Here's the whole thing, the Gordy details, the big picture: it is the most frightening thing to have the truth line up with your anxieties.
Yes! Remember that old player, that old fool, that individual once thought to be in retirement but was in actuality training to get bigger better and strong? Remember him? I do. And what does fear have to do with anxiety? Everything, my dear, my darling, my Watson, old chap! Anxiety/fear/frost urn starts in your toes. Or your fingertips. Or the ends of your ears. Extremities, that's where the pain starts. Perhaps the sickness has been sitting in your belly this whole time and now it's taken long cross-body road trips to exotic places where nails and wax grow. But yes, it starts there. Why? My anxiety ridden comrades and peers, you know as well as I that once you are sure that everyone hates you and no one wants you there and your presence is a burden and no one wants you no one wants you no one wants you there, then your bodily awareness is heightened to Everest-ian heights.
This is air you are not meant to displace, area you are not meant to occupy, you are blocking visible light when it has a purpose and you do not. So you grow small, you hunch your shoulders, you breathe in deep. You shrink in every way, you think smaller, you shut the fuck up. You feel sea sick when you catch your own stupid reflection, why oh why did they polish these car windows so well?
This is where Anxiety, enter stage right good friend, comes in to help in its I'll natured well meant way. Start at the ends, fold inwards. Like a long carpet or a blanket or a scarf or a ridiculous piece of paper or a streamer, do I have to keep listing more or do you understand me? Fold inwards, until you hit joints. Bend there, continue to compact, shrink, shrink, push yourself against a wall, inch your way to the door, no one will notice when you leave, except maybe they will but obviously all they will do is exhale, finally, that sigh of relief that has been building in their stomach since they first saw your ugly mug. By this point, you should be small and aerodynamic enough to fly home on the back of a breeze or a bird. Go home, crawl into bed, or just stand by the door or collapse onto cold tiles and let everything explode. Unravel! Unravel yourself with a violent explosion of terrible feelings!
Welcome home, let's review all you did and said that was wrong and annoying and why everyone 100% hates you. Just like you do.
This is what happens with anxiety. This is why I take took enjoy so many little pills. This is the routine of self hate that plants me into loam and prays nothing but a shell grows out. The rest is used as fertilizer. Or used to feed worms.
Here is the horrible part - when someone tells you your fears were right. When you think you were having a good time but really they hated every second, every trip, every loop, every word you dared escape the cage of your teeth. When kisses were bad business contracts. When memories rot like fruit. When your voice, or one of the voices, in your head starts laughing and laughing and the I told you so's are on an infinite loop and there it is again! The cold is back, but this time it's not the bite of a herbivore, it's the bite of a wolf. A shark. Rows of crooked teeth ripping apart all the things and progress you though you had made. You should have been more anxious, you shouldn't have divorced yourself from its protective embrace. Anxiety keeps you from being too much. Anxiety knows that even a drop of you is too much. Anxiety keeps you locked in your room, where you deserve to be, because that way you can't bother anyone (which you surely would do the second you step out of the door and exit the shadows and hell even the Sun will want to spit on you for blocking it's rays that is how terrible you are).
So here you are now, in this present moment, this very second, the correct time and date of the now now now - here is the scene. You are on your stomach, compressing your stomach because all the gas that was in your skull as hot air has descended because your body, under the wise and knowing guidance of Anxiety p, has directed it all to your stomach to be boiled and melted and corroded away with acids. This isn't possible with gases, but it is giving you a horrible stomach ache so you lie down and apply pressure to the wound and try to keep your torso from bursting open like a party popper and you relive the last few days all the days and wonder what everything was and why you are such an idiot and you lost all feeling in your hands and your feet again and the cold is here. Again. To stay?
The familiarity of this is startling. Love me don't leave me I hate me and now!! With w new twist - you hate me too. I know you do I know it I know it I knew it you said it. What do I do with this, what type of glove must I wear to be able to handle this situation?
Maybe sometimes it's better to just lie.