Filter Free And An-Xi-Et-Y

I'm going to unplug my filter for a moment for this one. **Looks around for cord. Oops, hey whatdya know, it wasn't plugged in. Huh. I forget sometimes.**

Oh man, I hear chaos. People are already crying. Bradford's mom is running away. "Come back Bradford's mom! I promise we won't talk about your standing Juvaderm fillings!"

Oops! *Smacks forehead - holds up end of filter cord*

Okay, everyone take a deep breath. There will be no petitions signed, no seconding any motions - this is just a conversation. (Between one crazy Mom and the voices in her head.)

Here's the raw, uncut version of a teensy, little nag I call anxiety.

See, if you don't have anxiety, you are, first of all - so lucky and second of all - so clueless. Click the clickable word for a reeeeally great and truthful vlog on this... when you're done reading here, that is.

Anxiety is a bitch. I'm sorry, I try very hard to curb my foul mouth on here but if you have anxiety you know there really is no better description of it. Imagine living with the loudest, most nagging, backseat-driver-that-has-Tourettes.

That. is. anxiety.

That's how it feels to be going along and thinking things are a-okay and just fine, thankyouverymuch and then BAM! anxiety shout-blurts out a sharp, quick, you're-going-to-die-so-what-are-you-going-to-do-about-it scenario in its loud and impossible to ignore voice. And suddenly, you can't unhear those words. You can't blink without that mini-doomsday-movie trailer flashing behind your closed eyelids.

Can you imagine EVERY TIME YOU CLOSE YOUR EYES TO BLINK you see the semi trailer traveling in the right lane next to you suddenly jerking hard left and sending your car careening into the bridge that you just happen to be on at that very moment?

And then you pass the semi and you think you're in the clear and your least favorite passenger of all time (anxiety, her name is an-xi-et-y) blurts out another near-death scenario up ahead.

Then the mini-movie process starts all over.

Then you get to your destination and this passenger-from-hell gets out and comes with you. Like a teenage girl who can't go to the bathroom on her own, you are stuck taking this extra voice everywhere with you.

Oh sure, sometime's its quiet. There are times it sleeps. But to be honest, that just makes her loud voice that much more disturbing since, in the moments of quiet you hope and pray that IT DIED and you'll never have to hear that pessimistic voice EVER AGAIN. EVER.

So, I'm going to tie this up by getting personal.

I've been taking a ton of flack lately for a portion of my post on Epiglottitis.

The portion where I talk about throwing on my sweats and driving myself to the ER.

Some peoples are having some big problems with this.

Problems they have no qualms about discussing. With others. Or they clap at me or my husband for handling it that way.

And since my filter is still unplugged (and the dog is chewing on the cord... so it might be a while before I can get that repaired and in working order again...) I'm going to take this opportunity to tell the peoples with the problems a thing or two about STUFF YOU HAVE NO IDEA ABOUT SO CAN YOU MOVE ON AND DISCUSS THE DUE DATE OF THE ROYAL BABY OR SOME OTHER CRAP THAT HAS NO BEARING ON YOUR LIFE?!?!

Here we go.

To the Peoples with the Problems:

Have you ever woken your husband up in the middle of the night to drive you to the ER because you are certain you're dying and he does, like a dutiful husband, only to be kept there and awake through testing and sent home three hours later because - newsflash! not dying so much as - panic attack.

And still, minus three hours of sleep - you both have to go to work the next day.

Have you ever spent time on 1-800-ASK-A-NURSE cataloging your symptoms in the middle of the night because even Google or WebMD couldn't solve whatever freak thing was happening with you? No?

Well, I have.

I've had these nights. I know other people with anxiety who've had similar nights.

And after you've had a few of them, you learn to question yourself thoroughly. You learn that you feel HORRIBLE for waking people up in the middle of the night because of a fear in your head.

You learn that sometimes, if you can just try to lay quietly and say a few prayers or wait- that its possible for your eyes to get heavy enough and you will fall asleep. Eventually.

You learn that when you wake up the next day you will stare at the art piece on your wall that reminds you "Don't Doubt in the Dark What God Has Shown You in the Light" in hopes that you won't have another night like the last one.

Did I know what was wrong with me that night? No.

I'm not a doctor.

I, in fact, am an idiot. I didn't even know I had something called an epiglottis. (Shut up Bradford's mom - you didn't know you had one either!)

I assumed that my sore throat was causing me to have a panic attack because I had taken the medicine and it didn't ease my pain so my brain was pushing the panic button.

Except, my brain has pushed that button before. My brain and that button are like the Boy Who Cried Wolf.

So when the moment came where I decided to stop ignoring it - I assumed I would go to the ER, they would maybe look at my throat, give me another dose of meds and send me home with a pat on the head telling me to worry less and get some sleep.

And I hoped that my husband wouldn't have yet another night where he lost hours of sleep and had to go to work the next day all because of my malfunctioning panic button.

So, for the people on their high horses regarding my drive to the ER decision, the view from atop your horse might be all wildflowers-and-meadows but you should see what the view is from the top of someone else's before you decide to tell them which direction to go. Their view might be more fallen-branches and rocky foothills.

I'm not judging you for pushing your horse at a breakneck pace through the meadow but my passenger, anxiety, is screaming at you to be careful, that there could be rattlesnakes lurking in the grass. So we're going to take a different route.

And if I'm not judging you for your path - who are you to judge me for mine?