Posts Tagged ‘GAD’

Surprise! Long time no hear, I know. But don’t worry. I haven’t forgotten about you guys. (I should be so lucky…)

I took some time off to do other shit. Work and stuff. You know how it goes. But it’s not like you bastards disappeared. (I should be so lucky…)

Tourette’s, it’s been a sticky summer already. Not sweltering, just sticky. And sure as shit, you’ve been hanging around. I thought we had a deal. I guess not. For the record, it’s only hot when you tear the sheets off a girl’s bed because of your amazing tiger sexin’ prowess, NOT because your shoulder’s doing some sort of weird dying chicken seizure and she just wants you to fucking lie still for a minute. We’ve got beef, Tourette’s.

OCD, I have to admit, you’ve been more laid back than I thought you’d be. Still, you keep popping up everywhere. I may have added olives and a couple other things to my repertoire, but my diet still belongs in a Nickelodeon cartoon. And I’m finding it hard to get work done because I keep fearing (and trying to skirt) imperfections. Fuck that noise. We’ve got beef, OCD.

Speaking of work, ADHD, you’re really getting on my nerves. I keep thinking I’ve trapped you, only to realize that the very process of trapping you has managed to distract me from what I’m supposed to be doing, which means, of course, that you’re not trapped at all. Also, my irritability levels have skyrocketed. I blame you. And coffee, sometimes. Mostly you, though. I don’t drink that much coffee. You know it’s true. We’ve got beef, ADHD.

As for you, Depression and GAD… Just knowing you fuckers are lurking somewhere in the background is enough to make me want to punch kittens some days. That’s an evil state of being. Nobody should be punching kittens. You’re making me evil. (Well, more evil.) That’s bullshit. I’m already as evil as I’d like to be, thanks. So yeah, we’ve got beef.

I’ll be back soon, believe me. I’ve got all sorts of fun things to tell all you morons. I also have more than a month’s worth of pent-up rage to vent, so get ready for sexy fun happy times! (I should be so lucky…)

(Not.)

Beefingly yours,
Bezuidenthustra

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Dear GAD…

Posted: January 28, 2011 in GAD
Tags: ,

I’m onto you!

That’s right. I’m becoming more aware of the physical signs of anxiety. I’m in tune with my body. Okay, not really in tune. More like AutoTune — there’s this sort of clumsy mechanical flatness about my awareness, but it’s there.

Like just now, I was sitting here reading an article, and I became aware that my shoulders were drawn up nearly to my neck. This, my dear GAD, is a sign of tension. The article was funny. I shouldn’t have been tense. But I was. In fact, I was so tense, I may as well have had my fists balled and a taunting pugilist dancing in front of me, thumbing his nose old Irish style.

See, back in the old days, I wouldn’t have noticed. It would’ve just built up and then I would’ve bitten the head off some unsuspecting innocent bystander. That, or I would’ve gotten a headache. Or both. Lose a head to save a head. But now, I recognize the signs of anxiety. I know that my body’s reacting like there’s a wounded polar bear in the immediate vicinity even though I’m in my bedroom. I know that this fight-or-flight reaction is your doing. I’m not really sure what sick pleasure you get out of it, but I know it’s you.

And now that I recognize the signs, I can do things to relax and prevent the spaz-outs. Or I can write blog posts about it.

Either way, I’m onto you, you creepy lurker!

Vigilantly yours,
Bezuidenthustra

Dear GAD…

Posted: January 7, 2011 in GAD
Tags: ,

Why can’t I breathe right now?

There’s no good reason for this. I’m not worried about anything. Nothing’s looming in my immediate future. I’m not even caught in the dark trappings of my past. Quite honestly, I’m just sitting here watching House. In fact, I’m enjoying it. I’m feeling good. I’m relaxed. At least, I thought I was relaxed.

So why is my chest playing boa constrictor on my ass right now? Why’s my throat shrinking like it’s being vacuum-sealed? I’m wound up like a jack-in-the-box. I don’t get it.

I know this is a physiological response. What I don’t know is which phantom trigger you’re responding to. It’s like some juvenile delinquent pulled a fire alarm in my subconscious. Now you’ve gone and gotten my nervous system involved. It’s a machine. It doesn’t listen to me. I’ll have to wait until this automaton finishes his routine before I can put my feet up again. This really wasn’t necessary.

You need to quit this shit. There’s nothing to panic about. Take a chill pill, okay? I’d like to finish this episode without feeling like the walls are closing in on me.

Make yourself useful and go fetch me a soda or something.

Chokingly yours,
Bezuidenthustra