Musings

All in White

It’s mostly the anxiety. It’s the rushing worries, not triggered by anything specific, just normal everyday worries. They eventually lead to memories, which I start to pick apart, dissect and cut them up.

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I then begin to worry if I could have done anything differently, I know I cant, but I visualise that if I had, how different my life would be. I worry if I can possibly be different in the future: how can I be better, different, unaffected?

 The insomnia related to the worrying is probably the worst. If it were due to listening to way too much music, having too much to drink, thinking about someone in particular it would be different. It would be welcomed. But alas, it is the panicky, nervous; heart palpitating, itching feeling that nothing is right and I can’t fix it.

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I also have this exceedingly, terribly, disturbing habit of getting anxious about getting anxious and not sleeping because I’m anxious. This usually happens the night before a really big event, test or even something mundane that I’m not even looking forward to. So you see, it really is an incessant, gruelling nightmare. Image

This neurotic behaviour has not only stolen some of the most precious moments from me, but has also become some sort of familiar consolation. Sure it’s wonderful when my thoughts aren’t racing, when I can sink into the blankness of my mind, enfolding myself within the stillness. But I anticipate the waking up of my inner stress-addict, aware that any moment I will have to jump right back in and participate in various inner conflicts.

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