Everyone worries. It’s just one of those things.

 

I worry, and one of the things I worry about is how much my worrying is affecting me.

 

Two things:

1) How stupid and illogical is that?

2) I’ve used the word worry too much now and it is starting to both look and sound weird.

 

I’ve always been a worrier I think and as I’ve gotten older, it’s not gotten any better. If anything, it’s getting worse. If I can worry about it then I will. Sometimes I think that I’m doing really well and that I’ve managed to be really blasé about something that I could worry about, But actually, there’s a constant little niggle going on somewhere at the back of my mind saying, yes but what if?

 

Worrying makes me unhappy.

It makes me nervous.

It makes me not want to do the things I want to do.

And every now and then, when I least expect it. It makes me stop functioning.

 

Imagine the scene. You’re having a particularly busy time at work but everything is on track. Changes are happening and there’s a lot of pressure being felt around the office but overall you feel okay with what’s going on. Some things have changed in your home life. But that’s good. You’re enjoying the changes. Although they’ve brought a whole new set of things to worry about. But actually, you don’t feel like you’re worrying about them too much. You’re just trying to get on with things. Because you deserve to be happy.

And then you’re putting some stationery away, you notice that you’ve ordered the wrong toners and suddenly you feel as though you’re standing in a furnace, that the walks are closing in. You start to hyperventilate as you leave the cupboard. You tell yourself to stop hyperventilating but you can’t and you start to cry.

You are panicking.

About ink cartridges????

Not really.

You want to hide. To calm down. To sort out in your own head what the hell is going on. Someone finds you because you’re in an open plan office where there is nowhere to hide, even the offices with doors have windows in them.

You get taken into a room. They leave you to get you a glass of water. By the time they come back you are shaking and you can’t speak when they ask you what’s wrong. You didn’t realise you were shaking.

You get taken to go stand outside.

You start to calm down.

You start to feel better.

As you walk back up the stairs though into the office you can feel the anxiety creeping. You don’t want to do that again. It wasn’t fun and this is where it happened. Don’t be silly. Snap out of it. You’ll be fine.

You have to explain to the manager what is going on because they are concerned.

You can’t explain.

You want to say… You know when you just start to panic? Only unless they do, they really don’t.

You end up being allowed out to take a walk. This makes you feel somewhat guilty.

On the walk you want to call someone. Someone who you think will listen. But you know if you do, you won’t actually be able to say anything. And you don’t want them to worry, you don’t want to be a burden. This is your problem. Not theirs. Don’t rain on their afternoon because you can’t cope.

You get back to the office (again). You really do feel better now.

Now you feel embarrasesed, guilty and awkward. What if people see you now and think you were somehow putting it on? You weren’t.

 

And now you’re worrying about people thinking you’re mad. And worrying about this happening again. And worrying about when you’re going to have the time to figure out how to avoid it happening again.

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