The Anatomy of a Burst of Anxiety
I caught the bastard. Watched it on CCTV as it cackled, hosing down my guts with cortisol, scattering spreadsheets of financial not-quite-enoughs around my buckled brain. That’s what they say: step back and observe. The trouble is, when we’re talking about anxiety and panic thoughts, there’s no hired muscle we can send in to apprehend the offender.
It started on Wednesday when I found myself fretting about the obscene resources use associated with AI. As a parent with a stake in the next generation of living things, hearing this stuff conjures horrendous imaginings of uninhabitable futures.
The concerns pinched at me as I got dressed and set off for a meeting in London but dissipated in the business. As I barrelled back from the meeting, through the park in Salisbury, I started mentally calculating the job money I’m owed. Welcome to the pinball freelance brain. It wasn’t bad, but it wasn’t great either. The trouble is, I was still shattered and slightly jet-lagged from a trip to Paradiso festival in Mexico. So, my defences are down. Said meeting was about coaching work with an agency. I’m in the midst of a transitional phase in my career – still an illustrator, but caught in a downturn. I’m coaching and writing more too. I love all of it, but it’s a heavy load. This extra weight of pressure capitalised on my financially concerned brain, and the ageing, brittle, corrugated roof gave way.
Before I knew it, tired and unable to challenge my thoughts the way I know I need to, I’m anxious. Freaking out as I struggle to get my key in the lock. Too much to process, all out of energy.
Each concern is valid, but in the classic anxiety way, they’re mutated beyond all rational recognition, mating and multiplying into other concerns, trivial but terrifying concerns ranging from when will I find time to clean the house through to will next door suddenly decide to cut down their tree in the midst of a biodiversity crisis that threatens our very existence, like seemingly every other fucker who wants to fit another car on their driveway.
But it gets exhausting, so I drop voice notes on friends who I know will care, and will help with suggestions and personal stories. I talk to my wife who is better at mental equilibrium than me, and helps.
Now, late afternoon, I feel much better, but must remain vigilant for the return of the adrenaline as darkness falls. They say do the thought challenging when you feel better to avoid the classic anxiety tactic of stopping the work the moment you feel better. That’s great advice for us busybody artists, isn’t it?