© 2011 lefron

When Push Comes to Move it Bitch You’re Hella Lazy

Sometimes I feel like I physically cannot control my compulsions. I don’t have obsessive compulsive behavior or thoughts, (though I used to watch Intervention and Obsessed and Hoarders and convince myself I had all of those neuroses (who are we kidding, I get drunk while I count out each and every vintage dress I haven’t worn in years but refuse to give away because one day, “I might want to wear it, Mom!”)) but when anxiety strikes (you fucking bitch) I feel the need to occupy my time (mind) with an activity that slows down my thinking. Generally this manifests in sitting infront of the TV watching marathon episodes of The Office or Grey’s Anatomy (since I’ve already seen every Law & Order SVU and Sex & The City episode) stuffing my face with whatever’s in the cupboard. For a few hours, I’m zoned out of my head and stuck in the world of whatever show I’m in, and I feel removed from anxiety’s hold.

It is not the manifestation itself that concerns me, its the before and after. Ahem, let me add to that another issue: the repetition. Let’s start with the before, since that’s where I’m sitting right this very itty bitty but frustratingly gut wrenching moment. Why the fuck is it so hard for me NOT to inhale the fridge and turn on the tube? It feels as though I’m being pulled to it, and I’m literally sitting in my room arguing with myself in my head trying to convince myself not to do it. I have wasted the last 72 minutes futzing on my computer, contemplating getting up and moving to the living room, shouting NO! at my mind (thanks Carol), laying down the argument that I can do whatever I want, rebutting with YOU IDIOT, YOU SAY THAT EVERY TIME. Usually I succumb to the pull, and anxiety drags me into the foggy la la land of escape. (Obviously vegging out is not so serious as, oh I don’t know, using shit tons of drugs or binge drinking to numb my mind, but this is what my mind is kaputzing about, so kaputz you.) Even now, even though I’m proactively blocking/blogging, I feel like I’ll still succumb.

Succumbtion leads to the after: when there’s no more TV to watch, when I can no longer think of something yummy to snack on, when fatigue strikes, and when I realize reality is returning. Its as if I’m coming down from a drug, and time and space are moving at a more natural speed, and I finally notice how crappy I feel and that whoops, I took a shit ton of drugs! I’m overcome with a sense of reality that pains my mentality, reminding me that if I hadn’t given into anxiety, if I had chosen action over succumbtion, I wouldn’t feel this way.

(I AM CURRENTLY BITING MY NAILS, I ALMOST JUST GOT UP AND WALKED AWAY FROM MY LAPPYTOPPY, BECAUSE IT FEELS LIKE I AM MAGNETIZED. FUCK YOU BEFORE.)

The worst part is that I do this all the fucking time. Seriously, how dumb (insane) can I be if I think “this time” will be different? That this time distraction will cure my anxiety, that this time I won’t feel guilty about giving into gluttony, that this time I’ll really enjoy tuning out the world for a few hours. I never do. And yet it still calls me back, beckoning me like a bad seed. And its not the activity itself that bothers me, (I like watching TV and I like to eat) its the fact that I have formed a ritual with which to ease my anxiety that neither soothes it nor improves its symptoms. It worsens them.

I have had this strange theory since I was about 15 that I use for almost everything: It takes three days for something to become a habit. I tell myself this when I start running again, to remind myself that in only three days it will be impossible to go a day without running. It goes the other way, after three days of not running I’d rather do anything but get my blood pumping. I apply the three-day-theory (TDT whats up anagrams! Oh, I mean acronyms!) to my schoolwork, to regskies work, to wearing/not wearing makeup, to sleeping patterns, washing my face, cleaning my room, pimping my ride, blah dee blah dee bloo. So I tell myself, “three days. three days of not giving into anxiety-check-out-land and the urge will go away.” And it does. So does the anxiety. It’s that fucking first day that becomes a repeated failure over and over until I muster the ability to fight gravity! Okay, its not a scientific phenomenon that I’m fighting off with super strength, but lets get real, I’m hecka strong.

I would call today a half of a first day. Because I let anxiety take me…a little. I watched a little of The Office. I mindlessly chowed on a can of black beans microwaved with baby spinach (wtf). But then I went to the gym. And I showered. And kept blogging. And now I’m probably going to watch another episode of The Office, but I don’t feel compelled to, and I’m not using it as a distraction tool. I’m relaxed, super buff, and have fought enough scientific fact with my mind for the day. Tomorrow will be a whole day and a half, and I’ll be right on track, proving my TDT before I publish my findings to the world.

Or maybe just to Evergreen, since they’d probably let me write a coursebook for shaving ducks.

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