Burned Out
The internal monologue of a stress related panic attack
*Warning: This post discusses and illustrates depression, anxiety and high levels of stress. This may be triggering to some readers. Please read at your discretion*
I decided to let myself type out my internal monologue as I was going through a stress related anxiety attack. It actually was quite cathartic and helpful to write everything down as I was feeling it. I highly recommend doing this and then either deleting the file or burning the paper.
Too tired. I feel like my bones are made of lead and my muscles are old, frayed rubber bands with no life left in them. My body feels like it doesn’t work.
At work. The phone won’t stop ringing. I don’t want to deal with people’s problems right now. I don’t care about them. That guy has his ringtone up too high. Do this. Do that. Where’s my appointment? How much longer? Do you work here? Are you okay? I’m sorry I just can’t talk about it.
Can’t talk about it. Must keep going. Need to make others see that I’m strong. Need to be stronger. I am too weak. I am fraying paper from an old book left yellowed in the sun. I wish I could do more.
Gotta do more. Can’t stop now or I’ll be forced to acknowledge how I feel.
Feel?
How do I feel?
What is that like? Knowing how you feel? I couldn’t give you a single descriptive word for how I feel.
I can’t feel anything right now.
What is feeling anyways? My heart feels numb sitting at my desk with more hours of work ahead of me at home. Where am I going to start?
That guy still won’t turn off his ringer. He’s got five seconds before I lose my temper on him. No, don’t do that. It’s not his fault you’re being psychotic. Repress. Repress. Push it all further down inside. Nobody needs to deal with this right now.
Why can’t you just deal with this? Why are you so pathetic and weak?
Weak. Tired. Sleep. I wish I could just curl up and go to sleep. It feels like I haven’t slept in days.
Days. Everyday. Dishes, folding, dinner, talking. I don’t want to talk to anyone.
If I talk about how I feel I don’t think I can say anything.
“What’s going on? What do you feel?”
Feel? I really wish that I didn’t have to feel. No. Don’t say that. You’re being dramatic. Calm down.
Calm. Beach. Think relaxing happy thoughts. Maybe I could go to the beach? Oh wait, you can’t afford that. Okay. Beach wallpaper. Select beach wallpaper. What’s the point? It’s not even a real beach.
Real. I don’t feel real right now. I feel like a disposable tissue used and stuffed in a pocket only to be forgotten and go through the wash. I’m shredded into tiny pieces of my existence that remain. I feel worthless.
Worth. What makes a person worthy? What makes me worthy? I don’t know what does. Stop. You’re being ridiculous. You have plenty of things that make you worthy. Worthy of what? I don’t know. Something. Love maybe? Let’s list reasons for why you’re worthy…
Blank. I can’t think of anything. I can’t think in general. Why can’t I think about one thing for longer than seven seconds without my mind racing to the next worry?
Worry. Ohh I’m so worried. Why am I so worried all the time? Well, idiot, it’s because it’s all up to you.
Up to me. Everything is up to me. I am one person and have the world hoisted onto my narrow shoulders.
Narrow shoulders. Narrow. I need to work out more. Add gym membership to list.
List. Lists and endless lists. What if I can’t do enough?
Listing away.
Away.
Everybody just go away.
Everybody? Somebody?
Help me. Tell me it’s going to be okay.
