Do you know what it's like to live with anxiety? This
is an explanation, not a plea for pity.
The month of May is a rough time for me. The rest of
the year, I manage my anxiety with 150 mg of Zoloft, and it keeps me from going
crazy. The middle of May sneaks up on me every year, and I don't realize it
until the third day in a row that I have to take a Xanax. That's when I
remember. It's time to up the dosage.
200 mg. I'm two days in, and it happens. The external
stressors collaborate. Conspire to hit me from all angles.
My
mother just texted me. Hubby's mad because I forgot to go to the Post Office.
Kids are tired. Daughter is screaming that I just don't understand. Computer is
retarded. Forgot to wash the black pants and white shirt for the band concert
in two hours. I wish I hadn't left that comment on facebook. Can't get it to
delete. Don't feel like fighting over my opinion on the girl that is suing the
university I went to because she didn't pass. Have to ask permission to leave
early on Friday. Food allergies on the field trip. Why won't you let me take
honors classes, Mom. I know I can do it. Computer is retarded again. Didn't
teach 3rd person to Spanish 1 yet. Science fair tomorrow. Field trip
tomorrow. Field trip Friday. Field trip Monday. He doesn't know a lick of
French, but his IEP accommodations are allowing him to pass. Where is that
permission slip? CAN'T FUCKING SLEEP. Get those stories ready, PL. The deadline
is looming. Band concert tonight. Late to bed. Kids are still exhausted. May
23. Computer still won't fucking work. Four finals to write. Only 17 days left.
Don't miss the Memorial Day boat! Still didn't correct the speaking tests. Or
the French 2 projects. So tired. Can't keep my eyes open. Parents call. The
bell rings. Third period at the end of the day. Food allergies on the field
trip. Email daughter's teacher. And the band teacher. Mom just texted. Never mind
the last text. Why did I post that? Am I THAT parent?
It started as a butterfly, fluttering inside while I
drove to work, obsessing over yesterday's stresses. And the facebook message.
It's that "job interview" feeling, even though I've been working
there for 20 years. My heart beats faster than necessary. My breathing is fast
and shallow. My hands are cold. I chew the inside of my mouth, but slyly, so no
one sees. I put on my mask of calm confidence. I know it fools people. I write
in my notebook. It makes me look busy, efficient, in control, bitchy, mean.
I should take a Xanax. I know what this is and where
it's going. But I don't. The anxiety is part of the punishment.
Here's where the anxiety takes over.
I scheduled my son's IEP meeting for 2:00 on Friday.
It's usually my free period, but this week we have an inservice day. I see the
vice principal in the cafeteria. I figured we'd have the afternoon to write
final exams, but I ask permission anyway. Here's how that conversation went.
Me: Is there an agenda for Friday's inservice, or will
we be working on finals?
VP: I don't know yet. (Insert tone of voice that he
usually uses when he knows he has been "out of the loop.")
Me: I have this meeting at the elementary school. My
son's IEP meeting? (I explain the situation.)
VP: I have no idea what's going on. (It's Wednesday
afternoon. 48 hours in advance.)
Me: Can I arrange it so that if there's nothing
scheduled, I'll just leave here at 1:50 on Friday?
VP: (Tone of voice changes to one I don't recognize.) No. I'll have to let you
know later.
Me: O-K.
My RATIONAL mind knows all of the following:
1. The VP's "tone" has nothing to do with
me. The principal doesn't respect him, and he's pissed off that no one has
shared the agenda with him. He's tired of being left out of the loop until the
principal dumps the shit jobs on him, and it makes him grouchy. I KNOW this.
2. The VP's mother is dying. He hasn't smiled in two
weeks, and I've never seen him so miserable. His "tone" comes from inner
turmoil, not my request to go to a meeting. I KNOW this.
BUT
My anxious brain, kicked into overdrive by the mere
existence of the month of May, leads me down a different (but not straight)
line of thinking.
Immediately, I am certain that the VP doesn't know if
I can go because there is some sort of meeting on Friday afternoon, and it has
to do with me. A parent called to complain, and I'll asked to justify my
grades, or my policies, or my tests, or myself. My brain turns, trying to think
of all the things I've done wrong. I come up with an impressive list.
·
A huge stack of papers to grade.
·
Couldn't check my junk mail yesterday
because the Internet was down. Should have done it from home.
·
Forgot to log my conference day into the
employee portal (although I did put my request through the learning plan site,
and I requested a sub through the other site).
·
Bounced a check to the cafeteria last week
because I wrote it from the wrong checking account.
·
Played Candy Crush during lunch duty.
·
Didn't remind the VP that I haven't
scheduled my observation yet.
·
Wore jeans today, and it wasn't dress-down
day.
And
then the big one hits. THEY KNOW.
They
know my super-secret alter ego. They know what kind of stories I write. In my excitement
about our first eBook, somebody must have overheard me whispering about it, and
now they know. They know, and they don't want me to know that they know because
they don't want to give me time to cover my ass. THAT's why he can't give me
permission to leave early. It's obvious.
My
heart beats faster. My hands get colder. My mouth goes dry. The butterflies in
my belly alight. Again, I think about taking a Xanax, but I deserve to feel this
way. It's part of the punishment.
The
Zoloft is working. I feel reason, like two hands, trying to push anxiety down
where it belongs. Under the surface, like trying to dunk a volleyball under
water.
The
VP just left the cafeteria, so I go to the other teacher. The one that usually
talks to the VP during lunch duty. "What's up with him?" I say.
"Illness.
Not his. Somebody in his family."
"His
mother," I say.
"Yeah.
He's (eyebrows furrowed, searching for the right word) off."
I
tell him about our conversation, leaving out the part about the anxiety. I look
like I'm in control, so he thinks I have my shit together. People believe what
I want them to believe. Control the facial expressions and they buy it.
"Yeah,"
he says, "he's off. Sometimes he won't even answer a direct question. He
just walks away."
"Jeez."
I feel sorry for him.
"And
he says I'll let you know like a knee-jerk.
Instead of saying yes or no, he automatically says, I'll let you know."
Which
brings me back to the list of things my rational mind knows.
3. The VP does this to control a
small part of his universe. The principal gives him little power, micromanages
his every move until he dumps the shitty jobs on him. His wife probably does
the same. His mother too. Saying I'll let
you know lets him control a little part of my world, which fools him into
thinking he's in control of his own. I understand this. I accept it. I feel bad
for him for feeling that way.
But
my hands are still cold. My heart still beats too fast. The butterflies have
started a dance party in my stomach. What
if there IS a meeting. What if they do know? What if…?
I
should take a Xanax. Settle my symptoms—calm my heart, warm my hands, put the
butterflies to sleep. My rational mind knows this too:
4. If I had taken a Xanax as soon as
the butterflies were set free, as soon as that "job interview"
feeling took hold, my thoughts would not have followed them into a swirling
vortex of crazy thoughts. MY BRAIN WOULDN'T HAVE WORKED SO HARD TO FIND
SOMETHING TO PIN THESE SYMPTOMS ON. Instead, I would have written this in my
book:
Friday,
May 15- Ask VP about leaving early (OR reschedule meeting).
Buttheanxietyispartofthepunishment.
And
so, I wrote this instead. I feel better now. For now.
THAT
is what is what it feels like to live with anxiety.
