Broken

One of the things I remember most vividly about my childhood is being scared. I remember staring out at the playground in primary school and wondering how all these kids would survive a war. I recall lying in my bed at night being terrified, hearing the noise of big trucks and believing they were coming to get me to take me away. I remember being petrified my mother had been kidnapped by the Russians and replaced with a robot programmed to act like her. (Yes, the cold war propaganda got to me.)

I still get that fear, even after going for more therapy than some people go to school. The professionals tell me I am not actually scared of the end of the world, I’m just scared of my own world ending, or changing or carrying on. I forget. I don’t think they are right. I just know that I often feel very scared.

When awful things like the terror attacks in Paris, Baghdad and Beirut occur, my lingering fear implodes, falls on itself and engulfs all the dread and terror it can find scouring my brain, my conscience, my everything for signs of weakness and dumping these frailties on the words of the media to create bigger, scarier monsters that wrap themselves around me and hold on tight.

And then the only rationale thoughts I have left scold me for thinking or worrying about myself while people are actually being terrorised while I try and scrape the words off my brain.

Switching the computer off feels selfish and brattish, like I am turning off other people’s suffering just because it makes me feel scared. There is some part of me that feels it needs to know every detail as if somehow that will make it better for someone else or help me prepare for that day when I am confronted by the same devastation.
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I know there are people out there who would give you perspective and tell you to find the light, I am lucky to be married to one of them. He has it hard, he knows that he can’t solve the worlds problems for me and I know that he wants to. It leaves him with little that he can so or do to lift me.

Anxiety is a terrible affliction. living with someone suffering anxiety is no joy ride either.

I also know that it is incredibly selfish to make such a huge world event all about me but for everyone that is feeling anxious about the state of the world, know that you are not alone.

Also know that I have been scared since the 1970’s and it hasn’t helped a bit .

Comments

  1. My darling girl, you are always the first person I think of when these things happen in the world. Sending you lots of love xxx

  2. Lana, you are really brave sharing so openly. I have and have always had similar anxieties. Knowing I am not alone give huge comfort. Thank you.

  3. I’m like that too, as you know. But I work very hard to protect myself. If I had a heart condition, I wouldn’t exercise excessively. If I had epilepsy, I wouldn’t drink to excess or sit in front of strobe lights (oh hang on….) As I have anxiety, I don’t subject myself to a lot of terrible news. I do things that can help: I give to charity. I share a few key things on social media. But I set firm limits on my news intake. And in this way, I can still function xxxxxxxx

  4. Thank you for your honesty and openness. Always. You keep it real, and that is rare. I don’t suffer from anxiety (touch-wood), but I do have a bunch of other health-issues, all of which I talk about openly on social media, my blog etc etc. I’m sure there are many who think I over-share. I’m sure it gives them the **its. But I do so for two reasons: 1. It’s therapy for me and helps me cope, day to day without having to phone friends and burden them with my ongoing hospital trips/treatments etc. 2. I hope that by being 100% honest about my reality (which is spent almost 50% of the time in hospital) might help others in similar situations to feel less alone.

    I too feel guilty for feeling so deeply the suffering of others, because I know it’s not about me. But how do I turn off the pain I feel when I identify too closely with news of other’s suffering? The pain I feel when others suffer similar (and far worse) pain than I live with? I think they call it empathy. I guess I have it in spades. It kills me, but I hope it in some way provides some comfort to the others whose pain I feel…

    Don’t stop writing/feeling/being you Lana. Ever. Keep it real. We need people who keep it real. xx

    • You’re an amazing woman Alison and I love reading about your updates – even the Bold and The Beautiful ones 😉 xxx

      And thank you for being not just so honest yourself but also so very kind – all the time.

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