How much anxiety is too much anxiety?
I feel like a certain amount of anxiety just comes from being human and having a brain and using that brain to think. But there is obviously some place, a point that you reach, when your anxiety is no longer just a part of being a human and having a brain and using that brain to think. When it becomes a problem.
I'm just wound so tightly.
These last couple of days have been especially bad. I can't really breathe and I'm swinging my leg all the time. Nervously. Constantly. Like I have to get this energy out somehow and the only way is through the constant swinging of my right foot.
Of course my right foot. (I am such a right-foot dominant soccer player that is is almost comical.)
Nothing is appealing. Not dinner with my family on Friday night. Not shopping with my mom for a few hours before. Not finishing up a task at work. Not drinking wine at Liz's birthday dinner. Not the book I just finished. Especially not a ridiculously unwise trip to Ikea on a Sunday afternoon. Not the family party that I'll be attending shortly. Not my hockey game tonight.
I don't want anything. Except for time to pass quickly and easily and deposit me at the end of this anxiety, much like a river emptying into a lake. Or something else that's vaguely poetic.
I wish I could just cry this out but I can't seem to do it. The tears are right there but I'm so bottled up. Anxious.
This is anxiety, isn't it?
When do you ride it out and when are you supposed to ask for help?