On Anxiety, Trying, Failing, and More Trying

So here’s the thing. I’m writing this from the comfort of a recliner. I’m not saying this to sound spoiled or entitled, I’m just telling you that I’m writing this post while reclining because I want you to imagine the following discussion happening in your living room. Yes, I brought my recliner to your living room, and no that’s not weird. You’re weird. Why don’t you have a guest recliner? Get it together.

I’ve been pretty well laid up the last several days, and that makes it difficult and embarrassing to do anything – there’s this inertia that only working consistently or resting consistently can provide and I seem to only want to do one or the other. From the medical side of things, this is great. My chest doesn’t feel like a legion of elephants is learning to tap dance the Morse Code lyrics to Hamilton, and I’m finally getting a chance to work on my Kurt Cobain hair style.

That’s the good part. The bad part is that without work, I get the pleasure of watching my bank balance recede with tidal urgency, and I get a substantial spoonful of guilt that I’m not doing more. I mean, there have been days where showering took all the energy I had, and we’re not talking depression, this is straight can-I-get-up-these-stairs-and-get-my-arms-over-my-head-energy. I’m not really sure I can explain that more clearly, and I want to. I feel like if I can find a better metaphor you’ll understand why I needed to spend more days where the most exciting thing I did was try and cut my toenails. Also, I feel like if you understand how I’m feeling, you’ll forgive me for feeling that way. Because I feel bad for being ill. I feel guilty for not doing more, and not doing more faster. Like how I used to. Granted, that way was imperfect, but I at least felt grounded in that identity – I knew who I was. Now, today, I might not know who I am, but I know what I can do. I’m not sure that’s a great trade-off yet, I’m still wrestling with the concept.

I say all that to say this: I know on some level I cannot control how you react to this. Maybe you’ll be sympathetic, maybe you’ll be disappointed, maybe you’ll pity me. Maybe you’ll call me a cuck because apparently that’s the new buzzword for a guy who isn’t much a guy (even though cuckery and hotwifing are two sexual lifestyles requiring an emotional maturity and communication skills, and are not “wrong”). Maybe you’ll cross me off a list of people who can help you turn your ideas into a book because you don’t expect me to live long enough (which I totally get, but if that’s your thinking, take the extra ten seconds to tell me that). Whatever. I can’t control how you’ll react, and no matter how you react, that doesn’t make me inhuman or wrong. It’ll be what it is, and I’ll do my best.

So I try my best to get up and work when I can. Not always easy, but I do what I can when I can the best I can.

 

And I appreciate your patience. And your support.

 

Thank you.

0 thoughts on “On Anxiety, Trying, Failing, and More Trying

  1. Hang in there, John. This, too, shall pass. You have sent us a mountain of good stuff to go through. No harm in reviewing your past nuggets. I make sure to keep all of mine handy and categorized. I especially enjoyed your “fix your shit month” and have that all copied to one place and review portions from time to time. You need to issue that as an eBook.

    But it’s important that you hang out and get better. Get rid of the elephant pressure.

    On a lighter note, it is interesting to me, having lived through the terrible era of those elephant jokes you would go there for a metaphor. 🙂

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