I'm an avid reader of McSweeney's Internet Tendency, and one of their semi-regular columns is essentially synonymous with the title of this entry. Badfish45 made a brilliant post in The Dark Side along these lines, and while it doesn't seem to be picking up there, I'd bet that it would take to ground here quite nicely. So, to that effect here is my letter.
Dear Anxiety,
Fuck you. Seriously. Yes, I know that I was treated like shit by my peers, and a few of my teachers. Yes, I know that I had negative self worth, and lived years of my life being randomly attacked by schoolyard assholes. Yes, I know that my grade 6 teacher put more effort into breaking me than teaching me.
That. Was. Twenty. Motherfucking. Years. Ago.
Why the flying fuck are you still around? There is literally nothing in my life that aught to cause me fear; I live in a safe and comfortable home, I work with kind and friendly people, I haven't been attacked (other than getting jumped 6 years ago) in roughly two decades. You stopped being adaptive ages ago, and have done nothing, nothing but hold me back. I live alone. I leave my house when I have to, but never 'just because'. My IRL social skills, while slowly progressing, are still, on a good day, roughly at the level of a shy 16 year old. I never initiate conversation, unless I'm very close to someone.Thanks to you I've lost the following:
I thought I killed you three years ago, you crafty fucker. I had to re-live the worst of the worst of my childhood in the hopes of pulling your fangs. And for a while it almost seemed like it worked. But you were still there, weren't you? WEREN'T YOU? Biding your time, letting me bask in the glow of my newfound, albeit illusory, freedom. But even within the year, you started to darken my doorstep again. First the glow faded; I attributed that to reaching a kind of equilibrium, becoming used to the new joy of being anxiety-free, and considering that as a signal to rejoin the world. Then, little hints of you started showing up again: I'd isolate myself a little bit, flaking out once every now and then; I'd lose entire days to escapist media; I lost myself further and further into the online world, ignoring the real one, allowing the last bit of my joy escape.
So now what? In the end, it's me or you. But you're so heavily entrenched that it's going to take a huge, sustained effort just to properly keep you at bay, much less actually subdue you. And with every step back that you force me to take, you erect earthworks and redoubts to keep me from taking the same step forward again.
Timor Animum Necat. Fear is the mind-killer. I was going to get this etched into my flesh when I thought you were gone as a victory flag of sorts, and was still considering it until very recently. But to do so now would be hollow. You still rule me, and I hate that. There is nothing else in this world that I would consider deserving of that word, but you. I hate you. And I won't ever stop hating you. I promise you that. If I have to reduce myself to an empty ball of anger to be rid of you, I'll consider it worthwhile. It would be an empty victory, a flag raised over charred earth, but it would be my fucking flag raised for once. Not yours.
Your days are numbered. Even if you take me with you, you're done for. I've had enough.
Dear Anxiety,
Fuck you. Seriously. Yes, I know that I was treated like shit by my peers, and a few of my teachers. Yes, I know that I had negative self worth, and lived years of my life being randomly attacked by schoolyard assholes. Yes, I know that my grade 6 teacher put more effort into breaking me than teaching me.
That. Was. Twenty. Motherfucking. Years. Ago.
Why the flying fuck are you still around? There is literally nothing in my life that aught to cause me fear; I live in a safe and comfortable home, I work with kind and friendly people, I haven't been attacked (other than getting jumped 6 years ago) in roughly two decades. You stopped being adaptive ages ago, and have done nothing, nothing but hold me back. I live alone. I leave my house when I have to, but never 'just because'. My IRL social skills, while slowly progressing, are still, on a good day, roughly at the level of a shy 16 year old. I never initiate conversation, unless I'm very close to someone.Thanks to you I've lost the following:
- A fully funded one-year internship with the NRC right out of school (they just 'made' an extra funded position for me, after the application deadline even; were going to fly me out and everything... they never do stuff like that, ever)
- No less than two research gigs while in school that would have allowed me to get into grad school the first time that I applied-- I would have defended my thesis this spring had I been accepted then, and likely would be Dr. Dave now
- Countless relationships, due to either my obliviousness or my terror of following up on initial contact
- Countless friends, for the same reason, and also losing most friends that I've had from flaking on them during isolating periods
- Not one, but two opportunities to travel the world, back when world travel was a bit more innocent; places uninfested by backpackers still existed then
- Years off my life on one end due to excess cortisol levels, chronic high systolic blood pressure and the continuation of a binge eating disorder as a maladaptive coping mechanism
- Years off my life on the other end by wasting my time being isolated
I thought I killed you three years ago, you crafty fucker. I had to re-live the worst of the worst of my childhood in the hopes of pulling your fangs. And for a while it almost seemed like it worked. But you were still there, weren't you? WEREN'T YOU? Biding your time, letting me bask in the glow of my newfound, albeit illusory, freedom. But even within the year, you started to darken my doorstep again. First the glow faded; I attributed that to reaching a kind of equilibrium, becoming used to the new joy of being anxiety-free, and considering that as a signal to rejoin the world. Then, little hints of you started showing up again: I'd isolate myself a little bit, flaking out once every now and then; I'd lose entire days to escapist media; I lost myself further and further into the online world, ignoring the real one, allowing the last bit of my joy escape.
So now what? In the end, it's me or you. But you're so heavily entrenched that it's going to take a huge, sustained effort just to properly keep you at bay, much less actually subdue you. And with every step back that you force me to take, you erect earthworks and redoubts to keep me from taking the same step forward again.
Timor Animum Necat. Fear is the mind-killer. I was going to get this etched into my flesh when I thought you were gone as a victory flag of sorts, and was still considering it until very recently. But to do so now would be hollow. You still rule me, and I hate that. There is nothing else in this world that I would consider deserving of that word, but you. I hate you. And I won't ever stop hating you. I promise you that. If I have to reduce myself to an empty ball of anger to be rid of you, I'll consider it worthwhile. It would be an empty victory, a flag raised over charred earth, but it would be my fucking flag raised for once. Not yours.
Your days are numbered. Even if you take me with you, you're done for. I've had enough.
