by mcdavis3
After that I quit smoking cigarettes. My insatiable sacred moments of callous rebellion, despair, self-loathing and deep philosophical thought. It took me a year. I threw out probably 50 full packs of cigarettes. In one night I bought 3 packs of cigarettes and threw out two. I dug plenty of half-broken cigarettes out of the dumpster I’d just thrown out five minutes before.
Going through the long and arduous process of withdrawing off the medication future drugs, again. Either because of the side effects, or because they weren’t working, or because I read a bunch of distressing articles on the internet about how they don’t really know how these medications work or their safety. I found myself frozen and slightly shaking at a party, filled with thoughts of imminent doom. Scheming on how to instantaneously flee and run to my dad’s for days, without embarrassing myself too much. Sorry guys, my brother just got into a car accident. My grandma had to go to the hospital.
When I pulled my date inconspicuously onto the deck and whispered, “Hey, so I have panic attacks, and I’m switching meds and I’m having one right now.”
And she shockingly said, “I have panic attacks too.” And she held my hand, and told me about her own horrible struggles with the meds. And in an instance it made all the difference, I went from thinking “I’m absolutely doomed” to feeling more calm and relaxed.
I actually stayed at the party, holding her hand, and felt much better. It got me thinking how quickly just having someone hold your hand can make a world of difference. So I went back to therapy and began studying Dialectical Behavioral Therapy and Cognitive Behavioral Therapy, the gold standards of modern psychology.
I started writing down my negative thoughts and brainstorming different ways to think about them. I noticed how biased some of the things I spent hours ruminating on were.
People go their whole lives without realizing how their thoughts influence their feelings. Completely subjective, ever changing thoughts.
I began focusing my attention on my positive moments, no matter how small, journaling them down. The cool touch of a sheet against your skin, smooth jazz, fresh air, giving someone a hug, driving on the open road at night under all the lights. Challenging my minds negatively filtered way of thinking. Distractions can be good, no one’s depressed and anxious every second all day long, no matter how bad you are. It can be good to live in the moment and get lost in distractions, most of life is distractions. Plus, all feelings come in waves, nothing’s permanent. I started journaling down my good moments every night, writing about them helps you relive them. If I felt good for a few minutes, then why couldn’t I feel good for a few hours?
I started meditating 10 minutes a day. I figured focusing on my breath was better than repeating the same anxious thoughts over and over. I liked that so much I started going 15 minutes a day, then 30 minutes a day, then 20-30 minutes twice a day. Meditation is amazing, after a few minutes you’re more relaxed, time slows down and you’re more in tune with your body and senses. You’ve never really eaten until you’ve meditatively and mindfully focused on the texture and flavor of every bite. You’ve never really felt the rain until you’ve mindfully focused on the size and place of every drop hitting your face.
I began trying yoga. In one yoga session I was able to go from a 9 to a 4.
I began getting lots of sunshine. Taking barefoot walks in the woods, in the grass, in the mud, focusing on the sensations in my feet. I pray to god, Allah, Gaia, Baba Yetu, Yahweh. I let every breeze become a blessing.
I stopped watching music videos, reading about superstars, following Oakley on social media.
All my acne, which I’d fought my entire life, went away after I made an effort to drink more water and eat less carbs and sugar.
I never started using a single one of these skills because I had the foresight and wisdom to realize that preventative medicine is incredibly rewarding. I made them all by the skin of my teeth out of desperation.
I am uniquely unique, nothing like me has existed or will exist again. Everyone one of us is a living, breathing, walking miracle. Life’s exactly how it should be and you can influence it and change it.
I can see, smell, hear, touch, taste. Life’s a gift, every breath. And it’s over in a blink. Just take it day by day. Who cares if you’ve looked in the mirror and wondered how beautiful you are 20,000 times. Life’s too short, don’t stress it.
What I have is tolerable, constantly being up in my head, the battle. People have fought harder, longer. People living with chronic pain, seizures, allergies. migraines. People with OCD, schizophrenia, dyslexia. People in solitary confinement, slaves. Helen Keller. I’ve had great moments since I developed this disorder, plenty. No one’s just permanently walking on clouds.
Life’s good. Life’s good. Life’s good. Life’s good. Life’s good. Life’s good. Life’s good. Life’s good. Life’s good. Life’s good. Life’s good. Life’s good. Life’s good. Life’s good. I forgive myself. I forgive myself. I forgive myself. I forgive myself. I forgive myself. I forgive myself. I forgive myself. I forgive myself. I forgive myself. I forgive myself. I forgive myself. I forgive myself. I forgive myself.
It’s better to form a deep relationship with one girl than have crazy sex with thousands of girls. Well, at least as good. There’s always an after orgasm, when Lil’Wayne’s left alone with two or six strangers.
Famous people’s lives aren’t that much different from mine. We all drink water. Eat great food. Watch the same shows. Work. Exercise. Get anxious. Do errands. Take showers. Dress. Drive. Swim. Have conversations. Go to the bathroom. Pray. We have more in common than the 20 percent difference. Is that 20 percent difference really worth beating yourself up all the time? What’s a screaming stadium to a hug from your brother? To a good meditation? What’s an orgy to a good conversation? What’s patronessy to a glass of cool water? There’s not much difference between an amazing life and a super, crazy amazing life unless you spend all your time feeling like a failure because you’re life’s not super, crazy amazing. Plus, the art and products they slave over to make, 70+ hours a week, are for us. For our enjoyment.
“Why then rage and prophesy? Why fly scourged and outcast? Why be made to tremble and sob by the clouds?” [29]
[29] Mrs. Dalloway.
I’m finally ahead of peers in some ways. I don’t know any other 25 year olds that meditate an hour every day, practice DBT skills and eat a variety of cooked vegetables every day.
I never did become a solider. Even though it was the first certain thing I ever wanted to be. The hundreds of horribly descriptive books and movies I couldn’t get enough of, eventually showed me that it’s not really that great. Jonsen talked about joining the army for years. I would always pursued him, “Jonsen, in all those war books we ever read, not a single one, not a single one, ever recommended it.”
My dad always tells a story from a visualization exercise a therapist had him do where he opened a chest deep in his subconscious and a picture of his mom came out. His mom ran a very critical and controlling ship when they were children. My dad’s second marriage is nothing like his first, it’s happy and synergetic and respectful. His critical tendencies are still down there, but as he tells me, “I learned the hard way you don’t have to say every thought that comes into your head, Marco. Pick your battles. In a marriage you should always give 16 compliments to every constructive criticism. We’re our own worst critics in the first place.”
I do this thing these days when I pass strangers, I point out something cool about them. Something they’re wearing or their hair. Keeping a very open mind. Beauty is so subjective anyways. In my lifetime we’ve gone from waif to thick. Last year I was obsessed with tan skin and now I’m into pale skin. Khaleesi’s bushy eyebrows are hot. True style is avant-garde and disgusting. Modeling agencies look for nontraditional faces. So when strangers pass I imagine gummy smiles are really in, snaggle teeth. Who knows what’s next. Or if that’s not working, I don’t assign a value to them at all, I’ll focus on d
escriptions and colors. He’s wearing a beige fedora. She’s wearing a black and white stripped dress…
Oakley struggles. She lives in L.A., the most competitive city on the planet, and she doesn’t even have a Wikipedia page. She works probably 60 hours a week, not including the gym. She probably spends an hour or two every day stuck in LA traffic. 95 percent of wrinkles and skin deformities come from sun exposer and let’s just say Oakley’s not such a huge fan of sunscreen. She’s the type of person that will start getting botox injections at 33, not because she needs them, but because it’s the next horrendously compelling status symbol. Oakley’s just looking for her own peace of mind. It’s stressful trying to keep up with queen bey.
Things matter, moments matter, what you say matters. You influence other people, in the most surprising ways. Life matters.
The universe will continue on even if some imminent human caused catastrophe makes the planet uninhabitable for life. The earth self regulates, it’s been way too hot for a while, and way too cold for a while. Life will probably grow again, humans might even survive.
I may never be as happy as a child again. But no one is.
Whatever symptoms of psychic pain you're experiencing right now are just a symptoms. There’s no guarantee they will last. You can get better.
If I go permanently crazy all of a sudden so be it. There’s nothing I can do about that, god’s will.
One of my professors once told me that he was glad he wasn’t rich. He said there’s way too much pressure and responsibility that comes with being at the top. It’s never what you think. Somebody’s always going to have what you want.
There are so many things to think about, an infinite possibility, why ruminate over the same distressing thoughts over and over? Think about anything else. Notice the color and models of cars on the road, observe sensations inside your body, feel any of the different textures around you.
I’m thankful for every ego-checking moment I’ve had to keep me humble and down to earth. My resiliency is impressive, how I’m able to just pick my head back up and keep trying.
I’m finally ahead of my time in some ways. I don’t know any other 20 year olds that are meditating every day and eating cooked veggies every day.
Our consciousness is so tiny in this overwhelmingly complex world that all you can do is stay relentlessly thankful and optimistic. Make your brain work for you.
Some dreams you have to let go, Portuguese breakfasts on yachts. “Our great war is a spiritual war.’[30]
[30] Fight Club.
43. Ladies Man (Summer 2012)
Emma, my ex-girlfriend, calls me. I’m late to our rendezvous at the lake. She asks bitchily were I am, I tell her I’m a block away. She clearly still has some resentment towards me. She’s standing against her car with her arms crossed as I pull up.
My brains working faster than a click farm worker and uneasy feelings are getting the best of me. This isn’t right, I need to let her move on. Once I park, I jollily jog over to her car, showing her that I’m fun loving and energetic.
With a big smile I say “Hey you,” And pick her up and spin her around.
“Took you long enough,” She replies. I wait while she goes back into her car to grab her things. I look her over for the first time in a month, she doesn’t look that pretty to me. That’s the way it’s always been though, one moment she’s gorgeous and I’m so unbelievably lucky to have dated her, and the next moment I’m in disbelief I dated her for so long and I must be a loser.
Hot prickly waves of anxiety burst inside my body with all the discomfort of someone suffocating. All my instincts tell me I have to run away immediately, anywhere but here. But I’ve battled this disorder long enough to know you can’t give it a single inch. I’ve learned the hard way that any brief relief you may gain from running away is nothing compared to the permanent pain of letting this disorder control and define your life.
This discomfort will pass, I reassure myself. You’re pro at tolerating this discomfort. Just stay for a while until this feeling passes, just give it a half hour, you can always leave in a half hour.
Two weeks after we’d broken up Emma had texted me asking if we could be friends with benefits, I’d said no. Two weeks and three humiliating rejections after that, I’d texted her asking if the friends with benefits thing was still on the table. True strength isn’t breaking up with your girlfriend when you want to be single. True strength is not running back to them during the unbearably lonely months that follow.
She’d asked me what changed my mind and I’d respond that it would be weird but also new and exciting. Emma agreed and after some steamy texting we’d set up a rendezvous. My mom’s words rang through my head, “Use your hand before you use a woman.” My mom firmly believed women got the short end of the stick in casual sex.
As we walk down to the lake together, Kamizaki pilot thoughts begin nose diving in my head. I’m not happy-go-lucky anymore, I’m not fun to be around, something’s permanently wrong with me, my life’s ruined.
Stop. I take a deep breathe. This is your familiar negative cycle. This isn’t true at all. You’re fun to be around, you make people laugh all the time, people like you.
I ask Emma questions and encourage her to talk, and she does, about her friends and family. We get to the lake and she asks me where to sit, I say I don’t care.
“This is why we broke up, you’re so indecisive.” She remarks. It’s a predictable comment; I’d already considered she’d say something like that before I said anything. Ho-hum.
“I broke up with you.” I shoot back.
We find a spot on the grass and she lays out a blanket.
Then she gets into what she really wants to talk about. The guys she’s been dating. My stomach plunges at every word but I’m a helpless truth addict so I try to pry out every terrible detail. The truth is better and more terrible than an orgasm.
She is talking to three guys, but only dating one. One of the guys she’s talking to is in the army. The one she’s dating is a country boy, Don, from up north. Not the pastoral, fetishized country. The country he’s from is full of trailer parks, drugs, poverty and high school drop outs.
“What college did he go to?” I smirk, but immediately regret this comment. What a terrible joke, not even clever at all, just bad taste. What happened to me? I used to be funny. Why did I do all those drugs as a child?
I watch the crowded stream of people walking around the lake. Truly happy people who’ve never been scarred by a panic attack. So many people…All with their own unique stories, thinking they’re special. Hundreds of nameless cockroaches crawling all over each other… How do you even make sense of 7 billion people? There's no ideology or creed that can make sense of 7 billions people. Life’s meaningless, where did the magic go? As I run through these thoughts I can feel the panic starting to creep on. My heart rate increases, my hand starts to lightly shake. The delirium claws at the seams of my consciousness.
I’m having a panic attack, I worriedly try to prepare myself for what’s about to come.
I’ve had too many panic attacks, I panic, I can’t handle anymore, my brain’s slowly disintegrating. The full-blown pit of frantic despairing thoughts begins to churn. This is it, I’m going to crazy in front of all these people.
I take a deep breathe. This is only a moment, Marco, it will pass. Fear can’t hurt you, it can’t grow arms. I reach out to start feeling the grass in order to take my mind off the world turning inside out. I feel the slick, sticky texture. I start searching for something that starts with an A, I see an ant crawling in the grass. Then I start searching for something starting with a B, across the park I see the baseball field, C…
This isn’t normal, these symptoms are too strong. Your brain is diseased and permanently broken. It’s only a matter of time until you die, these panic attacks have already riddled your life away.
F… Flock of birds.
Emma tells me the country boy is some type of trade worker, cars.<
br />
“He has a six pack,” She brags. Ouch, she knows how to hit me where it hurts. I work out but I have yet to get a solid six-pack–it’s absurdly hard.
I demand that she shows me a picture. She agrees excitedly. He actually sent her a picture of himself standing in front of a mirror with his shirt off. We both share a laugh at his expense. We both think it’s a trashy. Why is it trashy? I think. Who’s to say what’s trashy? More pings of madness pull apart the grass underneath me into an existential abyss.
G…Grey sweatshirt.
He has that stupid facial hair strip running from ear to ear over the bottom of his chin. Emma’s having fun making me jealous. She says he gets in fights a lot, a tough boy. She says he’s my complete opposite. I ask her what pictures she sent him back. She says she didn’t, she’s too afraid of it ending up on the internet. I don’t believe her. She says I’m taller than him to make me feel better. It does make me feel better.
“I’ve been talking too much. How are you?”
“You love talking.”
She laughs, “I really do.”
I look at her, sometimes she goes off on a tangent where she just talks and talks. It gets rambled and uninteresting but you can’t help but notice how happy she is just flowing, articulating one idea to the next. I remember when I was that that excited to just plain express myself about anything.