Justified Anxiety

Hello and Welcome back to A Writer in the Woods. This month I’ll be ranting about how I cope with anxiety that is justified and probably being a bit too honest about who I really am. And debuting a new short story. But first, some updates.

Updates:

• I’ve pulled both my short stories from submissions. They need, nay, want more. More words, more thought, more depth. So, I have outlined a novella for “Harold aka Fed by Pain”, and will be doing the same for “Izzy’s Entry”.

• She Who Brings Gifts is in the hands of Small Press. I haven’t heard back either way and hope that it will be good news, but we all know how these things go. As soon as I hear, you will be the first to know.

• Spooky Action at a Distance has received a full request from a different small publisher. I just sent that in, so the waiting game has begun on this book as well.

• The Sleeper, the new book that I have completed, is slowly making its way to the query and submission trenches. No word on it from anywhere yet.

• As always, I’d like to take a moment to appreciate you dear reader. As my subscription number grows I know that I have you to thank for it. I couldn’t and wouldn’t do this without you.

• For those not subscribed yet, you can do it here. It is free and always will be.

All right, let’s get to it…

Anxiety is a bitch. An angry female dog always snarling in the corner of my mind. Brain chemicals that have run amok in the reality that they are no longer needed. Yet it persists. Somedays it feels like there’s a metal plate in my chest that gets zapped by an invisible hand from time to time, sending me into a frenzy. It sucks and dealing with it daily sucks even more. That’s why I committed to facing the fear of my anxiety in 2024 by embarking on many trips to conventions. The anxiety didn’t get better, but my coping mechanism did. I was able to meet people whose writing I adored, make contacts for a dream I never thought I’d achieve, and make…wait for it…actual, living friends. I was proud of myself and even found a way to accept the crying bouts I had on every trip. I felt stronger than I had in decades, and more independent. Hell, I was ready for the world to throw whatever it had at me. I could take it.

Then it did.

I’m not going to sit here and recount the horrors and ignorance that has plagued not only our country, but massive parts of the world. I’m sure you know all about it. It’s scary, it’s frustrating and in some cases down right infuriating. Sometimes I feel as if society works overtime to prove that they will never progress beyond what we already know and have achieved. But I digress. Feeling small in this world, galaxy, universe is nothing new, but lately this feeling has been growing, and my anxiety is chewing it up like a perfectly rare cooked steak. When it was based on wonky chemicals, (not a medical term), or my own past traumas, I could look at it and say, “I accept you, but I am much more than my fears.”

But what happens when that anxiety is justified? When there’s a possibility that you can go for a walk around your block, or to the grocery store and have to deal with someone who believes that the current climate gives them a free pass to be, well, their true selves? Now, I have never walked through life without dealing with a certain amount of ignorance. Whether it be because of my skin color, my mixed-race, my deep voice and preference of pants and blazers, there has always been something to ignore, to let slide. I’ve gotten used to that. However, lately, people have been getting bolder.

Fun fact. When I travel, me or my bags get searched over 70% of the time. Yeah, I calculated that shit. I blame it on my racial ambiguity. I mean, I have a face that any racist could hate. Usually, I deal, because, well, life, right? Put on a smile, ignore the stupidity flowing from someone’s mouth and move on. But I’m tired of that. I’m tired of not being able to tell someone to stop being stupid. That the words coming from their mouth only proves their lack of education. I'm tired of being the bigger person.

You see, with this justified anxiety comes something that I have been working on for most of my adult life. Taming my anger. It’s been with me since I could remember. In my twenties and early thirties, it always landed me in situations that made my life harder. I’m not talking about violence here; I’m talking about my mouth. I didn’t realize until I was well into my thirties that I, as a Blaxican woman didn’t have the same rights as other people. I wasn’t supposed to tell people they were being ignorant, or point out to a cop that their attitude was unprofessional. To be honest. I still don’t understand it and never will. This coupled with the electrical volts of anxiety running through my body has made everything super stressful. Add to that my imposing figure, (don’t laugh, I am intimidating), my deep voice, and my hyper-observations, and what you have is a recipe for disaster.

This all led to a decision I didn’t want to make. Stay home. Not because I’m afraid, but because I don’t have the energy to be the light right now and I don’t want to spread more anger and fear. This world has enough shit heads running around sowing unhappiness, I refuse to be one of them. Even if someone, really, really, deserves it. It’s not who I want to be.

So…..

I have isolated myself and decided to create. That’s how I am coping with everything. Art. Pure and simple. Inside my stories I’m aloud to be angry, and to say all those things that I bury to get along. Inside my stories, I am not an oppressed woman, I am free. Every word, every thought, every line, every subtext, is all mine. I get to create ignorant characters and then help them see a better side of themselves. I get to take a traumatized character and help her find the path back to confidence and self-love. This month, I took it a bit further and delved into music and videos. Why? Because I can. And it makes me feel balanced. And I love it. This, my dear reader, is how I choose to cope. And now, I would like to share a little of this with you.

I’ve spent the month putting together video pitches, reading samples, and a short story I wrote to release the overwhelming sense of despair that I have been feeling lately. Next, I’ll be taking notes from a book I bought about Social Pain and delving into the Harold story again.

Expressing ourselves is far better than oppressing ourselves.

Anyway, thanks for hanging for the rant. I hope you can find ways to deal with our mad world that doesn’t dim your shine, feed your anxiety, or bolster your self-doubt. I dear reader, will continue to try and do the same.

Until next time.

Millie