The Anxiety Beast In Middle Age

I’m tired.

 

English: An anxious person
English: An anxious person (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

I know that feeling is justified as we approach the end of another year, and in particular the end of the school year, and the fatigue is further compounded by the shops that are already taunting us with Christmas trees and tacky Christmas carols. (Which, quite frankly, is fucking overwhelming right now).

 

FUCK OFF CHRISTMAS! I love you but I’m just not ready for you yet.

 

I blame the anxiety beast of middle age that kicks in for some women during menopause and peri-menopause. It’s physically and mentally exhausting when you constantly have to worry, and not only about yourself but about everyone else as well.

 

And I feel so guilty about worrying about such inane stuff. Because there are women in my life who have far harder lives than me – who have coped with the devastating effects of serious illness or loss, and yet they still manage to stay positive and upbeat.

 

There is absolutely no reason in my life for my glass to be half-empty – apart from the fact that I’m an alcoholic, OBVIOUSLY – and yet more often than not my fucking glass feels that way.

 

I mean, I’ve only just come back from what was a great holiday. Still dysfunctional – refereeing between teenagers and grandparents over volume control, bad language and the acceptable speed for a golf buggy can also be stressful – nevertheless, it was still a break, with people I love.

 

No, I’m tired for lots of reasons. I’m tired because I don’t really want to work anymore. Of course I have to, but if I had the winning lotto ticket, I wouldn’t have any problem filling my time.

 

I love my job(s), but I don’t cope with stress very well these days. I get anxious when I forget simple things that I used to be able to remember. I keep making elaborate lists yet I never seem to tick anything off. And that makes me anxious.

 

When I’m working flat out, and the state of the apartment turns seedy, it exacerbates my anxiety. I don’t like mess and I don’t function well in it. Some days I lie awake in bed at night, not just because my body’s overheating from this sudden change in my hormone balance or because my bladder obviously suffers from ADHD, but also because I’m worried about what might or might not happen at work the next day; and how the impending disaster will impact on my domestic shit.

 

When you suffer from anxiety, you burn valuable energy worrying about things that will probably never happen anyway, and the effect on your mental wellbeing can be so intense that it could actually provoke physical illness. So then you start worrying about how all that worrying might kill you prematurely too.

 

Which makes you worry even more.

 

I worried about Michelle Levy over the weekend; I worry about how awful people are being to Muslims, I worry about Ebola and and I worry about Kurt’s future. I worry about my health and if the Princess is truly happy in our apartment because she doesn’t have any grass to roll in, and I worry about how much wine I drink.

 

Then I worry if the local bottle shop is going to run out of my favourite wine anytime soon.

If you laughed out loud reading this post, leaked wee or vaguely identified with any of the middle-aged drivel contained therein, don’t be scared and FOLLOW MY BLOG. You can follow by clicking the ‘Follow My Blog’ button (derr!) at the top of this page, (on the left hand side). You can also follow my Facebook page at www.facebook.com/mymidlifemayhem, and if you want to become the ultimate stalker, you can find me on Twitter, Pinterest and Instagram too, where I lurk, (far more often than is healthy for my family and work), in the clever disguise of Louisa Simmonds. 

 

 

6 thoughts on “The Anxiety Beast In Middle Age

  1. Mmmm. It’s horrible but it passes. I went through 3 months where I couldn’t stop sighing. I’d sigh every 2 minutes until my chest hurt. I think it was a form of hyperventilating brought on by anxiety. It eventually went away. Hormones are a bitch but they do ease up 🙂

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  2. I so hear you. I thought I was just a chronic worrier when in fact I have an anxiety disorder. You may want to speak to your doctor about it. A quick ten question survey will tell if perhaps medication may help. Xanax has changed my constant worry and anxiety to a “normal” Level of angst. HANG IN there

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  3. I couldn’t agree more.. And yes I am laying here wide awake at 2:52 sodding A.M. Giggling whilst reading this post! Also thinking how much the anxiety affects me as well and I worry indeed about how much wine I drink to dull the fact that I feel bloated, puffy, and dealing with my bloody Hormonal Hijacker who at this moment is tucked away in the cargo bay of my emotional plane, but who escapes regularly and can get as far as just outside the cockpit and if that happens it’s a shitshow of tears, unrealistic fears, agitation and meltdowns the likes of which are reminiscent of Francis Farmer when the men in the white coats came to haul her to the looney bin. Thank you thank you thank you for this blog and for putting into words what so many of us are dealing with on a daily basis! 😊

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    1. I was awake from 3 to 6am worrying about my son. Feel as though I’m a robot at the moment – not sure where any energy is coming from these days. Sod the long-term side effects – wind definitely helps x

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