soopastryheart

Johnnie Walker commercials making me feel feelings and such.

#StrongerTogether

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xlrtPtxIB5k

When it comes to being anxiety prone, it’s safe to say I have a hairline trigger. I am in a constant state of worry, from the small things (omg traffic), to big things (omg life), and the stupid things (omg is there dairy in this).

I worry about things I don’t have control over, double over the things that I do (or more accurately, should). And while it’s normal to stress about legitimate shit, adult shit like finances and aging family members, I put just as much weight on the moronic stuff, the shit that definitely isn’t worth the time I give it. And it’d be one thing for this anxiety to display itself in emotional ways, but it has managed to manifest in physical ways, ie. acid reflux, nausea. I make myself literally ill with worry (true facts, I have to start seeing an acupuncturist for all the knots in my back).

This isn’t one of those “cute” neuroses where I’m just a frazzled airhead. There’s nothing enduring about this part of my personality. No. I’m neurotic in ways that’s ugly and despotic, disruptive and ever-so prevalent.

I am not an easy-going person. There are many ways to describe me, but carefree is not one of them. I will go to great lengths to avoid social gatherings where small talk with strangers or acquaintances will be required. Most people will at least pretend to be texting on their phones, but me, overcome with a heavy pressure on my chest, will straight up leave an event to escape awkwardness. I haven’t had to write down talking points on my hand, but it’s just as bad. I analyze situations to best prepare for a likely scenario, just so I’m not caught off-guard. I do gratuitous research about normal and mundane things because I loathe feeling unprepared. It’s ironic that I hate relinquishing control because this has essentially taken over my life.

It’s exhausting for most people (for fuck’s sake, I’m exhausted), so over the years, I’ve learned to tame it around others. Most people will never see this side of me because I’m expert at disguising it as something much more tolerable. Unfortunately, this means that my hysteria is reserved exclusively for the unlucky select, namely, my dude.

Over the last 6 years, my dude has had to deal with my steady and perpetual nervousness over the cost of boots, to my static career, and everything in between and beyond. With the smaller things, he’s learned to let it ride. But over the repeated incidents of existential crisis and my lament that I’m not living up to my potential, he’s had to be much more patient and adaptive. And no matter what, throughout the last 6 years, he’s repeated the same thing to me:

“Don’t worry.”

Not to worry because things are never as bad as they seemed. Because he had the utmost confidence that it would work out. Because above all things, he believed in me, even when I presented strong evidence to the contrary. His conviction in me, in us, has never wavered. Even when things were at their bleakest, and despite struggling through his own confidence at times, he reaffirmed this belief, this mantra of “don’t worry.”  I don’t know where this level of optimism comes from, but he has been steadfast in his conviction that we’d be okay.

And he’s always been right.

In a perfect world, I would listen to my own pep talks. I would find comfort and ease within my own thoughts, and that would be enough. But that’s not how it works. Sometimes, your voice is too quiet, too scared to speak up. Sometimes you can’t muster enough of whatever is left to believe in yourself. 

But if you’re lucky, someone will be there to lessen the burden of your insecurities.

And that someone will tell you that he won’t carry your load, not all of it. And he won’t give you answers because that’s up to you. He’ll be your crutch for as long as you need it, but you’re going to have to learn to walk on your own. And until you get that back, he will be your credence. Until then, don’t worry, because he’s got you. He’s got us. 

Two months ago, we got married. We kept our vows simple and generic (I literally Googled “wedding vows” the morning of), partly because we were both convinced that we would not be able to keep our shit together in front of everyone, but mostly because the promises we made to each other weren’t for everyone else to know.

When I jokingly (not jokingly) asked him if he was prepared for a lifetime of my outbursts and antics, he told me again, not to worry. If I went crazy, he’d go crazy, and we’d be crazy together. I could never explain all the ways I love this man. This man who loves me more than I could have ever hoped to be loved. And supported. So undeservingly supported.

So that’s at least one thing I’ll never have to worry about.

*Title lyric from “Don’t Worry Baby” by the Beach Boys