Hello friends. Before we get to my thoughts this week, I feel it necessary to explain a post I made on social-media a few days ago. It is a picture of me on a hike with a harrowing expression on my face. The caption read: “This is the face of anxiety. It’s been a rough few days. If anyone else is suffering today, know you’re not alone. We will get through this. But right now it’s effin hard.”
The purpose of me sharing that picture was so everyone could witness just what anxiety can do to a person – how it can hollow you out in a second. How you can go from perfectly fine – crushing so hard – feeling absolutely joyous – to totally unfine in an instant. I wanted people to know that if/when they feel that way, they are not alone.
Apologies to those it alarmed – that was not the intent. I have been grappling with anxiety my whole life – so while it was painful, it was also familiar. I did wonder if posting the picture was the right thing to do, but after consideration I felt like it was – I still do. Because what I know is that sugar coating anxiety serves no one. It is only through brutally honest and thoughtful conversation that anxiety starts to lose its power, and that’s what I wanted this picture to reflect.
So for all those who asked, yes! I am okay – as okay as we can all be at the moment. And if you’re curious as to what triggered this experience I encourage you to read below, it’s probably not what you think.
*I wrote this post the day it happened.
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This is anxiety.
Today during my bi-annual pilgrimage to Carson Dermatology anxiety got the better of me. I’ve been crushing it in this department lately, but today I was triggered and triggered badly.
This is anxiety.
Nothing special on the docket for my appointment, just a routine mole check and maybe a biopsy or two – that’s always a possibility and having become a pro at them over the past six years I tend to not freak out too much. He took one on my ear and then I asked him about a red spot that’s been on my waterline for about two months. I totally expected him to blow it off and have a simple, reassuring explanation. He didn’t. His exact words were that he “wasn’t overly concerned about it”, but he wanted me to come back in three months to be sure.
This is anxiety.
Now, I don’t know if it was the fact that I felt all out of sorts because of the time change, the full moon, a very mild head cold, travelling all day, and let’s be real all the uncertainty surrounding COVID-19 but I could feel dread start to creep its way, slowly and sinisterly, into my gut.
This is anxiety.
I went back and forth with the doctor for a bit and I ultimately had him biopsy it – even though he thought it was fine to wait and even though it meant losing a few lower lashes. It hurt, and was scary having a needle and a surgical tool right next to my eyeball, but it’s “gone” now, and all that’s left to do is to wait the fourteen days (that let’s be real, will feel more like 40) it takes to find out the results.
This is anxiety.
During the appointment however, anxiety was beginning to coil around my insides like a snake – closing in on all of the uncertainty and fear.
This is anxiety.
All the while my mind was flailing about, desperately attempting to seek the reassurance I knew would not come and that would have little to no impact even if it did.
This is anxiety.
I left the office shaken, rattled, weak in the knees – knowing full well what was coming. I got into the car and started rapidly calling life-lines as my breathing started to get shallow.
This is anxiety.
The first person I got ahold of was my mom and I burst into tears – gasping for breath – finally getting out that I was having a panic attack.
This is anxiety.
In that moment anxiety won and the narrative it created went something like this: Hey there… you know all that personal growth stuff that’s been going down these past few months? Well ya, here’s the thing… You are too happy. Too secure. Too in “control”. You’ve been living life too authentically. You’ve been arrogant. Crushing too hard and too much. Things are going too right for you! Of course this is happening. Of course you would and should be knocked back down to size. Of course, of course, of course…
This is anxiety.
It was the perfect in for anxiety. It saw its chance and took it.
This is anxiety.
Now, the rational thing to think is that everything is going to be fine. The doctor was “not overly concerned by it”. But anxiety doesn’t play fair or take the rational road. It hears something that is supposed to be reassuring and spins it. It recognizes when there is concern, when there is uncertainty, when there is doubt and uses it all against you. And after it has you in its vise grip, it spirals even more and convinces you that horrifying things are about to happen.
This is anxiety.
“Oh! He has never seen a melanoma present this way in his twenty-one years of practicing medicine? Doesn’t mean it can’t happen, and why not let that first time be you?”
This is anxiety.
“Pssst… it’s going to be you.”
This is anxiety.
“Pssst… You have melanoma… again.”
This is anxiety.
“Pssst… this time it’s worse.”
This is anxiety.
“Pssst… this time you’re going to die.”
This is anxiety.
Irrationality is its modus operandi.
This is anxiety.
It felt and always feels one hundred percent real and certain when you’re on the battlefield facing it.
This is anxiety.
After talking to a few life-lines and spilling my guts to them – these guys have earned it (see last blog post) – I forewent any additional shopping I had planned on doing, found a park with some trails, and rage hiked/sprinted/yelled/talked outloud to myself for the better part of an hour.
This is anxiety.
You see, anxiety did win in the moment – but it also didn’t. Because for the first time (in regards to my relationship with cancer and dying) I practiced the exposure I have so purposefully tried to avoid since being diagnosed with melanoma. I leaned in, got real close, and imagined the worst possible outcome. This is something Nancy had been trying to get me to for years.
This is anxiety.
I so wish I could face you all and say that I have made peace with death – that illness doesn’t scare me sick. But I haven’t and it does. It’s a work in progress and anxiety knows it.
This is anxiety.
But I did it. I forced myself to imagine what it would be like if the biopsy results came back and I had cancer and the prognosis was poor. What would I do? How would I feel? What would it mean?
This is anxiety.
And in the midst of rage hiking and crying and talking to myself out loud – I came up with this:
I would own that shit.
I would face that shit.
I would do everything I could to beat that shit.
I would show my daughter what it looked like to be brave and to not be defined by that shit.
And after repeating these mantras out loud, over and over and over again – I actually started believing them – and some beautiful truths materialized…
Anxiety is not the one in control of my mind.
I am in control of my mind.
I say what happens in there.
I get to choose how I react.
I am the one who lives here.
This is anxiety and in that moment I was able to shut the door in her bitch ass face.
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It helped and I got through the day.
The reality is that it’s a week later and anxiety is still simmering just under the surface. It threatens to bubble over at any moment. It doesn’t help that much is going on in regards to other personal matters and of course in the world.
These are bizarre and uncertain times, and these are the times anxiety flourishes the most. But my experience on those trails in Reno reminded me that despite anxiety’s best efforts, I am ultimately the one in control of my mind, and that knowledge has helped me move forward this week.
Truth be told, it hasn’t been graceful… I’ve become fatigued from the effort of the near constant work it takes to keep the anxious thoughts at bay – to stop them from taking over. Frequently I’ve felt on edge – distracted – gross inside – weak. I’ve snapped – I’ve overshared – I’ve failed – A. Lot.
But I’ve also succeeded in taking a monumental step forward in my mental health. I faced down one demon and proved that I could conquer it. That is my victory, that is what I learned, and that is what I choose to hold on to today.
Stay savage – and stay healthy! – friends and Get. It. Done.
If you’re interested in any of this, in my journey, my story, check back weekly. Much more meandering musings and kuhlhuman thoughts to come.
Also! If you have questions about what I write or even suggestions for future blog posts, feel free to leave a comment below or email me at thekuhlhuman@gmail.com.