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#anxiety

36 posts33 participants1 post today
Public
pasjrwoctx👽

I Could Really Truly Use Some HELP and SUPPORT Right NOW!

I am a #disabled man living in #poverty, my #disability is 60% physical and 40% mental, and as I get older, both of those are increasingly hard to deal with, each day I try to do what I can where I live, as part of my rent is to help out when and as I can, but that is getting harder and harder to do, I am spent, between losing what little strength and physical ability I have left and not getting decent sleep nor having a decent diet, things just keep getting harder, and that causes my #anxiety to get worse which causes my #bipolar to cycle, which causes more lack of sleep, and I am in constant pain, and on and on it goes, at 47 years old I sure wish people could see the value in helping me #fundraise $5million dollars so that I can buy my own property and build my forever home, and have everything I need to never have to worry again, and to alleviate the stress of my day to day situation, and so I can really just age at a pace that wont effect anyone or anything, because in my own home, if I cant or dont feel like it I dont have to do anything for days, weeks, or months at a time and no one can get mad at me. People seem to forget that I am disabled and they dont realize I am getting older, nor do they comprehend that I simply cant afford #food to eat 3 meals a day, often not even one meal a day, that I have no #healthcare, people in general expect me to just keep going like the energizer bunny, when the reality is I am an old broke down ford truck, that on occasion I can get fired up and get a few things done, but more often than not, I really dont have the gas to even stand up, being #disabled and living in #poverty Fucking Sucks! you cant afford to eat when your hungry, you cant afford to take care of your health, you cant afford anything a person needs in life, Poverty Fucking Sucks, but when Your Disabled, it Fucking Blows, and every little thing is compounded a 1000 times and no one really cares to help you. I have so many unseen issues, most don’t realize the true difficulty I endure each day, first I don’t sleep well, for many reasons, from a brain that is constantly in overdrive, to relentless nightmares, to being in constant pain, to not having a decent supportive bed to sleep on, so my days start of painful, tired and overwhelmed before I even get going, Often I go hungry because living in #poverty I simply can not afford #food to eat, I typically only get around 600-800 calories a day when a man my size and age should be getting around 3000 calories a day, as a result despite my appearance I suffer from malnutrition, I have a great deal of difficulty cleaning my tiny cave, from not being able to afford the basics to have cleaning supplies to being physically limited in my ability to do so, I cant hardly bend over, nor can I very easily get up and down off the floor, taking a shower can simply become a serious challenge, and often leaves my exhausted not to mention I cant often afford the basics for personal hygiene, simply washing a dish or standing at the stove at times can be brutal on my back, then there are chores I need to tend to as part of my rent, and those absolutely can be a painful and exhaustive event for me, and those around often don’t even realize and expect more as a result, and if I say I have had enough today, I am questioned, because they assume I did what I did with ease, but they have no idea of the pain and struggle I had to endure to deal with to accomplish the tasks at hand, reading has become trouble some, as world become very blurry and melt together, writing is becoming increasingly difficult, as finding the words is getting harder and harder, being creative used to help but I have been in so much pain, and under so much stress that I often cant even muster up the energy to attempt to be creative, not to mention my camera is failing, my laptop is struggling, and again no money to obtain what I actually need, I have no #healthcare because the laws people pass have really messed that up, and after years fighting to get it resolved I have given up, so I fight through each day to just to suffer the next, I reach out constantly for financial support yet receive nearly nothing compared to what I actually need, this #disable man exists in #poverty, constant pain and my #anxiety exacerbates my #ptsd, my #bipolar cycles, and several other issues, my blood pressure has been all over the place and frankly in a rather obscenely high range for to long, my core body temp has been far lower than the average, while I often feel as though I am on fire, things get darker with my sight each day, and yet to bright, I hear and see so much that is not actually there, so very much wrong and no support nor help to be found, it would really truly help if people could and would help me #fundriase the money I need each day to live, and the money I need to set up a life where I can take care of myself and lessen the effects of poverty and disability on an aging body and mind.

$5-10-15 It All Helps, via #cashapp at $woctxphotog or via #paypal at paypal.com/donate?campaign_id=…

Continued thread
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Coach Pāṇini ®

This perspective directly challenges the prevailing narrative that screentime and #SocialMedia are primarily responsible for youth isolation and #anxiety.

While #JonathanHaidt has prominently advocated this connection (and his concerns have merit) emerging research suggests this framework oversimplifies a far more messy and layered reality.

#Digital habits represent just one factor among many interconnected influences shaping young lives today.

2/6

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Muro deGrizeco :toad:

No damn sleep last night.

Anxiety. Stare at wall. Cat meows. Bed creaks. Spouse sighs. Flicker of phone screen. Furnace runs. Cat meows again.

Up, into pajama pants, rumpled t-shirt. Stumble into kitchen. Feed cats. Reheat yesterday's coffee. Slouch on couch. Sip.

Cat ignores food. Races from front to back of house, crazed. Leaps onto windowsill. Stares outside. Meows again.

#anxiety#cat
Public
Frédéric D'Astous

Quel est l'effet de la #discrimination qui s'incarne dans de petits gestes de tous les jours ? C'est la question abordée dans ce texte qui se penche sur la situation aux États-Unis. Un élément de la réponse se trouve dans la risque pour la #SantéMentale .

‘Everyday discrimination’ linked to increased #anxiety and depression across all groups of Americans

theconversation.com/everyday-d

The Conversation‘Everyday discrimination’ linked to increased anxiety and depression across all groups of AmericansPeople who suffer from everyday discrimination are more likely to have anxiety and depression.
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4Xsample

Set minuts eterns.

Set minuts eterns.

Avui ha estat un dia fluix. No estic fi. No és que hagi passat res dolent (ni res bo), però la meva ment sembla una habitació amb les persianes abaixades: ni entra llum, ni en surt. Pujo a l’ordinador com cada tarda a aquesta hora, amb la precisió d’un ritual. La pantalla s’encén, i per un moment, em sento en territori conegut. Aquí, entre finestres de Discord, l’últim projecte inacabat del meu servidor domèstic, xarxes socials i qualsevol cosa que em serveixi per no pensar massa, controlo el que puc. O almenys, faig veure que controlo.

El primer senyal és una pressió al pit. Subtil, com si algú m’hagués posat una mà invisible sobre l’estèrnum. «Oh, no. Altra vegada», penso, i intento ignorar-ho. Però el cor comença a córrer, com un cavall espantat que fuig cap a un lloc que ni ell mateix coneix. La respiració s’entrebanca. Inspiro… 1, 2, 3… Recordo la tècnica dels 10 segons: inspiro, retinc, expiro. Ho he practicat milers de vegades des que era un nen, quan els psicòlegs em deien que «centrarse en respirar ajudava a calmar-se».

El cap s’emboira. La pantalla de l’ordinador es desenfoca, però els ulls continuen fixos en un mem del Discord: el clàssic, “Capità, només és dimecres!”. Intento riure, però el somriure es converteix en una ganyota estranya. No és real, em dic. És l’ansietat. Sé que és ella, però saber-ho no em salva. La pressió al pit augmenta. Sembla que tinc una roca destrossant-me les costelles, i cada intent d’inspirar és una negociació amb el buit.

Els dits se’m pengen sobre el teclat, immòbils. «Hauries de tancar els ulls», em mana una veu interior. Però tancar-los em fa veure coses pitjors: imatges fragmentades de dies passats, converses mai tingudes, futures caigudes. Obre’ls, i el món és un remolí de missatges que no llegeixo. Cago en tot. La sala està en silenci, però dins meu hi ha un terratrèmol. Les cames em tremolen com si el sòl s’hagués convertit en gelatina. «Això no té sentit –penso–, avui no ha sigut un dia dolent». Però l’ansietat no demana permís.

Procuro tornar a la respiració: 10 segons dins… 10 segons fora… Però els números es desfan. El 7 s’enreda amb el 3, el 10 es converteix en 100. El temps s’estira com una goma, i tot al meu voltant es mou a càmera ràpida mentre jo em quedo encallat en un segon etern. La suor freda em regalima per l’esquena. «No et rendeixis –em dic–, només és químic, només és por». Però la por és un animal que s’alimenta de raons.

En algun racó de la meva ment, encara hi ha una part lògica que observa. La part que va aprendre a gestionar-se després de quaranta anys de maleir el propi cervell. «Això és un atac de pànic –m’explica, com un metge distant–. No et matarà. Passarà». Però la resta de mi no escolta. La resta de mi és un nen assegut a la consulta d’un psicòleg, comptant fins a deu mentre li expliquen que «els nens valents no ploren».

Els minuts es dilaten. Cada intent de controlar la respiració és com intentar apagar un incendi amb un got d’aigua. «Què coi l’ha detonat? –em pregunto–. No he begut cafè avui, he dormit… bé, he dormit poc, però…». Les excuses sonen buides. L’ansietat no necessita motius.

De sobte, un soroll em sacseja: el Discord notifica un missatge que no llegeixo. El so em travessa com un punyal. «No pots atendre ara –em dic–, ni tan sols veure qui és». Però la culpa s’afegeix a la barreja: Seria tan fàcil mirar-lo… Però no puc. La mà es nega a moure’s. És com si l’aire s’hagués tornat espès, com melassa.

Passen… no sé quant. Potser segons, potser hores. Tot i que el rellotge s’entesti a dir que han passat només set minuts. El cor comença a desaccelerar-se, com un tren frenant en una estació fantasma. La pressió al pit es redueix a un peso sord, i la ment comença a desembolicar-se. «Ho estàs superant –xiuxiueja la veu lògica–. Ja passa». Però «passar» no és guanyar. És sobreviure.

Quan per fi puc moure els dits, els clavo en el teclat. Escric paraules sense sentit a la finestra del xat: asdf[poiqewrgqwe dasfqewrty. És l’única manera de demostrar-me que encara tinc control sobre alguna cosa. Les lletres es multipliquen, formant un exèrcit de lletres que mai tindran cap mena de sentit. Suposo que és millor així.

Al final, quan l’atac es retira com una ona que torna al mar, em quedo esgotat. Físicament, com si hagués corregut una marató amb les cames lligades. Emocionalment, com si m’haguessin buidat per dins. «La guerra no ha acabat –em recordo–. Només has sobreviscut una altra batalla». Però en el fons, sé que és més que això: és persistir.

Miro el Discord. El galimaties encara hi és, quiet, inalterable. «Una altra vegada ho has aconseguit», li dic en veu baixa, com si els caràcters em poguessin sentir. No sé si parlo de l’atac o de mi mateix mentre esborro el missatge enviat amb l’esperança que ningú l’hagi vist.

Tinc ganes d’anar a fer-me una bola al racó, com sempre desitjo després d’aquests episodis. Però avui no. Avui m’assec aquí, mirant el xat, i penso en aquella regla absurda: «Els nens valents no ploren». I malgrat tot, no ploro. No perquè sigui valent, sinó perquè ni tan sols tinc forces per això. Les llàgrimes són un luxe que el meu cos sembla haver oblidat.

No em sento com si hagués guanyat contra l’ansietat avui. Collons, quina putada tot plegat.

#Angoixa#Ansietat#Anxiety
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