http://www.anxietytribe.comAnxietyTribe.com http://www.anxietytribe.com/rss.php?header=blogs&id=16904 http://www.anxietytribe.com/rss.php?header=blogs&id=16904  Some of you in chat noticed my crisis last night. I wanted to explain what happened, but once I began writing this blog, I realized that there is a lot to say. I'm writing my story in parts, this being the first. I'm not sure if anyone has an appetite for my rambling. Read on if you like. The writing process is the most therapeutic of all.    There is a lot of background to consider. I'm going to start my story 5 years ago, when I first moved away from my hometown and my mother. Having moved, I quickly degenerated into a neurotic mess. The practical matters of living independently were a problem in themselves (especially insofar as they triggered my anxiety), however I struggled the most with the strange social environment. I grew up in a very dysfunctional household, which is a separate story in itself (I may write about it one day). As much as I hated living there, I had grown into it. I needed to be abused and controlled, I needed to hate somebody, I needed to rebel and be angry from time to time. I needed for somebody to judge me and criticize me. I needed to retreat into my room and escape from reality into TV and video games. I needed my tight clique of equally weird schoolmates because I couldn't talk to anybody else. I had adapted to a very specific and unusual situation, and it was an enormous struggle when my environment suddenly changed.    I turned into a nervous wreck. I couldn't relate to people in my new setting, I barely made any friends. I felt like an outcast, and as much as I wanted to connect with people, I'd forgotten how to reach out. I felt like a pathetic, incompetent dork. I couldn't be myself around others and I could never open up.   Generally speaking, things gradually improved during my first three years of university. By the end of my second year, I was emotionally stable, mostly anxiety-free and even a tiny bit confident. Unfortunately, I had hit a weight peak by the start of my third year, mostly the result of SSRIs and poor eating habits. I had a bit of a crisis when I realized this, but it didn't become an obsession. I was in a lovely comfort zone at the time -- a loner, mostly uninterested in others, heavily focused on my studies. It didn't particularly matter that I was fat because I lived a self-contained life, shielded from criticism and judgment. My self-esteem derived mainly from my academic success. I still had a painfully acute desire to make friends, combined with a jealousy and bitter resentment of my peers. Emotional survival was just a matter of controlling those feelings and making my solitude as enjoyable as possible.   Even though I disliked being so fat, I didn't hate myself for it at the time. I wasn't hugely concerned with weight loss, but I was interested in fitness and frugality. I started cooking for myself, rather than eating out, mainly to save money. Whenever I did eat out, I started bringing plastic containers with me so that I could eat just part of my meal and keep the rest for later (I used to feel obligated to eat everything I'd paid for right away). I also got a membership to a new gym where I felt more comfortable. I found a willing gym buddy in my dad, and we motivated each other to work out hard. I thought it'd be fun to take up sparring with him, so we bought ourselves some gear and tried it. It was really tough, but at the time I enjoyed the challenge.    By the middle of my third year at university, my life had been improving quite quickly. I was more confident and focused than ever. I worked hard at my studies and I worked hard at the gym. My confidence paid off socially because I was able to relate to people much better. I even made vague attempts to reach out to people in my classes, including my profs. I was still pretty lonely but it was more bearable because I felt better about myself. I started working on my first laboratory research project at this time, which was quite exciting. I wasn't a great scientist, but I was doing REAL science, and that felt awesome. I also bought myself a great set of earphones and discovered how much I love music. I exposed myself to a ton of new bands and listened to music whenever I could. It became a significant part of my life.   I was still focused on my studies, above all. I didn't pay much attention to my weight, so I slimmed down very quickly without even realizing it. I just loved working out, and I got quite good at sparring too. I was confident I could fight most anybody to a standstill, if I needed to. My physical strength contributed to a powerful sense of calm. I started to develop some nice, toned muscles as well. As an aside, I was video-chatting with a good friend one night when I spontaneously took my shirt off and flexed for him. "When did that happen?!" my friend asked, a little bit incredulously. I was pretty damn proud of myself. It's hard to believe that was me. I avoid wearing t-shirts now because of how fat I am.   To be continued. Mon, 26 Jul 2010 15:07:37 -0500 http://www.anxietytribe.com/rss.php?header=blogs&id=16485 http://www.anxietytribe.com/rss.php?header=blogs&id=16485  As part of my Master's degree, I've been assigned to work with an engineering research group on a side project. I'm trained in biology, myself. I'm rather clueless about a lot of what they're doing, yet I'm expected to understand everything and take the initiative. The truth is, I'M A GODDAMN BIOLOGIST and it would take me months, if not years of study, to understand all these models and equations in-depth. So don't bother me with them, because they're beyond me. Figure out what the fuck you're doing, then consult me for the biological stuff. I can't take the initiative in an engineering project. I can offer advice, I can write things, I can do experiments, but I need you the engineer to tell me what to do. Meanwhile, the engineers themselves are pretty clueless when it comes to anything biological, or anything experimental.  This is a goddamn circus. I feel like I'm wasting my time. I'm the only native English-speaker in the group, so I was given a draft paper yesterday to proofread. My co-supervisor is going to present it at a conference in a few days time. But frankly, the paper sucks. It's incredibly poorly written, and I've been up most of the night trying to make it coherent and flowy. It was written by a PhD student. Come on, you can do better than that! And some of the statements were just false. A lot of the information presented was presented was unsourced. Some of the sources are just shit. The paper is quite vacuous, the main original contribution being a few experiments and measurements done by me. By the way, I was on a tight schedule and nobody knew what the fuck we were doing (myself included), so I'm fairly certain the data sucks. This project is a wreck. Wed, 23 Jun 2010 08:06:30 -0500 http://www.anxietytribe.com/rss.php?header=blogs&id=16450 http://www.anxietytribe.com/rss.php?header=blogs&id=16450 I've been listening to The Weakerthans -- my favorite band about 2 years ago. When I listened to them, my life was on an amazing upswing. It reminds me what it felt like not to be afraid. I'm inspired now. I'm remembering what it was like to live and feel and explore the world and be excited by everything. I'd be all disciplined and go to bed early, wake up feeling excited about the coming day. God, that was great. What the fuck happened? I miss those days so much. My persistent sense of dread is wearing me down emotionally. Today, possibly from psychological exhaustion, I could barely peel myself out of bed, and then I spent the entire day laying about anyway. I miss having energy, motivation. I miss feeling confident. It's so easy to get wrapped in my current problems and forget what my life could be like, what it once was like. I used to be so proud of myself, I felt like I could just do anything. My life these days is ruled by fear, but I've just had enough of it.   It's 4am now and I should really go to sleep, but my mind is buzzing with ideas (and anxieties). Things may be on the upswing again. I haven't smoked weed in a week, and I'm actually feeling pretty decent. I appreciate the energy and focus I've regained. I'm also beginning to have interesting new ideas that challenge my usual way of viewing things. And the fear seems to be subsiding, gradually. I hope I'm not wrong. I've spent nearly two full years in a psychological hell. I need a goddamn break. Sun, 20 Jun 2010 03:06:58 -0500 http://www.anxietytribe.com/rss.php?header=blogs&id=16140 http://www.anxietytribe.com/rss.php?header=blogs&id=16140  It happened again. My neuroses took hold of me. I can't handle this anymore.   I walked around the neighbourhood last night, the busy areas, the hip areas, where all the beautiful and fashionable people live. Tension, as always. The muscles in my back and shoulders were so tight I could hardly bear it. Paranoia. Everybody seemed to be looking at me.    My bulging gut. My lame shirt. My awkward shoulder bag. My unkempt hair. Maybe most of all, it was my tense, awkward, frightened, deliberate walk. I hated myself. I stared into every window I walked past, so that I could see and assess myself.    I imagine I stand out in a place like this. People come here to eat, to drink, to get laid. They're on the cutting edge of fashion. Do they look down on me? They must. Or maybe I'm just judging myself. Perhaps it's just projection.    Pretty girls everywhere. So many of them. I could hardly look at them. They're the most threatening people of all. I often see them walking with chiseled, fit, confident looking guys. If they look at me at all, they must think I'm creepy, or maybe just pathetic. I'm a joke. I don't even respect myself.   The people on the streets with their cold, sharp looks. There's no humanity in this city. Hate everywhere. Hostility. Anger.    I don't know any of them. I never talk to these people. They may be all around me, but they seem to live in a different world altogether. No, it's just me who lives in a different world, in a self-imposed social exile. Maybe I'm the hostile one. Maybe there's a genuine disconnect between how I view society and how it really is. Maybe it isn't hostile and dangerous. Maybe all of that is an illusion.   When did I become so goddamn fixated on appearance? Maybe I've spent too long living in this exceptionally trendy neighbourhood. I worship appearance now. I've become despicably shallow.    For a little while I lived in a poor, somewhat blighted neighbourhood. That was my shame, then. I couldn't even tell people where I lived because I believed they'd react negatively and I'd take their perspective to be the only truth. I became obsessed with where I was living. As absurd as it sounds, I felt worthless and pathetic because just because of where I lived. This triggered an intense, prolonged neurotic episode which set me back about two years in terms of recovery and very nearly ruined my entire life.    In desperation, I moved to the city's trendiest, most beautiful neighbourhood, even though I had to pay through the nose to rent a shoebox. There's a certain comfort in it. Even though I'm effectively a misanthrope and I hardly ever partake in the area's nightlife. Even though I have barely any social connection to the neighbourhood, I still derive some gratification from feeling like I'm at the centre of things. It's as though I'm desperately trying to avoid the feeling of exclusion. Perhaps I'm too focused on the lives of others, and not enough on my own life. The party is always somewhere else. Wed, 26 May 2010 10:05:36 -0500 http://www.anxietytribe.com/rss.php?header=blogs&id=9261 http://www.anxietytribe.com/rss.php?header=blogs&id=9261 I haven't visited this site for about a year and a half. I can't believe my old account is still here! Some of you probably know me from SAS, SAF or LA. I've been a fixture of the social anxiety circuit for a couple of years now. It's kind of weird coming back here, like opening a time capsule. Mon, 8 Dec 2008 14:12:30 -0600