Feel so embarrassed. Half the island will already know I’m stuck here, too. I’ve sent most of them panicky messages to that effect. Am sitting leaning against the pyramid-shaped rock, staring out at the darkening hulk of the island, quite possibly about to sink into the sea, and all I can think is…everyone’s going to think I’m such a fool.
I so desperately want them all to think well of me. And now they all know I can’t even go for a hike without humiliating myself.
Trying to hold on to that new feeling I had, the knowledge that it doesn’t matter what everyone thinks. But the wanting-to-disappear feeling is rising through me again and I can’t help it—I’m crying. Keep thinking about Galoshes and Jones laughing about me at the shop tomorrow, everyone talking about me at the Pirate’s Den. Feel desperate to get out of here, to get out of my own fucking head.
I’m so afraid.
The awful, crawling, fearful sensation seems so huge out here. Nothing else to do, nowhere to look but out into the darkness.
I feel like this more often than I would like to admit. And lately…more than ever, and worse than ever, too.
Is this…normal?
Jones’s voice keeps going around in my head.Are you anxious?
I’ve said that I’m “feeling anxious” before. It’s just a word you use, isn’t it, likeworriedorobsessing? But I’ve never really approached the thought that it could be, you know, official. Pathological.Properanxiety.
But what if it could be?
WhatamI feeling? Usually I hate this sensation so much I just shove it down, try not to think about it. But what is actually going on right now?
I’d say…the feeling starts in the center of me and spreads outward like a firework. It sizzles down my limbs. My heart pounds. I get clammy with horror. Hot and cold all at once. And within seconds it’s taken me over, occupying the entirety of my mind, edge to edge, giving me no space for a single rational thought. Honestly, it is a sensation so unpleasant that I think I would rather die than feel it, which is bizarre, completely bizarre, because surely what I’m afraid ofisdeath—why else would I care that I’m stranded alone on a darkening rock in the middle of the sea, if not for the danger?
You know, I don’t think it is the danger I’m scared of, if I’m truly honest. The bad feeling isn’t about that part, not for me. The awful, clawing, self-loathing terror is about…what everyone else will think.
This is horrible. It ishorribleto see all this written down.
I just googledAm I anxious?
Do non-anxious people ask Google whether they’re anxious?
There’s a test for anxiety disorder. You can do it online if you want. GAD-7, it’s called, which sounds more like a military plane, or maybe something you can do instead of A levels? But anyway, it gives you a nice score to tell you how mad you are.
And apparently I’m A* mad. A total anxious wreck.
Definitely shouldn’t talk like that. Mental health awareness is so important! And I have friends back on the mainland with this sort of stuff—wouldnevertell them they’re mad. Wouldn’t even think it.
Me, though…
That’s a different story. Because I am notallowedto have anxiety. People with anxiety have a real problem, like a proper life-affecting mental-health issue, whereas me? I’m just…well. I’m just not brave enough, not together enough. Notgoodenough.
Though that GAD-7 score was pretty conclusive.
I don’t know what to do with it. Keep flicking my phone on and staring at the questionnaire again.
Over the last two weeks, how often have you been bothered by not being able to stop or control worrying?
Been so restless that it is hard to sit still?
