I do things that terrify me all the time. I seek out ways to push myself beyond my fears. While journaling this morning about the anxiety I had for a few things I wanted to do I had to ask myself, "Why do you do this? You could easily not do any of these things and be content on the couch." Well there it is; I'm not content on the couch. Doing things that terrify me makes me feel alive. I get a rush from it even while panicking and holding back tears. I want a huge life and I can't obtain that sitting around.
Beyond living loud and proud I think there is something deeper that pushes me forward. It's not fame as I'm sure not good enough at anything to achieve that. It's not money; as it's likely these antics actually cost me. I feel beyond all this is an innate need to prove myself. But who am I proving this to? The first thought to come to mind was my father. He expected nothing of me, and though he's dead and I don't believe in an afterlife, he hangs in the air around me. Public approval isn't that big a deal to me so this is mostly for myself. When I push myself out of all comfort, and into what is sometimes sheer terror, it confirms for me that I can and will survive.
My friend recently told me "You're my bravest friend...you'll try anything.". I gasped and held back tears reading that. Because though I know I do brave things, force myself to live big, and say I want an enormous life that pushes all limits, deep down it doesn't actually feel like that much.
I faced a big fear last week. Doing this was actually something I'd done many times before on the regular without a care in the world. But through the words of others, and my own self deprecating head space, I'd lost all confidence. Now this thing is something where I'm well aware of where I can shine and where my weaknesses are. No illusions. It had eaten at me for months and I had to do it, even at the risk of failure and humiliation.
That day my stress was escalating as in addition to getting out there and fucking this fear up, I had a work event which called for a similar amount of confidence and bravery. The work thing went well but my anxiety was sky rocketing. My doctor took me off Xanax for my anxiety disorder months ago due to the high risk of Alzheimer's in my family, but by some miracle I'd found 3 pills in an old pill box. I was down to one, my prized one that I was holding onto like the King's gold, but this was the time to take it. I also took a muscle relaxer for my pain condition (and taking 1 is nothing for me as I typically take 2-3 multiple times a day). Got to the venue and as far as I could tell nothing was kicking in...I wasn't breathing. A few friends gave me some big pep talks and support and I did it. It wasn't great, but it wasn't a bomb, and I felt like I could breathe again.
Anxiety makes your cortisol go through the roof. My adrenaline was off the charts, so once the moment was done I started coming down hard. I was drinking a caffeinated beverage and falling asleep at the table. Decided I should go home and as I walked in it felt like going to the bedroom was too far. I live in a small 2 bedroom condo and actually the bedroom would have been the closest place to land but I felt I had to be on the couch. I took off my shoes and jeans and passed out as if I was drunk or drugged up. The next day I felt woozy. Not sick but as if my nervous system was blurry. I call this an anxiety hangover.
The obvious question is why keep putting myself through this? What I just described is a painful nightmare. Yet a mundane existence of work, sleep, a few activities and die, isn't for me. I've always wanted more. And I'm willing to endure suffering I bring on myself to try and reach what is likely unattainable.
I reinvent myself every day. It's how I survive.
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