posted on August 13, 2012 06:30
Throughout the course of my life, given my outspoken nature, harsh opinions and overall asshole-edness, I’ve managed to amass some enemies, as I’m sure you can imagine. Some were by my choosing, some by theirs. Some were once close, others never were and some still upset me while others I couldn’t give 2-shits about.
But the absolute #1 motherfucker of an enemy I have ever had is the one I’ve never quite been able to defeat. I can hold it down for a while and then, always when I feel like it’s been banished forever, back that bitch comes with fierce teeth and sharp claws waiting to get her whorish way with me. That enemy is anxiety.
Yes, anxiety, which was once referred to as “housewives disease” because it supposedly only affected women sitting at home with “nothing better to do than worry”, or at least that was the theory. We men would be giant pussies if we actually admitted to suffering its’ wrath at times. Somewhere along the line, somebody sacked up and started confessing to the reality that this shit is an equal opportunity afflicter and some of us men are just as lucky to get to battle such a willing adversary.
Anxiety has been one of the main contributors to all things bad in my life, or at least to the poor coping choices I used to lead to them. Anxiety has led me to the brink of insanity at times, seriously not thinking I could dig out of certain holes. Anxiety begets insomnia, which begets depression and, in turn, further anxiety. It’s a vicious circle that can suck you down before you’ve realized it has its’ grip on you. Anxiety is the reason I sit here at 2:13-in the morning with 2-hours of sleep and that horrible uneasiness running through every vein in my body that only my unlucky brethren out there are familiar with.
With all of that being said, anxiety is also the reason I’m as strong as I am today. I’ve been through and overcome some nasty shit, and had I not learned to stand up and give this fucking scarlet “A” a straight-up fistfight every time it shows up, I’m quite convinced I’d be long buried by now. And had I not been unashamed enough to admit that it completely fucks with my world now and then instead of keeping it my “dirty little secret”, the sleepless nights, darkest of days and horrible choices they led to would’ve consumed me to the point of no return.
Sometimes there’s a trigger. Many things in my upbringing contributed to my early battles with it. Sometimes it’s some ridiculous fear that you completely convince yourself is reality. In my older years, it tends to be some dark shit I thought I buried over and over again, only to claw right back out of the grave. The memories come back, without warning, and soon also do the regrets, fears, “what could I have done” and “what could’ve been” thoughts. The next thing you know, I’m pecking on a computer, leg shaking like Michael J. and rambling about shit most of you have no comprehension of, others don’t admit and a good number just wishing I’d get done with this horseshit and back to dick jokes and f-bombs already.
Weaker men than me have succumbed to this monster, and it IS a monster, some never even knowing what it was, while stronger men than me have pushed it aside like flat soda. I turn a corner time to time to find it staring at me, dukes up, like those useless fucks in school that made my 7th-grade trek from the bus stop home a horribly daunting affair (those 2-likely inmates are still on my “list”). But now I’m game to the fight. We trade blows, for hours, days and even weeks, usually ending up with both of us too tired to keep fighting. Anxiety retreats to that cavern deep inside of me and I take a breath and start a new day, hoping maybe this is the last time we see each other.
I know this to be all too untrue, however. Like a mole, scar or that Potsie Weber tattoo on my left ass cheek, it’ll be with me until I’m no longer with you. We’ll spar a few rounds, I’ll fight the urges to seek backup in my old, faithful cohorts and hopefully come out on top. I’m dedicated to dying with this, not of it.
Sorry for the detour into “seriousness” and return to “sofa time”, my dedicated readers. Sometimes it just goes that way. Thanks for listening.
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