anxiety
A look at anxiety in its many forms and manifestations; what is the nature of this specific pattern of extreme fear and worry?
Anxiety Isn't Simple or Dramatic, It's Real
Staring down the final week of high school is both exciting and terrifying. Sitting here, the anxiety has officially hit me hard. My stomach is starting to feel fluttery, my heart is beating harder than normal (at least I can feel it on an intenser level), my breathing is getting tighter and tighter, my hands are shaking, and I can feel random muscles tightening. All signs of my anxiety starting up for no rational reason.
By Hannah Payne7 years ago in Psyche
Windows and Doors
It was indeed an interesting weekend. How Saturday morning started, it looked like it was going to be long and miserable. I had an incident with a fellow co-worker the day before, which got my anxiety going to the point where I attempted to call in sick on Saturday morning. I thought to myself since I haven't called in sick, I should be safe taking a day off. My anxiety was gnawing at me so terribly, I knew there was going to be another altercation between me and this co-worker because the management overheard how he spoke to me and was going to counsel him. Automatically, I thought he was going to treat me like I was the one that ran to management and complained. I knew I couldn't go to work. I called about three hours before my shift. What happened next shocked me. She wanted a doctor release for my return. I was stuck. I know most people wouldn't have let that bother them and not even attempt to skip work, but those with anxiety have a harder time making a decision.
By BIGG_JOE Vitality_Adjustment7 years ago in Psyche
Anxiety, Depression, Psychosis, and Insomnia—What Do We Not Understand?
In the last four years of my life, as I began to come aware of my relatively naive mind as a child/teenager/adolescent, I became hard on myself, feeling well... naive. Certainly ironic, but in turn, bringing me to realize that tomorrow we'll be further away from naivety than we are today.
By Ari Chesterman7 years ago in Psyche
Battling Anxiety, Where to Start!
I decided to write this story about myself, my upbringing and its psychological effects, how It affected who I am today, my behaviours and the decisions I made; feeling like I had to do certain things for people or for money. Mainly just in hope to try and discover or find myself somehow, within my story I will share with you the path of how I taught myself to overcome parts of my “damaged personality,” as some people have liked to call it. Along with the mental torture I have put myself through for as long as I can even remember. I have always grown up wondering, “what is wrong with me?” “there must be something wrong with me?” and the reason I would like to share my story is because although I wished I never experienced the things I had, not realising the dangers that could follow, but I have lived my whole life until now always wondering why? How come I am the one to blame? How come certain things are only done to me and no-one else? Why do I act this way? Why do I do that? Why can’t I allow myself to be happy and to feel loved? Why don’t I believe they like me?
By Paige Mckonkey7 years ago in Psyche
Anxiety: A Little Understanding
Anxiety disorder is one of the most common mental illnesses. If you don't live with it yourself, you probably know someone who does. I think it's really underemphasised how important it is to understand what it's like to suffer with anxiety—especially since so many people do on a daily basis. The way people are treated when it comes to their anxiety can really affect how they handle their disorder. If someone is encouraged to suppress their anxieties, I can only imagine how problematic that could be for their mental health. Obviously, I'm not a medical professional, but I do suffer from anxiety and hopefully my experiences can shed some light on what it's like to live with the disorder.
By Katie Gaster7 years ago in Psyche
Tips to Improve Sleep and Manage Anxiety
You’re ready for bed. The television is off, the room is comfortable, and you’ve settled down for the night. Yet when your head hits the pillow, your mind begins racing. Did you remember to do that thing? Should you have really said that to your mother-in-law? How are you going to afford that car repair?
By Michael Jacobs7 years ago in Psyche
Who Needs a Therapist When (Pt. 12)
When I was very small, I had a recurring nightmare that I was being crushed by a boulder. Upon waking, rather than leaving the nightmare behind, I was visited instead by vivid, disturbing hallucinations: My body was shrinking. I would stare at my fingers, tapping them together as my hands became smaller, daintier, and near invisible. Yet, even with my eyes closed, the sensation was there—the shrinking, dissipating feeling as I feel myself swallowed, suffocated by my suddenly enormous bed. Panic would swell as I'd spend what felt like an eternity gripped in the certainty that I was shrinking down to nothing.
By Haybitch Abersnatchy7 years ago in Psyche
Changes
Anxiously, I paced back and forth in my den. I am distracted by a painting on the wall that I had painted years ago. Thinking how could I forget about me, and my family, and sit in the dark for so many years. Anxiety had taken all of the fun from my life. Every panic attack I struggle with day by day. My body shakes with fear and guilt. I question myself. "Why does this happen?" I decided everyday open the curtains up little by little and see the light. I need to fight. I need to be the person I use to be. Yes! Yes! Yes! But it's always no. That's what I always say, but will I be able to do it today? I stared at the curtains and lit another cigarette. I'm really contemplating what to do. Stop thinking and just open it, just a little crack. All of this is going through my head as I take another puff. I scream, "Stop it brain, just shut the hell up!" I'm tired now in a fight with myself. I left the room with my cigarette smoking in the ashtray. My body is shaking. Where is my medicine? I need to take it. My hands are fidgeting around in my purse. Finally, I find it without pouring everything out on the bed. OK, now I have to wait for a few minutes and I will stop shaking. I need to occupy my mind with something—anything. I could do laundry, but then I would have to wait for it to wash. And put it in the dryer. I could do the dishes, but everything is clean. I don't remember the last time I ate. I slipped down the wall, wrapping my arms around my head. I give up! I'm crying! I can't deal with my runaway mind. I look up and see a little mouse hiding under the hallway table. I sit and stare at it for a few minutes. Then it runs away. I think great, now my already falling apart house is infested with mice. The lights start to flicker. They are on the walls. I lay on the floor with my ear against the wall. I can hear you little bastards. I go to the kitchen and see if I can find some poison. All of my cabinets are filled with mouse poop. I gasped and cried at the sight. Looking down at the stove, more poop. All of my cereal ruined. Now, what do I do? I have no poison. And I have no car. It broke down two weeks ago. I run to get the broom and bleach. I swept everything out of my cabinets on to the floor. I filled the sink full of bleach and started cleaning. The lights are flickering again. Oh my gosh, the mice are in the walls eating the wires. How can I fix this? I'm all by myself. I have no family. I have no friends. I have the very little money that is my disability check. In the middle of bleach, I throw down my sponge and rip off my gloves. Puddles of bleach water with mouse poop floating around me. I run to the front door. Holding the doorknob, wanting to set me free. It's a struggle with the panic of the sunlight and the safety in the dark, but my dark sanctuary has been invaded by creatures. I have to think!!! Make my mind work. It's hard to concentrate on one thing. I still think about the laundry. I still think about how a warm bath will calm me down, but this will not fix the mouse poop floating in a river of bleach. Mashed potatoes flack cereal, taco seasoning, and bags of dry beans. I'm crying again holding the doorknob. "I need help," I mumble!!!! God, I pray for your help. By now my medicine has kicked in and I go upstairs and lay down, not looking forward to tomorrow.
By Lori Dickson7 years ago in Psyche
