Misimagination

I have exhausted a modality. The anxiety-panic cycle is tired. What has it produced?

1. A hyper focus on behavior, mine and others.
2. An uncanny apathy towards others’ honesty
3. A delightful fatigue with blandly ordinary

It is with these rewards I graciously announce my retirement from trepidation, and all its friends.

Yes dear reader, I am hanging up my hat as a perpetually anxious man. Though I’ve deeply enjoyed the weariness, mistrust, anxiety and the odd inexplicable bout of irritation, I have reached the end of my tenure with this beloved monkey on my back.

This monkey and I go way back, of course; throughout my adult life, it has been a steadfast companion, gut-punching me as I navigated the more tumultuous moments in my life. Ever present, and ever willing to flood my being with nausea.

It hasn’t all been anxious excitement, however; after a day full of unrepentant heart racing and nervous finger-nail biting, one finds themselves neurologically drained; perfect time for that monkey to lay on that bed next to you, and joyously remind you of those dastardly regrets, maddening possibilities, and everything in between. You fail at calming your nervous system as picture after picture plays across the silver screen of your mind’s eye: your greatest hits of despair and longing.

But perhaps the greatest, most memorable gift from that darling, darling hairy mammal is the overarching sense of doom and dread that plagues your every waking moment. Your future is of course non-existent, and if it isn’t, it certainly has the building blocks to be shit.

The lethargy and fatigue that has seeped into my bones has been a wonderful campaign of futility; “why bother?”.

But unfortunately, my friends, today I bid that ol’ companion of mine goodbye, though I expect some resistance.

I am foregoing the tightened chest and the nervous tics for something a bit more livable — something that might, every now and then, allow me to breathe.