A fundamental law of physics states there’s no such thing as perpetual motion. Eventually, things stop. Another force slows them. If you fall, you hit the ground. If you travel somewhere, you arrive.
That’s not true for anxiety. It’s infinite.
Like my eldest daughter, my wife, and most of my intelligent friends, I have a life-long relationship with anxiety. A diagnosis doesn’t offer you much other than validation that your feelings are out of control and overwhelming.
My childhood anxieties were mostly about things like the threat of a thermo-nuclear war or being abducted by a pedophile. I also suffered from Capgras delusion: the unnerving certainty that imposters had replaced people around me. I thought my parents had been killed and villains had taken their skins.
Many (but not all) of these anxieties disappeared with the frontline of defence: education. Thermo-nuclear war anxiety dissipated once I learned about history. Pedophile stuff disappeared once I learned about some statistics and how to protect myself. The Capgras went away with the knowledge that changing appearance convincingly was pretty tricky.
But when these anxieties melted, they were replaced by others.
You see, it’s just anxiety all the way down.
One of my favourite stories about mental disorders - and depression and anxiety in particular - comes from Andrew Solomon, whose insightful tome, The Noonday Demon, is a revelation. He talks about the paradox of mental disorders that are based in reality.
One suffering from anxiety might say to their spouse: ‘Climate change is inevitable, and the third world will likely be wholly decimated, but the rest of the world is completely paralysed by a saturation in social media that’s made extremism explode and critical thinking vanish. And that’s before we mention Trump, Israel, Iran and Russia.’
And the spouse will reply:
‘Yes, but I was just asking if you wanted toast for breakfast?’
To the mild to moderate anxiety sufferer, a certain amount of their anxiety is not unreasonable. It’s not that the anxiety is wrong; it’s that they’re having trouble tuning it out.
But then, of course, the anxious brain would ask - if we are silencing and drugging the people who are worried, then how will we know what’s worth worrying about?
I’ve sat with my anxiety. Held it. Hugged it. Done the inner-child work. I’ve medicated. I’ve done all the things. In the last two years, I’ve set about the long divorce from my professional identity. A lot of my anxiety came with work. I’ve rested, reflected, and repaired. It’s still a work in progress.
Why, then, after a fortnight of working at a natural pace and relative ease, during which I awoke most days feeling gratitude and a sense of peace, did I stumble into a panic attack at a local cafe?
I’m studying psychology. I’m almost done. We’re finally getting to the nitty gritty of my diploma, which includes studying mental health assessment and interventions. There are many scales, tools, and quizzes used to assess different disorders, largely based on criteria set out by the American Psychiatric Association in the DSM-5.
The well-established tools have been tested to death - they are consistent and reliable and valid.
Still, some in-built cynicism that I can’t shake has a philosophical hesitation at the whole premise. Surely, if you’ve got a hammer, it’ll find a nail?
I mean, after the panic attack in the cafe, I do a test that tells me I’m showing signs of an eating disorder, possibly bulimia.
Am I a nail that’s just been thwaped by a hammer?
Or is this just the latest manifestation of my old friend?
I disengage from all content about health, fitness, and diet. I make myself eat whatever my body wants and try to give myself a week or two of leaning into some treats and ‘bad’ food.
The first step is re-education.
If that doesn’t work, I’ll seek help. And I advise you to do the same if you’re anxious like me.
The old friend stays with you in different guises. Yesterday was a tough day. Today I feel perfectly fine. If you’re having a tough day: go easy. While it may not disappear forever, it does ebb and flow. We all stand together.
I’ve written before about diagnosis and my complicated feelings about them, and about anti-depressant medication.
Resonate? Leave a comment and share! It would help!