An Act of Becoming
2025-11-23
I've been getting better about the discipline of coming here and writing closer to first thing in the morning. I have my routines that I do: supplements, brush hair, brush teeth, deodorant, caffeine, toast. But then once all of that is done, I try to get right to writing, distractions notwithstanding. So here I am, another day with another allocated portion of time spent writing the first and only thing that's on my mind.
Yesterday was a hard day. I have these spells where I deal with an intense amount of frustration, irritation, and anxiety. I think they're panic attacks, but I don't feel like I'm going to die, just really bad. When I have these attacks, I shut down. The first thing I do on instinct is that I want to lay down and sleep, but usually the anxiety is too high for me to do that so I might pace around instead. I stumble, almost as if I'm drunk. I tend to repeat a certain phrase over and over again as if I'm clutching onto it for dear life. The phrase is usually something negative though, like "there's nothing I can do. There's nothing I can do. There's nothing I can do."
I remember a time in the psych hospital, I was having one of these attacks and the nurses came to do my morning vitals and saw that my blood pressure was insanely high. In my mind though, I was practically catatonic from the anxiety. The nurses decided to have me rushed to the emergency room where they ran several inconclusive tests and sent me back. While I stayed at the psych hospital for another week or so, I got put on benzodiazepines for the rest of my stay.
Since then, I've been diagnosed with an anxiety disorder. Of course, I never internalized any of my dread as anxiety up until maybe last year or so. I didn't want to name it and frankly, it was something that I was so used to that I didn't even register it as anxiety. I thought it was just my baseline. In many ways it still is. Most days, I feel anxious. I always have that tightness in my chest and even little things set me off. There is a consistent run of adrenaline through my body, a slow drip. From the outside looking in, my life seems comfortable and mundane. Unfortunately though, there's a constant inner war happening that I come here to name and report.
I feel as if I keep hammering at my doubt lately, at least over the last several days or so. Instead of being doubtful, I want to try and be optimistic. Over the last year, things have gotten better, but in smaller and perhaps even more meaningful ways. I started going to the gym consistently this year, and I've made a lot of progress there. I used to barely be able to walk down the street, but now I get in five miles a day easily. I quit smoking and haven't had nicotine in almost five months. I started my website and began publishing here regularly and have amassed over fifty thousand views in less than a year. I've gotten tons of great feedback from people and made some good internet friends. I've seen two of my best friends get married this year and am seeing another one do the same in a few short weeks.
The improvement in my life has been gradual but still noticeable. Despite the internal war, there's still progress being made. I feel as if I'm getting my agency back, albeit slowly. It's been about two months since my last depressive episode, which has been a remission period longer than average for me. I credit that to the culmination of the achievements listed previously.
The thing is that those achievements are less of a 'doing' to me and more like an 'undoing.' It's been several acts of undoing bad habits and replacing them with better ones. The biggest lesson I've learned this year is this: life doesn't take away; it can only replace. That's why I feel like my achievements this year represent less of a progression and more of a metamorphosis.
Every day is an act of becoming.