Running From Your Brain

Girl with anxiety
Mar Newhall

I thought about writing a post about a funny spam comment. The comment talked about some voodoo witch doctor who could make anything happen. But Randy told me if I posted a spam comment, bad things would happen. I’m not sure what because I glazed over when he started talking about Google and black lists. Kind of the way I do when he lectures me about tweeting at trump.

So, what is on my mind right now? Holy shit, so very much.

I do this thing when I’m writing about difficult subjects, I write “you” instead of “me”. I distance myself from the subject. The end product doesn’t always reflect the distancing because I often recognize what I’m doing, go back and collect what is mine, and I change the ‘you’s” to “me’s”.

This time, though, I think it’s fair to say “running from your brain”.

I know I’m not the only one who runs from their brain. So, this is yours, too.

In a little over a week, Randy and I will be hunkered down with our mountain friends in Tennessee. A week of not working and not reading smokey mountains news. A week of spending time with friends and laughing until my our faces hurt.

I need this so bad.

I look back over shit I’ve written about anxiety over the years. I examine who I am now and get discouraged as fuck because it feels like I’ve made no progress.

I haven’t managed to tame my anxiety or overcome my anxiety. I haven’t managed to make peace with my anxiety because it’s never leaving. I didn’t believe that I never would manage, though. I believed I would find enlightenment and would feel peace. My chest would rarely be tight and I would finally shake this stomach ache I’ve had since 1971.

That’s not happening. My brain is diligent in hitting all the anxiety talking points. Combine that with the absolute shit storm of news we get every single day and my anxiety gets power like it’s been bitten by a radioactive spider.

Sometimes, I get so overloaded, I blow a fuse and all the anxiety melts away. For a little while.

Recently, I was getting my head around the fact that Bill Cosby can admit to drugging and raping women and walk free. And then, he announces that he’s going to give lectures on how to not get accused of sexual assault. Fucking really? That should be a short talk: Don’t be a fucking rapist. Then, I read a story that in North Carolina, women cannot not rescind her consent to sex once the act has begun. Even if her partner gets violent.

I came home from work and ranted until I cried. When we’re pregnant, we become a host and are we give up our rights to our own bodies. In North Carolina, if we are in the act of sex, then we become a semen receptacle. That is our job until the man finishes. Until he finishes, the man has more right over our physical selves than we do.

I was so angry something popped and dissolved in my brain. Overload.

I am always afforded a few moments of clarity when overload happens. I see clearly how convoluted and ridiculous life is. I resolve to continue to fight for my rights as a human and for the rights of my sisters. I realize my job and health anxieties are manufactured and pale in comparison to the actual danger that is out there. I can put that fear away.

For maybe a day. Maybe, less.

It’s back already.

One more week of work and I can run away from all of this.

When I go to work in the morning, I drive south. I pick up work related fear along the way and by the time I am in my cubicle, I am bloated, loaded down, and exhausted.

When we drive south next week, the opposite will happen. As soon as the car is in motion, I can drown out the anxiety, and aside from a few zings, work fear goes away. Yeah, but what if something blows up and all the stores are down and hundreds of thousands of dollars of sales are lost? You will let down hundreds of people. Lose your job. Lose your house. Then what? All for a few days away. Is it really worth it?


I need to run from my brain for a few days. How about you? Thought Catalog Logo Mark

Michelle Poston Combs blogs at Rubber Shoes In Hell

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