I’ll Call You Anxiety
“I’ll call you”, to say this is a phrase that I’m not particularly fond of is an understatement. I do not like telephone calls. They are anxiety inducing for me.
This anxiety can be triggered with the mere thought of having to call someone; talking myself into actually picking up the phone to dial and breathing calmly—breathe in, breathe out—while it rings.
What are you going to say? They don’t want to hear from you. You’re boring. What if they don’t answer and you have to leave a voicemail? Just hang up, it’s not too late.
The instant anxiety of the phone ringing. This is consistent with my own phone or one that I have to answer, but is also applicable to the people or person’s phone I am spending time with. My heart leaps into my throat, palms start sweating and mouth goes dry—breathe in, breathe out—shake it off and answer the phone.
Why are they calling? They’re angry about something. It’s your fault whatever it is. Will I be able to answer their questions? No, your mind has gone blank. What are words?
The sheer apprehension of a promised phone call. The anxiety that comes with waiting for said phone call can make me not want to check my phone and instead distance myself from it. The anticipation of will-they-won’t-they call has my heart racing in the back of my throat all day. Until I pick up my phone, check it—breathe in, breathe out—see there are no missed calls and my heart is allowed to slow down for a few minutes. This anxiety can last all day, depending on what time the phone call actually comes in; the relief that is felt afterwards is so great. However, sometimes that phone call never comes, so after a certain time (when a respectful person will no longer make a telephone call) I allow myself to discard my phone entirely, just in case, and squash the anxiety that has been building up all day as best as I can.
They’ve changed their mind. Why did they want to talk to me anyway? They didn’t, it’s a test. Why couldn’t they just write it down? What are they going to say? Don’t call, please.
The anxiety of actually being on a phone call. The ability for my brain to function and get my mouth to say the words has completely failed me but the ability for all saliva to stop being produced in my mouth is working overtime. If I haven’t prepared dot points to direct the conversation in some way most things that needed to be said will be forgotten. My hands sweat and shake, my skin is itchy—breathe in, breathe out—just say a closing statement and finish the conversation then you can hang up.
What did they say their name was? I wonder if the saliva from my mouth is coming out of my palms? What did they just say? I was thinking about hand saliva. Say something so they know you’re listening. I have to pace now, keep moving. What do they want from me?
There are some exceptions for the telephone call induced anxiety, which include calling a select few people, calling automated machines, answering a call when I know what it will entail such as when making plans or meeting up with them. Calling someone back when I know what it will entail, like after they have left a detailed voicemail or sent a text message that was in no way vague or ambiguous. Adrenaline fuelled phone calls.
The anticipation of a phone call that never comes can at times be disappointing or dejecting but far more often that not it is such a relief. To talk to someone in person, see their expressions and body language, or to have their words to look back over is much more comforting and pleasant to me. Being face to face with someone and occasionally sending someone my words (that I perceive as potentially risky) can bring on their own type of anxiety, but it’s a type that I find I can manage more easily than the kind that comes with telephone calls.
Alarm. Didn’t I just get to sleep? Hit snooze. Just drift back to sleep… Alarm again. Snooze? One more time. Alarm. Oh for f… Bleary eyed, stretch, cuddle whichever cat is closest. Mirror. Contemplate the features that make up my face. Sigh. Tie up my hair. Wash my face. Moisturise. Toilet. Feed the cats… give them both some of the gravy straight from the packet, their favourite. Change out of pyjamas. Kettle on. Toast on. Let cats outside. Coffee. Toast, avocado and egg. Cats inside. Youtube. 20 minutes left. Brush teeth. Makeup. That’s as good as it’s going to get. Get dressed, check cats food and water. Check keys, grab book and coat. Goodbye. Get stuck in traffic, find a park. Time? 8:00 train in 7 minutes. Walk faster.
—Train. Overheard conversations. Too loud music. Try to concentrate on book—
Computer on, open blind, turn on fan. Coffee. Check emails, prioritise work. Is it lunch time yet? Not yet, more coffee. I’ll just finish this. Why am I so hungry? Oh, it’s 2:30 pm. I’m hungry with no idea what to eat, go to one of the regulars. Coffee. Prioritise work.
—5 minutes till the train. Got a seat. Red eyes can’t focus on book. Social media. Book—
I’m not hungry but should probably eat. Find something. Eat. YouTube. 8:30 pm. I should go to bed soon, busy day tomorrow. One more video. 9:25 pm. I haven’t worked on anything for myself, what about my projects? Browse online shopping or similar. 9:55 pm. Surge of inspirational energy to work on own projects. I’ll just do a bit, it’s better than nothing. 10:50 pm. I’m going to be so tired tomorrow. Bed… Can’t sleep.
Being An Adult…
What even is an adult?
(typed the 27 year old)
I can barely manage to look after my own hair so I don’t know why I thought I’d be good at adulting. Not adultery, I’d be rubbish at that, I also wouldn’t want a part of or in it.
I left work late yesterday and when I got home I drank a gin and tonic in the shower. Then I decided I wasn’t too hungry but should probably eat something so I had a bowl of Milo cereal followed by an oat and raisin cookie and a cup of tea.
I went to bed early and I guess I’m pretty tired, in general, because I usually get up at 6:30 am for work but this morning I woke up to bright daylight streaming through the window… it’s winter now, which means no daylight at 6:30 am, looked at the time: 8:03 am! I raced out of the house but of course by the time I’m trying to get a car park to catch the train it’s school time [cars everywhere] and I have to park three blocks away.
When I was little I couldn’t wait to be an adult and now I can’t remember why. I don’t enjoy it very much to be honest,maybe it’s because I always thought I’d live alone, which I currently do not, maybe because I thought I’d know more about the world? myself? other people? but every day reminds me that I really don’t know much at all and I don’t know many people who do either.
I do know that I need to make time for things I enjoy like writing for this blog that I was so excited about creating.
Responsibilities and juggling them, maybe that’s what being an adult is about? I can only successfully juggle two things, I think the other eight are on the ground.
Black Hole Sundays
Some people love them, some people hate them.
I think I’m conflicted because when I wake up on a Sunday I’m so grateful that it’s Sunday and how luxurious it sounds to be able to stretch out and cuddle back up in bed for a bit longer. Just the thought is blissful!
But then there’s this point during the day, which I can never quite pinpoint because maybe it changes, where Sunday is no longer luxurious and wonderful but instead it turns into this mad rush to do all of the things you wanted to do over the weekend, or perhaps needed to do. As well as preparing for the start of a new week! Ugh.
Hence, why I am sitting at my desk at 11:02 pm with a cup of tea on a Sunday night writing about what I’ve now come to call Black Hole Sundays because I have yet to figure out what I’m wearing tomorrow, my hair is still wet and I said I was going to bed early tonight. And I’ve just remembered that I need to hang out the rest of my washing to air dry, otherwise it’ll start to smell and I do not want to come home to that on a Monday afternoon.
I try to start the new week with a positive attitude but it’s bit hard when you press snooze one too many times because you didn’t get to sleep early enough the night before and then you’re rushed for time to get ready and get out the door etc. I’m coming to realise that maybe it’s not Monday’s fault after all but maybe it’s BHS, all of that extra stress and anxiety that gets piled on right at the end of the day has gotten carried over into the new week essentially dooming Monday before it’s even begun! What a revelation.
I’m hoping I’ll be able to get at least six hours of decent sleep tonight, try and make up for it tomorrow night with an early bedtime, right? I’ve just checked the weather forecast and it’s supposed to be 32ºC (89.6ºF) so I’ll have to sort out something appropriate, even so I’ll feel proper sticky and gross by the end of the day.
Q. Does anyone else feel this way about Sundays? Are they actually great? Do you have anxiety filled Sunday nights as well? Are Mondays really hateful or do they have a reputation? If you feel like sharing your thoughts, I’d love to read them.
I’ve finished my cup of tea so I’m off to bed… after I’ve done my final Sunday tasks.