The Root Cause Of My Anxiety – Mad Chaos: April 23, 2003

To Revise Or To Write

As the writer mind scuttles back to its quarters from an hour of revision and in a day removed from anxieties associated with societal needs, he draws an inundated look at what observations he has managed to lasso, and wonders how he will adopt those discoveries toward a progressive context whose tenor in no way infringes our thinking.  

I would have enjoyed it if the writer continued in his submerged revisions yesterday because it would have made today’s commodity less of an accumulated ordeal.  But nonetheless; a wise man is not a wise man unless he can convey his wisdom.  So as long as my message is conveyed, the timing matters little.

As subjects of value propose their vivid ways through me, a battle of priority ensues, where the writer ponders on whether to spend energy in compiling thoughts collectively, or whether he should yield priority to what is foremost on my mind, so that his memoirs would appear jerky but without any mere reflection left to chance.  I could always return and restructure this entry at a later date however, so since all these remarks have accumulated, a point-by-point basis would do me best to articulate on the run.

An Improvement In Anxiety Levels

Beginning now with a remark of burning interest to me, there has been an enigmatic change to the way my anxieties have functioned over these last few days.  While its sentiment saw much hypothesizing during this latest period, the writer was yet to chisel a valid explanation.  

I don’t know why the anxieties have calmed down but there are some theories or clues, or an accumulation of the two.  I tend to think that there are two schools of thought as to the improvement in my nerves however, and the easiest observed has to do with my rediscovered personal freedoms.  

A renowned basis of my anxiety issues from the form of depression one is subjected to during times of limitation or when ones choices are removed.  Being limited makes me feel a claustrophobic form of anxiety, and those are the anxieties that make me depressed being in and of an inescapable fate.  

I used to get this type of anxiety when broke for its basic subjection to incarcerate me.  I couldn’t use the gym as an outlet or enjoy basic liberties to remove me from depression.  You could say these last few months have experienced some form of these claustrophobic anxieties because of the way my credit card repayments and other bills have acted as a limitation and overhead to remove choices from me.  Certain staleness in those unprogressive months had combined with uncertainty to depress.  But since then the financial situation has improved, as that aspect of associated anxiety has given way again to a sense of control and a renewed sense of personal freedoms.

Life is not so limited at the moment because I hardly feel subjected to old financial claustrophobia.  Necessity does not confine me, as with money and stable progress in my bills, there is a choice to visit the gym, a choice to buy my food, a choice to socialize on weekends, and an avenue open wherever a decision will take me.  

I even choose not to pay for the fine copped in the city for when mumbles abetted me in “j walking” because the choice is there, since money is in my hand to make a decision.  I would be deluded to assume I had a choice either way if I were broke because having no money would have made my choice for me, and it would have depressed me too, to make me dwell on anxieties and time passing by.

Improvements Through Mental Aspects

Apart from the physical stimulants to factor my anxieties, there is also an obvious mental aspect, and that too has seen a transformation over the days.  I wouldn’t know where to start but some physical aspects like exercise and achieving goals at the gym have certainly contributed endorphins to this mentally optimizing mood.  

The majority of my anxiety starts and ends in my mentality, and so its issue is mental.  

For example, the friction of mum moving upstairs has always instigated my tracks of insomnia whose effects have lasted for years.  But since my brother has moved in to take most of that attention off of me, it has lessened the paranoia associated to those sorts of nerves.  

My brother has really eased some of the tension traditionally concentrated on me over these years, and whether the antagonism my parents silently bestowed were acute delusions of mine or not.  With mum’s writhing reactions in her bed and dad resenting me, its intensity since my brother adopted the focus has nigh disappeared, which happily now exonerates those worn neurotic mental anxieties of mine.  I am able to relax more now, as the vibe of expectancy is compensated by new additions to this house of whom are both as equal an example as me.  

I have less pressure as well to adhere to societal life since the link accepted me onto a counseling program, which justifies my relief to progress at my own pace.  

I have no more fortnightly highs and lows anymore as well, since my lifestyle has choice and no longer fixates desperately on the ridden emotions of money.  I feel a sense of accomplishment in shopping at least half a dozen times a fortnight for food, and then in rationing the rest of my days to the gym, to see the benefit there as well.  

I even use these memoirs in an optimistic capacity again, revising old histories to garner a present sense of direction.  

The Root Cause Of My Anxiety

I think the most dramatic improvement to my state of anxieties however has been the acknowledgement from many circles that societal pressures for me, for now, are over.  

I have never been comfortable with the rat race.  I see it both here and when redirecting attention back to my histories.  I never could handle the significances of working and would rather have been prepared for that anxiety.  So this is what this pace is for, and what finally has started to occur to me   

I have been anxious lately for feeling stuck and suffocated, and uncomfortable with my self-esteem because I claim the bottommost rung of this societal ladder.  

I have been anxious and paranoid to feel so in focus, to feel like my parents, friends and laymen strangers critically judge me when really their expectations are misunderstood.  I am anxious because anxieties have knocked me out of this competition, and now it is so hard to get back on track.  

At some stages the desperation took its toll because it made empty promises out of me.  I never moved out when so adamant to do so.  These memoirs also never lived up to be because the insecurities of others were allowed to put down my aspirations to it.  It was insecure people that vicariously wanted to command me; in the way people resisted the idea of my memoirs, or how they never allowed me to join society at my own pace.  

Going At My Own Pace In Life

I have had space to enjoy my own pace now however since my brother moved in.  I will have to think about moving out to eventually let him have this bedroom, but for now the world no longer seems like it is on my shoulders.  

I do not feel an anxious need to get there “now”.  So unlike any other time of hastening, paranoid acceleration or panic induced, I have finally been dealt all the stops to find myself, to take my time and to build up thoughts like my self-esteem before the rest can ratify.  

I can finally relax and spend nights looking for answers rather than in degradation.  I can feel self-contained instead of invaded, and that is why the definition of anxiety has not been so deep, and why space to breathe has been afforded to me.  

I haven’t snowballed with coughs of anxiety since two days after my brother arrived, or for a week. So even while dad infuriated me by playing his resentful game of hiding the truth, the benefits awarded to me have turned favorably in the end, as this house renews its functional unit, and we all make our ways, without being judged, and at our own paces.

Researching Historical Instances Of Anxiety

Having just devoured some grapes in that pause, and with a delicious meal of beef strips and seared vegetables still in my belly, the delve into anxious histories continues its quest to unravel old and ongoing psychological industries, which for years have remained as wounds undiscovered, and for years have never healed.  

I have never sent out a voyage as far thorough as this before, but it pays dividends to remind me of the stages in which my anxieties have accumulated.  

I have never always been anxious.  I never always coughed as drastically or even worried about the future as much.  The farther the writer treks back, the more he sees that my anxieties have been like platforms of scaffolding to an invisible bridge.  

I hardly ever referred to anxieties in a subjective way back in the lost years.  Even when it was mentioned, its classification was not as intense.  I used to observe it more in others back then rather than in myself, but its definition more so generalized the term “anxiety”.  

Anxiety was never synonymous with the possessive sense it has now.  Anxiety was rather laxly phrased, which was at least true until the days of the dark knight, to which since then its scaffolding had accentuated some platforms high.  I have only been as far back as the end of the lost years but in reading regarded excerpts on anxiety, you could see my consciousness (culminated by many events) start to change.  

I sense a chapter called from innocence to exodus of the time immediately after a recognized end of the lost years, and in the months before the days of the dark knight began.  I think the night when losing the last remnant in my joie de vivre. was the first vulnerability.  Then as the months went on in a choice-less state, a further rung to scaffolding anxieties was how slaughtered a lamb I was to the badgering bane.  

I can’t believe the sadism endured and my spineless ways, to bicker with but always accept the badgering bane for fear of loneliness, and the way she mined me for all I was worth until my patient vein she had finally exhausted.  I can’t believe how she played me for a sucker, using me, abusing me, baiting me on hopes she never came through with.  

The Path Deeper Into Anxiety

From innocence to exodus was a desperate time clinging to pieces and fearing change because change was another scaffold to anxiety.  However, deep in those months there came a moment when a month without money woke me up.  

Being stuck in poverty in April 1999 taught me about liberties and anxieties, and the realities of growing up.  I felt the importance of money when it came back to me.  So that month led me from a poetic recluse hung-up on the lost years to a rough independence with HIH Insurance, and the first genuine sensations of anxiety.

A Sharp Uptick In Anxiety

Anxieties began their sharp incline once the exodus from innocence was complete, and the days of the dark knight had begun.  One of the chase words being searched for originated in this period of work, where my first week had succumbed to anxious coughing, only to evolve into transpirations such as morning anxieties relatable to work.  I may still find evidence of similar anxieties in jobs previous to this but those studies are still uncharted territory when it comes to the amount of research refocused towards that way.  

I would never have thought that there would be links stretching as far back as the lost years or even as contemporarily close as the exodus from innocence, but some findings have surprised me.  I stopped observing anxieties in others in this transitioning period for example and began observing them inwardly in myself.  I used to be an extrovert but never quite understood where the fallible period was, until now.  

From Sporadic To Constant Anxiety

Before the days of the dark knight only specific instances of anxiety would spring, used to a purpose, like the anxieties of losing my wallet or the way we had to react to a brawl with guns in Kangaroo Valley.  So anxiety was never mainstream until a certain aspect of it became recurrent, as in when working for my future behind a desk in the days of a dark knight.  

The increasing estrangement and isolation endured in my social life and at work would by far have instituted the broadest scaffolding, which made anxiety more constituent of many negative factors combined and acting as intensifiers.  

Insecurities, low self-esteem and uncertainty would for instance have contributed to the growing concern, as self-consciousness grew to weaken my resolve for that societal life.  

I increasingly interacted from under a rock once these pressures formalized, but still there was no stated recognition of anxiety.  I must have either been naïve or intrinsically timid, or subconsciously negligent never to integrate any links to it.  So, anxiety went on undiagnosed for years, unrealized because a cohesion of observation didn’t exist.  

Anxiety never turned “super” for years.  Instead, it watched me turn from socially adept to socially inept, and since combining the perilous different degrees, it has sabotage my will to socially adapt again.  

Lost Virtues Contribute To Anxieties

I guess you could put my own accumulation of anxieties to principles and virtues lost.  I had principles before I took drugs for example.  The disappointment in myself subconsciously made me sick with guilt.  

I broke a lot of virtues since the lost years as well, like visiting prostitutes and exploring that seedy part of life.  I never used to be anxious until I started searching.  I wish I’d never taken drugs because it caused the most problematic anxieties thus far.  

I had goals of course in more recent years, but although in its time there were fewer instances of anxieties or coughs, disheartenment was certainly growing.  

Failing on the true millennium surely provoked it, but this project was set to fail.  I was so messed up at the time because my anxiety disorder lay undiagnosed, and yet the pressures thrashed me between extremes like a metal ruler nailed vertically to the side of a desk, flung to quiver to and fro.  Everything I did to induce normality around these months only made me feel more abnormal.  So after a while in the dark ages, the day came.  

I am sure there is more to this story as well, since my psychological wounds herald far beyond the leagues of the writer browse.  However, since another night is spent entertaining enigmas until six in the morning whilst the newest hours bid me maintain some physical routine, we should leave our investigations thence, as if not, countless more days the writer would undoubtedly dally his interests.