Anxiety is a douchebag

Isn't anxiety an amazingly talented douchebag? Anxiety can take a stuffy nose and turn it into a lethal fungal infection of the sinuses. It can take an upset stomach and turn it into a heart attack. It can take a splinter and turn it into a flesh-eating virus. It can magnify any tiny, insignificant problem and convince you that you are only seconds away from taking your last breath.

I fucking hate it. I'm fucking tired of it. I was doing so well today, and yesterday. Suddenly, bam. I'm "dying" again. I'm thirty-five and it's a miracle I've made it this long, what with all my undiagnosed heart problems and skin cancer and brain aneurysms. And there's just enough truth to my fears -- because I am overweight and I smoke -- that it makes anxiety's illusions all the more convincing. Then, it actually raises your blood pressure and respiration! What a crafty asshole anxiety is. (No offense, L. You're a crafty asshole, too, but you're the kind I like.)

Anyway, I'm going to try fighting fire with fire. I'm writing down all the things I'm afraid of. Reading them over and over again.

First, the physical stuff:

Heart attack
Stroke
Cancer
Lethal infection
Suffocating
Throwing up
Passing out
(Yes, I am actually more afraid of throwing up than I am of passing out.)

Now, the mental stuff:

Losing my mind
Losing Matt
Distorted memories/ stolen memories
Never feeling "okay" again
Losing my mind
Losing my mind
Losing my mind
Losing my mind
... you get the idea.

My therapist showed me a new technique to help with these fears. I'll write more about that later. For now, I just wanted to get this shit down while I'm in the midst of it. I've had quite a few mood swings in the last few days which I am attributing to recovering from the stuff I mentioned in the last few entries. Or it could be hormones. My periods have been screwed up lately.