Will I be able to drive back home?
Am I worth his love?
Are they talking about me?
I don’t think I can survive a 12 hour flight. 

The questions of everyday life: will I be able to make this work?
While it sounds like a perfectly everyday question, it is not the case if you’re an anxious wonder. Living with anxiety is like fighting the devil from within. The moment an idea takes over your mind, and starts to grow arms – legs – feet – hands – eyes and then a brain of its’ own, you are impregnated with paranoia for a few minutes. In some cases, the minutes turn into hours of pushing this mighty beast that’s sitting on your chest off that mountain of certitude.

Sometimes I’m in a lift – it is a routine exercise. You get on board, you press that button and the lift goes up. Upon reading a few reports of horrible and disgusting deaths in lifts, you tend to recollect the exact same association and merge it with your mortal fears. I do this, quite frequently.

The adrenaline on certain occasions can be strong enough to make you feel dips in your temperature, pains in your chest and often the gnawing feeling of something terrible on the cards. There are many such petty fears; of course petty by your standards. My vision is not microscopic when it comes to your flaws and your fantasies but it sure is microscopic when it zooms into my world of fears. And there are many!

Living with an anxious soul is like being on a treadmill beyond your capacity to run. When the body maxes out on its’ limits, your mind goes into the overdrive thought cycle which wouldn’t let you sleep. I account several sleepless nights to the thought of losing someone when they are not going anywhere. I may fervently detest flying because I feel every jerk in the plane’s response to the clouds, my body responds to the little dips and sways of the monster vehicle.

I’m terrified whether I come of as a friendly person or if I’ve offended the stranger I didn’t smile at, maybe I hurt someone by taking away that last bite of food off the table. I’m taken aback by the inability to voice a few feelings that only articulate themselves as the sound of gasps for more air. The best way to understand anxiety is to recollect the first time you were going to attend school – that is it. Another simpler way to put this would be – imagine you are sitting in for an interview with a panel of 15 people. They are grilling you with questions and you are finding words to match the pace of their arguments and suddenly, in midst of this chaotic flight you realise you want to fart.

That’s anxiety for me. A constant battle in my mind. The german shepherd who wants to bite the head off my sanity, wouldn’t agree to go by days tame. He would bark ideas so frightful that I cannot deny the existence of some. The self-worth dilemmas, that he poops all over and the constant investigation of banal conversations he pees over. This anxious four-legged creature resides in me and for once, I don’t hate it entirely. I’ve come to love it because sometimes the fear of the details can save you a penny or two. The investigation of banal conversations can offer depth. For mere philosophical ideas may have taken birth in someone’s anxious break down. Who knew if A Room Of One’s Own was prepared from the insights of precipitations from a sleepless night.

You can blame me for finding meaning in this dog fight; I would just call it another anxious case of existential epiphanies.

– Just Panda Thoughts


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