Nah, Let Me Tell You What Anxiety Is Really Like

I’m typing this in my memo pad 2:35pm on a Monday afternoon, still in bed. Haven’t gotten out since I woke up at 7:40am, empty stomach, a full bladder, and dizziness from not eating.

My chest hurts really badly. It’s a combination of lack of food, and the panic attack/sleep paralysis that woke me up around 4am. My feet are cold and the rest of my body is warm. My eyes are heavy, and hurt from staring at my phone trying to find things to slow my mind. I’m neither able to focus completely on writing this, or the sitcom series playing in the background that was supposed to be the ‘feel good’ content to help me sleep during the night.

Three days from leaving for tour and I can’t even think of getting on a stage when I don’t even know how to get up to go to the bathroom. I feel like an impostor. Is this going to be the tour when they look at my perfectly made up face and see my tear-stained reality? 

Why would people think these stupid songs are worth watching me perform? 

I really need to get up and eat something at least, but I have to shower first, pee, find something to put on, figure out what to eat...move my legs. Nah, I can’t do it yet, that’s too much. I’m giving myself until 3 and then I will force myself to get up. 

It’s now 3, my mom is calling. I can’t pick up yet. I’m not ok enough yet to fake being ok as I do daily, so she doesn’t worry. I’ll call her back later, after I’m up, showered and had a meal. I’ll tell her I was busy earlier packing for tour. 

But what if something happened? Is my dad ok? Is he dead? Is that why she’s calling? Maybe it's one of my brothers again, what did they do this time? 

If it’s an emergency she will call back. Let’s see if she calls back. 

Omg, why am I treating my mom like this? I’m a horrible person. She doesn’t deserve to be ignored. I’m not really ignoring her, I’m protecting her. Protecting her from me. What she really doesn’t deserve is dealing with me like this and me burdening her. 

It’s ok, Racquel. You’re doing the right thing. Fuck. It’s 3:14, I didn’t get up at 3. Missing my mom’s call made me feel even more like shit. It’s ok, I’ll just get up at 3:30. It’ll be fine.

If only my narcissistic ex didn’t text me at 2am the other morning I wouldn’t have been this triggered. I would have at least gotten up by 11:30am, my usual time. Even though I typically wake up around 7:30, but lie to everyone that I wake up at noon, so they won’t know my embarrassing morning secrets. 

If only I wasn’t so easily triggered into PTSD. What the fuck is wrong with me? Why am I so damaged? And this tour? What am I going to wear? Nothing looks right on me. I lost so much weight, people are going to know something is wrong with me. I’m so hungry. My head is pounding. 

Maybe if I pull this cover over my head and force myself to sleep again, that’ll be a reset and then I’ll feel better? But I did that two times already today. 

I just want to find a dark hole to disappear into. Maybe the closet. Maybe I should just clear all my shoes out and lay in there. No, that’s a slippery slope. I tried that already and moved into my closet for 2 whole months unintentionally. Oh my god, I’m having the closet thoughts again. Do I need to call someone? Are things getting bad again? 

The therapist lady said I should self assess. When was the last time I went outside? Friday. Oh! Friday when it was Black Friday. That was overwhelming to be out shopping around so many people. W is that what really started triggering me? Or because I spent Thanksgiving alone in bed eating cold left over chicken wings? Nah, I wanted to spend it alone, so it wasn’t that. I don’t even celebrate thanksgiving anyway so it really wasn’t that. Fuck the Netflix thing is asking me if I’m still watching again, let me click it off. 

Jesus Christ it’s 3:37. I missed my 3:30 mark. It’s ok. 4:00 for sure. I’ll have a little more time to gather some strength to do this. I’m not letting 4pm pass. Besides, I have to get up, I need to call my mom back and sound alive and well. Damn I really need to pee.

Why is life so hard? What’s so hard about just getting up? I’m so stupid. I’m a psycho. I deserve to just die. People have real issues and I’m creating issues for myself. Nothing is wrong with me. I’m just a stupid weak bitch. How am I going to get through this tour? 

Shit my WhatsApp is going off. It’s the guy I gave my number to from Raya. I should delete that app. Why would I give him my number? I know I’m not attractive right now, and can’t date anyone. I should really delete it. I should also delete my Instagram. I don’t want to be seen today. My music sucks. I want to burn all this stupid art I painted that’s laying around reminding me of what an untalented stupid bitch I am. I should just make a bonfire and watch it all burn. 

Fuck, my chest hurts. It feels like someone is sitting on my chest and it’s so hard to breathe. It’s been feeling like this for a few days now. Maybe it’s because I’m not sleeping well. It’s the nightmares, I keep waking up. I’m just exhausted. I haven’t been eating properly. There is no way I can fix all of this by myself. I need help. Who can I ask for help? Are you stupid Racquel? You need someone to help you eat, get out of bed and move your fucking legs?!! People have real problems, this is all in your head. But why can’t I move then?

My chest, this pain. My head hurts. I feel like I’m dying. Maybe I should just die so I don’t have to feel this anymore. Nah, I’m not going there in my head again, that’s that dangerous place. Breathe. Maybe I should do the breathing exercises. Let me try. 

Fuck, that made me feel light headed. Who made up these stupid things and think they help? It has never helped me. How can I focus on breathing while all these other physical things are happening to me? I can’t. 

Damn the Raya guy is calling. Why would he call?! I deliberately ignored his messages! Why would he just disregard me ignoring him and jump straight to calling? The audacity! 

Oh my god, I’m seeing black. My heart is racing. Why the fuck would he do that? I’m not picking up. Jesus Christ I’m gonna die alone. I’m gonna wait until tomorrow and tell him I’m sorry for misleading him and I can’t do this. Why are my palms wet? Gross.