Tag Archives: Anxiety

Why I Blog

I got the idea to write this post from a comment I left for Friffle Thoughts in response to her post “Are All Bloggers Writers?”:

I used to think I wanted to write fiction/novels/short stories as a career someday. Then I tried it and realized it was hard work, like every other job. I didn’t like that. I stopped.

But then I discovered blogging. Blogging to me is like the free-writing I used to do in high school English class. It is easy. It clears my mind. My “blogging voice” is exactly what runs through my head. And once I write it down, then I don’t have to hold that experience/memory in my head anymore (it is getting very crowded in there).

My real inspiration for my blog was Tina Fey’s book “Bossypants”. Afterall, it is really just a free-write of events in her life. And it sold millions!!!

FYI-I love your friffles of thought.

And to expand on that tiny little comment:

If I am in a writing mood (i.e. writing about a topic I am interested in and for my own enjoyment and not for, say, work), the words just flow to me. They just pour out of my head and through my hand onto the paper. I feel as though someone else writes through me. I get frustrated that I cannot write fast enough to keep up with my thoughts. I would be a terrible writer of books. I usually believe that the first batch of words I capture on paper are the best and I do not like to edit them after (except fixing spelling and grammatical errors). In school, they always wanted you to have multiple drafts of big papers. Often all my drafts looked very similar.

Without realizing it, I often think in my head as though I am writing or telling a story to someone else. Often, I can think of a blog post in my head multiple times before I actually have the chance to write it down. When I do write it, it will be almost identical to the first time I ran the thought through my head. Yes, I like to write my posts out in long hand. I can type faster than writing, but then I get lots of typos and they slow me down and make me lose my train of thought. (I recommend Uni-Ball Jetstream 1.0 Bold pens. They flow quickly and thickly.) And I might not get to type it up for another month. And when I do, I can anticipate the next words or sentences while typing–because the words came out of my brain in the first place.

With blogging, there is also that delicious chance at the monster that is fame. Someone might read my blog. Anyone might read my blog. Someone who reads it might pass it on to another. A link might get posted somewhere else. My writing might get re-posted. Someone famous might read my blog. Someone in publishing might see and want to give me a book deal. Someone in news might see it and want to include me in a newscast. (Hey, it can happen. I take full credit for badly influencing my asbestos friend, lazyhippiemama, to begin blogging and she ended up on HuffPost Live!)

I am someone who has anxiety, but secretly yearns to be famous and known. I love the entertainment industry. I read Entertainment Weekly every week cover to cover. I went to college and studied Radio and TV Broadcasting. On radio, you can be heard by millions but hide behind the microphone. On television, you can hide behind the camera. On my blog, I can hide behind my computer screen. I can blur my face out in photos one week if I feel like being anonymous. The next week I can leave my face alone if I am feeling brave and confident in my writing and topic.

Most of all, I can get all these words and experiences out of my head! I am almost 37 years old and running out of room up there. I have trouble remembering anything, especially since I was pregnant and had my son. I thought not being able to hold a thought was just a “pregnancy” thing. But for me, it seems to be just a “parent” thing.

I used to watch the great sitcoms of the 80’s and always say “I could write that.” And except for the fact that I am too scared of big cities to move to L.A., I think I could have been good at that. I think it was my secret career dream. I should have listened the night it presented itself to me in a dream. In the dream, I was working with a group of people to create a new TV show. It was all last minute and came together very quickly (Yes. I am aware shows take years to develop and get on air–DREAM, remember?) So quickly, that when they put the show together, they wanted to give me a vanity card at the end, but I hadn’t created one. In the dream, I never knew they created one for me until I watched my first episode and saw it at the end. The other creators knew I liked to cross-stitch (I actually do in reality, but haven’t done it in years), so my vanity card was done in cross-stitch. If I ever knew what it said, I can’t remember. I have never forgotten that dream. And I know if I ever do create a series, that is what I will use.

An example of a simple cross-stitch

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Picky Eater

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I was out to eat with some ex-coworkers recently at a nice restaurant someone had spontaneously suggested. I had no chance to research the menu online ahead of time, as I normally would. It turned out it was a seafood place. The typical conversation ensued as I looked at the menu.

CO-WORKER: You should try the seafood blah-blah. It is really good.
ME: I don’t eat seafood.
CO-WORKER: Aren’t you a vegetarian?
ME: No, I don’t eat vegetables either.
CO-WORKER: Then what do you eat?…You’re a picky eater.

I should have ended this exchange with “Pop Tarts”. But I didn’t. I admit, it is a little paraphrased. But I know how the conversation goes. I have had it a ton of times over the course of my life. And “You’re a picky eater” is always said as an accusation. I wonder if it is the same way people react when they find out someone is gay.

Mmmmm…

I EAT:
well done steak
pizza (just cheese or with green pepper or onion or ham)
cherry poptarts (strawberry* and brown sugar are
acceptable, but not preferred)
corn
potatoes
carrots (cooked)
yogurt
mac & cheese
bacon
pork
chicken
turkey
chocolate
ice cream
cole slaw
lettuce (but it hurts my stomach)
hot dogs
well done hamburgers
white rice
white or wheat bread
banana
apple
pre-peeled oranges
strawberries
pre-cut melon
pop
lemon
lime
select kinds of cheese (NOT KRAFT)
honey mustard
honey
eggs (but not a big fan)
pancakes
waffles
oatmeal
raisins
grapes
nutella
celery (cooked)
ketchup
BBQ sauce

I DO NOT EAT:
pineapple
coconut
seafood
mushrooms
cottage cheese
American cheese (unless it is from McDonald’s)
salads
chives
mayonaise (unless in Deviled Eggs)
potato salad
macaroni salad
butter
coffee
all fruit and vegetables not listed in the “I EAT” column
sausage
brown rice
olives
tea
oreos
walnuts
beans (except jelly beans)
mustard
ranch
red onion
foreign food of any kind, except tacos and quesidillas

* delicious strawberry flavored death!

Now, I realize my “I EAT” column looks like it belongs to a toddler. But in truth, my toddler eats a more well-balanced diet than I do. But I have stayed alive all these years on this fine American processed food. And I grew another being while eating this food.

You have to realize, being a picky eater isn’t a choice. I was born this way. It is a curse. It is a burden I must bear. Some of the foods I don’t eat I have tried and hate, like pineapple and coconut. Some smell so bad, I would never want to put them in my mouth, like seafood and coffee. Some I have never even tried and have no desire to, such as tea.

Actual conversation outside Teavana at the Franklin Park Mall:
SALESMAN: Would you like to try a sample of blah-blah tea today?
ME: I don’t drink tea.
SALESMAN: Oh, then you should try blah-blah. It has a very un-tea-like taste.
ME (thinking): Um, if I don’t drink tea, then obviously I don’t know what it tastes like then, do I?

Think of all the social situations that food plays a part in. I always had packed lunch at school because I wouldn’t eat the school lunch. The entire four years I commuted to college, I never ate in the dining hall. (I used to get nachos from the snack bar occasionally, that was it.) At work, I rarely bought anything from the cafeteria. Potlucks are their own minefield. It is amazing how many dishes have hidden sausage or mayo or cream of mushroom soup.

Chicken nuggets, anyone? Yummers!

Recently, at a family event, I had the following exchange with an Aunt who is the most prim and proper person. She would believe she has excellent manners.

AUNT: (looking at my plate) Is that ALL you are going to eat?
ME: Yes.
AUNT: Are you a picky eater?
ME: Yes.
AUNT: You don’t want any this or that?
ME: I’m good. I found some things. Thanks.

Isn’t it bad manners to make a guest feel bad about what is on their plate?

Why no green pepper?  I can't ask.  Heart racing, breath quickening. Photo: mlive.com

Why no green pepper? I can’t ask. Heart racing, breath quickening.
Photo: mlive.com

Cici’s Pizza is a nightmare for a picky eater with anxiety issues. Cici’s is a pizza buffet. They put out like 20 kinds of pizza at a time. But, of course, nothing for a picky eater. You can ask for any kind of pizza and they will make it for you and add it to the buffet. Except you have to be able to get past your anxiety and open your mouth and ask for it and not fear the rejection you expect to come.

As a life-long picky eater, I worry the rest of the world wants to reform me. (I know, I worry too much.) That they want me to broaden my horizons. I feel like the world thinks if I am forced to eat something, I will like it and eat it forever and ever. It is another way I feel that I am different. That I am wired wrong. But I should stop thinking that way. Because everyone else has their issues.

Some people overeat. Some people undereat. Some people smoke. Or drink. Or do street drugs. Or prescription drugs. Or run marathons. I don’t judge those people. (Well, I do judge the ones who run marathons. I judge them to be crazy.) Being a picky eater is my thing. Hey, I know. Let’s start calling it “selective eating”. That sounds more politically correct.

Yes, I am not wired THAT much different than everyone else. I am just a selective eater. And addicted to caffeine. And I mis-match my socks. And I have issues with tissues.

If I was a character on a sitcom, I could write great jokes about myself. *sigh*

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OMG, who is going to read this? What are they going to think of me? Is my blog just totally lame…

Anxiety: 1. the state of being anxious. 2. concern about an imminent danger, difficulty, etc.
Anxious: 1. uneasy in the mind.

I have anxiety. It often changes how I go about living my life, but I do the best I can to not be beat down by it. For people who don’t have it (or don’t have it in large quantities), it is probably hard for them to imagine what it is like.

My most recent example is that I wanted to buy two $5 gift cards from McDonald’s. I was afraid they would yell at me for not buying food too. Then I was afraid they would yell at me for only putting $5 on the gift cards. I ended up deciding to buy only one gift card, and I bought it at Meijer while I was already there so I wouldn’t have to face the anxiety of McDonald’s at all. (Of course, in all this I forgot that the people at McDonald’s aren’t paid enough to care about anything. That is a dig at McD’s, not at the employees.)

I have dealt with anxiety all my life. When I was younger, if I felt overwhelmed by anxiety, I cried. Which is why I got picked on in school (creating more anxiety, creating more crying, etc.). The prescription drug company commercials used to make me think I had depression (which I have had twice in my life), but that is not what I have every day. My friend had pretty serious anxiety too–maybe even more than me. But she went on prescription drugs and now that is no longer one of her biggest health issues. I don’t want to be a slave to doctors & pharmaceutical companies. I don’t want to deal with side effects. I don’t want to have to take a pill everyday for something that may only hit me a few times a week. Now, if there was “FAST-ACTING ANXIETY NOSE SPRAY FOR URGENT RELIEF”, I would be all over that. The most common time anxiety hits me is when I am trying to fall asleep. I have anxiety attacks about how I don’t want to be dead one day & cease to exist. Ugh, it is making my chect tighten & my stomach churn just to write it. Nose spray would really come in handy at these times.

Here is an excerpt from an old journal I recently found which provides a nice example:

Last night at the casino the food court was more like a cafeteria and I was scared to tell the grill guy that I wanted a cheeseburger. Then I was too scared to go up and get a refill. I just feel like everyone is always going to yell at me.

And no one has ever yelled at me for such things. Here is a poem from around the same time:

Worried
11/2/2000

I worry about things
I know about
I worry about things
I know nothing about
I worry about things
I have never done before
I worry about things
I do every day
I am beginning to feel
worried
that I worry
2much.

My husband doesn’t understand when I ask him to do something for me because I just cannot do it myself. This usually manifests as asking for help for something in a store and having to talk to a sales associate. Or giving my son a bath. I know that when I start the bath, if he starts crying or bumps his head or something, I can’t freak out and leave him in the bathtub naked. I have to finish the bath, no matter what, all the way through to putting on his PJs. And I find this scary. And too often I let my husband give him a bath because 1. he likes to & 2. I don’t have to overcome my anxiety to do it. Anxiety is probably one of the things that kept my mom at home throughout her twenties.

Sorry. Just felt like venting. I have been cleaning my house & unearthed some old poems/emails/journals that got me on this line of thinking. I wanted this blog to be a mish-mash of my life. And this is a big part of my life, even though many close to me do not know it.