The first time I ever saw a therapist he told me to make a list of what my negative/anxious thoughts were, then to write down what I knew reality to be next to them. Today my new therapist told me to do something similar. She wanted me to write out a conversation with my anxiety. Address it as if it were a different person. So while it might seem totally silly to you, this blog post is for my “homework”.
Anxiety: You’re not going to clean anything today.
Me: Yeah I am. It’s part of my schedule. I need to clean.
A: But you’re so exhausted. And your back and arms and legs hurt, right? Plus, you can’t even develop a coherent thought, let alone bring order to an entire house.
M: I want to do it. S****** will be proud of me if I clean up everything.
A: Or you could treat yourself to another episode of your show while lying across the couch. Spare yourself the disappointment when no one notices your efforts.
M: My efforts will be noticed. And appreciated.
A: Doubtful. Here, why don’t I make your head cloudy and fill it with white noise? You’re thinking too much.
M: But I can’t function like that.
A: That’s the point, idiot.
M: I need to do that beserker mode thing. 20 seconds of get off your ass and just do it.
A: But you’re not going to.
M: If I say it three times it’ll be more likely to happen.
A: You’re not going to do it. You’re not going to do it. You’re not going to do it. There. Enjoy loserdom.
This whole thing seems ridiculous. Having a conversation with my anxiety seems staged and silly, because I don’t really have…er…I kinda don’t have conversations with myself like that. It’s less of a thought process and more like…like I tell myself I’m going to do something (like clean up the entire house) and suddenly I feel exhausted and tense and down on myself and…words. Even now I can’t develop a clear thought. I don’t know how to explain it. I know I should just get off my ass and get to work, but there’s always some reason not to. I’m tired. I’m in pain. My head is fuzzy and I can’t think clearly. There’s no point. No one will notice/care.
I don’t even want to post this. I’m going to because I took the time to write it. But I know a few critical minds who will scoff at me. I don’t even want to think about what they will be saying/thinking about me. I’m starting to panic just imagining it.
Anxiety: 1 billion
I need a cigarette.