A Story by vampireonion

Anxiety is my life. It's all I know. It's all I've ever known. People wonder why I'm strange. I guess I just work differently. Anxiety is what makes me function. I don't know what makes them function. I never had the privilege to experience it.
The thing about anxiety is that you either have all these thoughts racing through your head at once, or there are almost no thoughts. That's disassociation. Imagine coming down from a high. That light-as-air feeling, the kinesthetic sense slowed so that your movements are felt after they have occurred, and mostly that feeling that the world is miles away. The first time you feel it, it scares you. Are you okay? High? Sick? Then it grows to be familiar. A simple Google search assures you that it's normal for the abnormal.
Is it normal? You push people away when you get disassociated, and yet you want to talk. Quickly you learn to pass the time by with something time consuming. Movies work well. The distraction helps. Eventually the feeling passes. When it does pass, though, you miss it. That sickness you. Why do you miss it? You shouldn't miss being mental.
One day it'll hit you that you like being the abnormality. You enjoy it's familiarity, but mostly you enjoy it's substance. Being crazy is what makes you you. Without it you have nothing. Without it you are nothing. This realization will anger you. Why do you want to be this way? Go get help. Call a doctor, a friend, anybody. Get medicated. Lose this. Reason screams. Anxiety screams too. Why lose your very self?
Aren't you already lost? Sometimes you don't feel like you belong, and sometimes you feel normal. Which is you? Does hiding the anxiety hide you? It really feels like it. No one feels like your real friends. You never let them know enough. That can hurt you. Never let them in deep. You tell a little to one person, and a little of something else to another. They jokingly call you crazy and accept it. Are they joking? You just shut up.
It isn't always bad. You live. You are still capable. You aren't completely isolated. You may have few, distant friends, but you have friends. You joke. You laugh. You play. Sometimes you can get so happy that you feel as though you are high, on top of the world. You love it. Most the time you are at a "normal" level of happiness. You aren't unhappy, but you question everything. Is the other person faking it? Do they secretly hate you? You shouldn't do that. Normal people don't do that. No, stop! Maybe it's normal to think like this. Are you normal? Are you an attention w***e to think you are crazy? This is anxious happiness.
So? What do you think? I wrote this in less than an hour. I typed it up with only a few revisions. Disassociation led me to not focus on the math instruction, or prepare for something in Spanish that would be difficult for me do to my absence last week. Instead, I decided to introduce you to anxiety. Remember, you only just met. You don't know the full force and power it has, and be thankful for that. Or not. Maybe you aren't interesting because you aren't crazy.

© 2011 vampireonion

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Added on October 22, 2011
Last Updated on October 22, 2011




I love, and I mean LOVE to write. I think I'm pretty good at it. Not amazing, but pretty good. My stories tend to be depressing, though. I can't seem to write a happy character. Maybe the depression g.. more..

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