Anxiety: The Unwelcome Visitor
How writer Chris Anselmo confronts one of the most challenging yet persistent aspects of living with rare disease.
By Chris Anselmo
Three weeks ago, a shooting pain in my left Achilles tendon woke me up from a sound sleep. I tried everything I could to alleviate the discomfort, but nothing worked. One hour passed, then two. The throbbing gradually subsided, but I was left with frustration-induced insomnia. Wide awake, I longed for the pain-free days of my youth. If I couldn’t feel comfortable lying on a cushioned mattress, when would I ever feel comfortable?
My mind drifted towards the future. My weakness (I live with an adult-onset muscle disease called Limb-girdle muscular dystrophy type 2B, or LGMD2B) is only going to get worse. What would my life be like in two years? In five? In ten? I thought about my family, my career, my health. I thought about whether in a few years I would still be able to perform the basic activities of everyday life. I thought about the state of the world and the horrors lurking over the horizon. For several minutes, my mind’s eye doom-scrolled through a feed of increasingly awful future scenarios. Unable to discern fact from fiction, my heart rate sped up, assuming I was facing a threat. Soon, I experienced a shooting pain in my chest and labored breathing. It felt like the start of a panic attack.
“When I’m afraid or stressed, I feel overwhelmed. It feels like an anvil slowly crushing my chest…like a vise. ”
In the past, these symptoms would run roughshod over my defenses. There were many times when I got so lightheaded that I nearly passed out, suffocated by my own thoughts.
This time, I used my experience to stave off the attack. I took slow, deep breaths, focused on the good in my life, and prayed. Eventually, I was able to breathe normally again. Although the shooting pains subsided, the compressed feeling in my chest remained. Sometime around daybreak, I drifted off into uneasy, restless sleep. When I woke up several hours later, I was irritated and stressed — another miserable night.
The Vise was back.
A few months ago, I was reading one of Ryan Holiday’s Daily Stoic emails on the topic of stress. Holiday mentioned how Winston Churchill used to name his bouts of depression his “Black Dog.” By giving our negative emotions — whether it’s fear, stress, anxiety, depression, or something else — a name, we can assert power over our feelings. If we call them out for what they are, we can control them and keep them at arm’s length. Holiday encouraged readers to try this naming exercise for themselves.
I thought about my anxieties and all the negative, complex feelings I encounter on a daily basis. What animal could possibly be a fitting avatar? I ran through my animal options. Black dog? No, I love dogs. I looked outside and thought about the animals I sometimes see in the yard. A rabid raccoon? Too extreme. Plus, raccoons are cute. A diabolical turkey? Couldn’t take it seriously. A vicious coyote? Meh, too much like a dog. Maybe animals were the wrong choice.
I thought more about the physical manifestation of anxiety. When I’m afraid or stressed, I feel overwhelmed. When this happens, it feels like an anvil slowly crushing my chest.
It feels like...a vise. Yes, that’s what I’ll call it. The Vise. Slightly corny, but perfectly accurate.
“The Vise knows how to knock me off-balance. But I have one advantage that always thwarts it: I am persistent.”
I am proud of what I have accomplished so far with Hello, Adversity. It’s nice to have a platform that I can use as a springboard for public speaking opportunities and any future books I write. I have met new friends, formed a business plan, and for the first time in my life, have a dedicated readership. But with the good comes the bad. Alongside my accomplishments and milestones are the difficult emotions that fuel The Vise. In many respects, my life is a paradox. Excitement exists alongside fear. Hope with despair. Happiness with depression.
Even when I succeed, I sometimes feel like I’ve failed. Doubt creeps in to diminish my accomplishments. I know deep down that these thoughts are irrational, but when they are front and center in my mind’s eye, they steal my confidence. They convince me that I’m never going to amount to anything. For every negative thought neutralized, two more take its place. I am ground down, slowly, into the depths of darkness. This negative self-talk is the perfect environment for The Vise to do its dirty work.
In the last three weeks, I have felt my discipline erode. All the strategies and habits I write about — getting enough sleep, reaching out for help, not comparing yourself to others — have been rendered less effective. The Vise knows how to knock me off-balance.
But I have one advantage that always thwarts The Vise just enough to let me slip out of its grasp: I am persistent.
The Vise likes quick wins. It likes to crush my soul with minimal effort. It has done just that on several occasions. When The Vise can’t score a decisive victory, it loses interest. When I show up day after day to live my life, it comes to the realization that it’s not worth the effort. When I use what I know to fight back, I am able to loosen its grip, little by little.
It loosens when I sit down to write.
It loosens when I talk to my friends and family.
It loosens when I remember how much I have to be thankful for.
It loosens when I channel my sadness and frustrations into helping others.
It loosens when I live my values and my purpose.
I am still waiting for The Vise to disappear this time around, but it’s inevitable. Eventually, The Vise will throw in the towel and recede into the darkness. On the way out, huffing and puffing, it will promise to return. A promise it always keeps. And on that day, I will call it by name, ready to outlast it yet again.
To read the full version of this post, click here. If you would like to read more of Chris Anselmo’s writing, please visit his site, Hello, Adversity.
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