical sensations and the mental landscapes that were driving me neurotic, days like this only emphasized to me that I was perfectly fine- and made me feel completely wretched when they went away.

However, now instead of condemning myself for not always feeling this great- I work to make the most of such days. Carefully, like a turtle poking its wrinkled head from a shell, I look around me and find things that make me ecstatic to be alive. I pay close attention to how everything feels to me, to what makes my heart sing, and I treat myself gently if I start to feel uneasy again. Often, I try to be careful- it seems like so little sets me off and chases away the good feelings. But I felt durable and invincible, and so I plunged head-in.

My mother sent me an article about how Yoga and Meditation reduce stress. This makes sense, of course- it seems pretty obvious, doesn’t it? Yet I never find the drive or the time to do either of these things. Yoga, especially of late, seems to drive home the knowledge that I am very out of shape and inflexible; it is a series of uncomfortable pulling, tuggings, and painful holding-pose feelings in my physical shape that I quickly come to dread, in spite of how good it is for you. Meditation, on the other hand, is also something I’ve tried- and while less physically uncomfortable, it is not something I’ve ever been ‘successful’ at merely because of how restless I grow. I have a nearly impossible time quieting my mind and stilling my thoughts- always, forever, I am thinking a dozen different things at once, a running commentary and stream of ideas. I like it this way, but at times, it makes it very difficult to relax. Or sleep.

So I tried a practice mentioned in the article- ‘Kirtan Kriya Meditation’. After some youtubing, I found a guided meditation video and followed it through. My thought is that it certainly can’t hurt me, and who knows? Maybe it will reduce how easily the anxiety and awful, belly-crunching fear is triggered.

I felt a little silly, chanting on the floor, but the repetition of syllables and the touching of fingertips was actually a very useful way for me to clear my head a little. I still found an abundance of thoughts wandering through- is that a bird outside? My leg’s falling asleep. I wonder what cows dream about. Their mindsets must be completely different, I bet… wait no sh!

I don’t know that it had any real effect. I went into it feeling bright and cheerful, and I came out of it feeling bright and cheerful. But it certainly can’t hurt, other than my leg falling asleep, and it’s only sixteen minutes a day… if it does help? Then it’s worth it.

The second part of today’s post is about using the times when I feel strong to send out an abundance of communication.

I will admit right now that frequently, getting messages from friends or family is stressful. I don’t know why this is the case, but I feel an unwillingness in me, an instant sense of ‘NO’, when trying to communicate on a Bad Day. This is, of course, at odds with my desire to talk to people and my craving for human contact- and it leads me to frequently just not answer anyone and hole up inside myself, feeling wretched and like the world’s biggest jackass.

So on days when I don’t get that ‘NO’ feeling at all, I make sure to respond to messages I have otherwise pretended not to see, or like I had vanished from. Hell, sometimes I even make phone calls. Today, I made a phone call- to my mother. And it was enjoyable! I felt no trepidation over the phone’s existence at all, which is always a blessing.

It’s important to recognize one’s boundaries- if I force myself to keep up with communication through the worst of the ‘NO’, it feels as though the stress butts in in other areas. I have to compromise at times, I have to look through my life and decide what is the most important to get done- do I need to talk to this person, or do I need to save my fortitude to handle things like ‘work’ and ‘going to the bank’? It makes me sad that often, real-time communication gets pushed to the bottom of the list. But at the same time, I’m grateful to have figured out how to function, and still at least let the people I care about know that I’m around, just quiet. There have been times in my life- spans of months, even- where I have simply dropped off the radar and ceased to be a presence in anyone’s life at all.

I signed up for college classes the weekend before this last one.

It was a spur of the moment push; a thing I’d kept putting off, and putting off, and putting off. Really, the most of what I was putting off was figuring out how I was going to pay for it- I did my FAFSA back in February and it returned me a notice that I wasn’t eligible for any aid.

Seeing as I’d already dropped down to only working part time in preparation for attending college, I was somewhat devastated. I made some backup plans, but… never followed through. That’s a big problem for me. I’m good at coming up with solutions, but, unless it’s absolutely positively need to do right now urgent…

They often fall by the wayside.

I guess it didn’t help that I still wasn’t sure what I wanted to major in, a decision that I’ve since made- there’s lots of things I find interesting, but almost none of them are really marketable skills. Sociology, psychology, philosophy, literature, music, art, anthropology- I can almost guarantee that you can go down the list of ‘most likely to be unemployed by major’ and find most of those there.

I did manage to find the fortitude to apply for an internship at a computer recycling center called Freegeek, a non-profit that not only recycles electronics, but builds linux-based new systems out of some of the parts we receive to gift to charitable organizations, volunteers, and to create very inexpensive computers for our Thrift Store. I do Technical Support for our systems, and I’ve really, really loved it- I love getting elbow deep in old, dusty hardware, I love figuring things out. Every system is a puzzle. Some are easier than others.

This has decided me to go for Computer Science. I wish I knew which specific sector I’d like to apply myself to- most technical support has too much customer service to it to really be appealing- but it’s a good start, I feel.

However, the whole rest of my life and these tentative plans that I have finally made, all hinge on my being able to get into college again; in Portland, my qualifications simply aren’t enough to get a decent tech job.

And in order to get back in to college, I need to get my FAFSA going again.

What killed it was that I forgot to drop classes from the last term I took, and thus got two F’s from Math and Micro Economics.

So the plan is thus: Talk to student advising, see if there’s anything I can do to get off academic probation- after all, the term before I’d received straight A’s- and if not, see if there’s something I can do to get scholarships or student work.

Unfortunately, all that involves speaking to student advising.

Going in wouldn’t be quite so hard, except you have to make an appointment before hand. It’s taken me two weeks to remember and to steel myself to do this, and it took me three tries to leave a message for them to call me back.

Still, I did it, and it’s the first and a very important step to figuring out how I’m going to get this CS degree. They may even be able to help me determine some good classes to take in order to further specialize!

Part two of today’s post involves The Bedroom in our tiny, two-room apartment.

For the past… almost a year, now, Fiancee and I have slept in the living room, on our two ikea couches shoved together. This is really bad, because those couches are pretty much destroyed now, not to mention really gross, if you think about it. It’s also a huge waste, seeing as Fiancee and I purchased a lovely new bed not that long ago.

However, for whatever reason, the Bedroom has become the Bunny’s room; we shove junk in there and the bunny happily poops and chews on things. It is, quite frankly, both disgusting and embarrassing- and is one of the many reasons I feel like a failure and a slob.

This room was basically the graveyard of dishes, garbage, and junk. We had an entire room that we just… didn’t even use, left to fester and collect random crap. We had a bed that we wouldn’t sleep in because it was so unpleasant.

So this weekend, I purchased some new bed linens. And yesterday, I cleared off the bed and began cleaning.

Today, I finished the room. It took me a few hours, but not only do I feel very proud of myself and productive- there is now a room in our tiny apartment that isn’t messy and gross.

Of course, the living room, kitchen, and bathroom still more resemble your favorite episode of Hoarders, but- another day, perhaps. I can at least take solace in the fact that the Bunny’s room is now tidy and clean, and that she’s not finding more books under the bed to destroy. Or pictures I drew. Or assorted eletronics that don’t have a home.

It’s a start, anyway. A lovely, clean, vacuumed, lightly decorated start.

And hey, we have a bed now! Yay!

We spend so much time in our lives telling ourselves what we can’t do.

We can’t love ourselves. We can’t get that done. We can’t face the things in life that terrify us. We can’t, we can’t, we can’t- it spirals, it condenses; we can’t do the dishes. We can’t go to school today. We can’t leave the house. We can’t talk to the people who matter most to us. We can’t even make a sound, because what sound could we make that means anything, that takes away the self hatred and the fear and the failure that has defined us for all the years of our life?

My name is Lara. I’m twenty something, and I’ve never been to a therapist or a counselor, though it occurs to me that maybe I should have by now. I have struggled with what I affectionately call The Crazy for as long as I can remember, though it hasn’t always taken this precise form.

For me, there are some days when all I can do is crawl in bed, pull the covers over my head, and wait for the horrible, gut-wrenching feelings to pass- the fear that has no source that I can pin point, the anxiety that burns inside me and turns to self hatred, that will find any excuse to rip me apart and ruin everything I love.

Then there are days when I feel as though I’ve never been anxious in my life, that the things I found so excruciatingly difficult yesterday are now simple and laughably easy. I can check the mail without my pulse jumping and my hands sweating. I can answer the phone without feeling a jolt of adrenaline rush through my system. I can go to work, and give it my all and stay cheerful; I can go to my volunteer job and be the best person I can be. Even the DMV is a passing annoyance, not the great nameless beast it seems to me most days.

Ever day is new, and brings its own challenges.

I don’t have health insurance, and the worst of my anxiety leaves me socially crippled anyway; the idea of talking to a stranger, on the phone no less, and worst of all a doctor, leaves me wishing I could stick my hand in the garbage disposal instead. I don’t have a formal diagnosis, but I can only assume that the feelings of agoraphobia and extreme aversion to all forms of contact are not the symptoms of a healthy mind. Tentatively, when I’m not overly frustrated with The Crazy, I call it ‘Generalized Anxiety Disorder’, as it has many ‘triggers’ but doesn’t seem to be related to any specific phenomena- not even just social interactions.

There are many components to the way I feel, but an overarching trend I noticed was one thing: The Crazy uses the guilt I feel about the way The Crazy causes me to act, in order to perpetuate itself.

For example, if I pay close attention to the beginning of a Bad Day, I can catch my inner monologue reminding me of those friends I have lost for becoming a shut-in. I have a constant whisper in my head about what a terrible friend I was, about how much I deserve to suffer for how awful I am; yet it was this anxiety, this inability to cope well with whatever it is that haunts me, that caused me to shut everyone out of my life in the first place.

Or I’ll find myself commenting about what a fat, lazy slob I am; that I never do anything. That I am worthless as a person because really, how can a person live like this? Remember that time I didn’t go to school for a week, just stared at the internet instead and didn’t do anything of worth or value?? (Nevermind the homework, nevermind that I gave it my best try and nevermind that I passed that term with all A’s, despite that setback.)

With these observations in mind, I have found that I am hardly the only person who has this sort of hateful inner monologue. I have discovered, through the internet and in real life, that I am not alone.

I had a friend, once, who had similar, though different, problems. We made a pact, he and I, that we could get through our issues. It was this friend who suggested I try something new- something small, and unintimidating.

One thing a day.

Just one small thing, that I can hold up against the words in my head that I don’t really believe anyway- you worthless piece of garbage, wasting your life, wasting your potential- no.

If I do one hard thing a day, one scary thing a day, it doesn’t matter if it’s small- it means that I am winning this fight.

One thing a day can be anything; it can be something I’ve put off for months- hello, cleaning the bathroom- or it can be something urgent, but deeply unpleasant and/or frightening to me- like talking to the landlord.

It doesn’t have to only be one thing either; it can be more than one. In fact, that is encouraged! But no matter how bad I feel, no matter how incapable and small and wretched I may be, I can at least do one thing.

And if I fail, it’s not going to be the end of the world. Every day, I pick myself up, and I try again.