The Rorschach Test
Sometimes when I'm standing on a bridge or a cliff I feel a terrifying and overwhelming urge to jump off. It's the anxiety knowing you could. It's existentialist terror, knowing you could easily end it all with no impediment. The French call it l'appel du vide - the call of the void.
Anxiety. I don't usually get it. I've had mild versions of anxiety attacks, once in a blue moon. It's terrifying. There's also some irony associated with it. You know what you're thinking is irrational. You know that you're blowing things out of proportion. But your brain is doing it anyway. You're screaming for it to stop, yet you're doing it to yourself. It's like holding your breath. But people say you can't die from holding your breath for too long. That eventually your lungs will give in and force you to breathe.
The other day, I watched a tiny beetle-type insect persistently trying to climb up my windowsill. I hovered my finger over it, not with a murderous intent but with an analytical eye. That insect was so small, compared to me. That insect is my worries. That insect is the rapid climate change and the shrinking artic. It is my fear of never being good enough, it is the upcoming school year, it is every unsufficent blog post I've ever written.
Stress and worry is ubiquitous. We can choose to ignore it or deal with it. To be honest with you, I don't recommend either. But it cannot take over our lives. Are we really going to give something so virtually miniscule the power to overtake us?
You'd do yourself a favour if you gave yourself a rest
But just for now you know what's best
Anxiety. I don't usually get it. I've had mild versions of anxiety attacks, once in a blue moon. It's terrifying. There's also some irony associated with it. You know what you're thinking is irrational. You know that you're blowing things out of proportion. But your brain is doing it anyway. You're screaming for it to stop, yet you're doing it to yourself. It's like holding your breath. But people say you can't die from holding your breath for too long. That eventually your lungs will give in and force you to breathe.
The other day, I watched a tiny beetle-type insect persistently trying to climb up my windowsill. I hovered my finger over it, not with a murderous intent but with an analytical eye. That insect was so small, compared to me. That insect is my worries. That insect is the rapid climate change and the shrinking artic. It is my fear of never being good enough, it is the upcoming school year, it is every unsufficent blog post I've ever written.
Stress and worry is ubiquitous. We can choose to ignore it or deal with it. To be honest with you, I don't recommend either. But it cannot take over our lives. Are we really going to give something so virtually miniscule the power to overtake us?
You'd do yourself a favour if you gave yourself a rest
But just for now you know what's best
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