recharge and survival

the doctor asks me what I want to talk about. I ask if she can remember what was worrying me last time. she takes notes so she can and I can pick up what I want to. we had started to talk about my habits and where they came from. no luck finding any answers yet. today I want to ask for help. dread dooms the day; a lighter to a gas tank. empty time and space is only room for fire to fester. I build a funeral pyre of dreams from my own misinterpretations. nightmares run on tap and scare me into corners in the dark. I scream at myself in silence.

she tells me to list how I knew I was anxious. I watch her write along on the whiteboard on my screen: inability to focus, shaking, tightness (in the arms, the jaw, the chest), headache, the pit in my stomach, inability to sit comfortably, feeling hot, restricted breathing, catastrophising silence. there are no surprises here. from offscreen she presents a sculpture of the brain, which she breaks in half to show the plastic layers in their artificial colours. the changes I've mentioned all make sense to her and she has an explanation.

a lesson in biology: anxiety is charged by the amygdala, which only wants me to survive. to do so all eleven systems in my body change at once. according to design my body is doing what it is meant to. on the whiteboard she draws a scale, explaining that every response I make exists on the spectrum between recharge and survival:

0 calm

1 aware

2 present

3 performance

4 the zone

5 the edge

6 change

7 wobbly

8 holding on

9 panic

10 survival

too often the brain rushes to the past to predict the present. in the rush it struggles to reach the logic that protects us in less dire situations. control is an illusion. in uncertainty stakes heighten and my conscious self is lost to the amygdala. according to the whiteboard autopilot will not hear sense. the rib cage tightens to protect my vital organs. muscles tense for action. the body is ready to run from the beast.

the doctor reminds me that anxiety lives in the gut. she ties it all back to me and my habits. we can only digest when we feel calm. survival mode changes every system in the hopes of giving every chance to survive the given threat. digestion takes a lot of energy. anxiety asks us to prioritise. if I don't refuel, the body starts to feel as though it's under threat. anxiety continues to simmer. but I can reclaim the respiratory system with deep breaths. keep them slow and long. climb back to yourself gently. anxiety keeps us alive. oxygen keeps us living. I think about the end and I think about you. I wish they taught us this at school.