Anxiety and Accidental Porn

anxiety tshirt

I can barely believe it; it doesn’t make much sense. Yesterday, I wrote a blog about crazy pictures I saw on Twitter and my reactions to the pictures. More specifically, it was about seeing a thumbnail and clicking to get a more detailed version. The first pic was of a cheerleader pooping during a jump. No nakedness in that one, thank god. The next one was of this black chick taking a naked selfie in the mirror. Looked pretty wild, but also beautiful in its way. The lines were good. A Matisse line drawing wouldn’t be far off. Anyway, it looked so strange that I didn’t even notice that her vagina was out. How do I not notice something like that in a blog about taking a closer look at pictures? Retarded!

I always love it when my site gets banned for pornographic or adult content, though up until yesterday, it was a “Fucks Per Page” issue and had nothing to do with naked people. I like titties and ass as much as the next guy (or girl) but not exposed ones on my website. For some reason I find it inappropriate to post uncovered pussies, nipples, and (sometimes) buttholes. Other people can post that shit all day long. I might even enjoy those nudies from time to time, but I’m not going to put them out there. If I was going to do that, I would have posted pics of the famous naked chicks on my Celebrity Nude Special Edition blog. I wouldn’t even post pics of my own dick and I used to show that bad boy to EVERYONE. The only reason I can think of for my inattention to detail yesterday is the monster anxiety attack I was having. Fucking miracle I got anything done at all.

Two nights ago, I had a freak out about writing, or so I thought. I was worried about whether the writing was ever going to go anywhere. I was worried about how long my streak was going to last. (They always end.) Maybe more importantly, I was worried about how many HR people were NOT giving me jobs because they read the nasty shit I write. That’s fucked up place to be, considering that writing is the dream. I hate that word. I don’t just write about nasty shit, but that’s what’s been coming lately. I do have a very serious story in the works, but that’s neither here nor there. See, I’m defending myself already. Fuck that. I went to sleep with a tightness in my chest—more specifically around my literal heart. I woke up in the middle of the night that way. I woke up in the morning that way. I drove to work that way. Etc, etc. As the day went on, I started to think that my anxiety was not really about writing. Writing was just the “real problem” my sneaky chemical anxiety wrapped itself it. Anxiety always cloaks itself in something real. Asshole anxiety.

I was going through all the pain-in-the-ass shit it takes to post a blog—the editing, the links on FB, Twitter, getting the pictures right—and I missed the goddamn vagina. I know this was due to anxiety fucking with my brain. I wanted it to end. I wanted all the drugs and alcohol. I was tired of going back and forth. Just tired. I was rushing the work—forcing it. Like I said before, I know that when I pause, I have no clue when I will start again. This is the case with running, going to the gym, and all sorts of other shit. I’m in an even more dangerous situation now because of the fear. Fear can kill writing. When I was younger, I did not believe in writer’s block, but now I’m sure it exists. Its name is Fear.

I wish I could take my own advice. I give my patients tips on fear, anxiety, and depression when they start getting better. Mostly shit I learned from my therapist and the one good sponsor I’ve had. I’m not talking about dumb shit like yoga or taking a walk or just pulling yourself up by your boot straps. More like, “Don’t try to run a marathon. Just put your shoes on and see what happens.” Most of the patients appreciate these tips because they know I’ve been where they are. I lie to them on my bad days. I know these things work because I’ve used them all. Well, actually, they start to work when your depression starts to go away. They don’t work worth a shit when you’re in the depths. None of those things seem to be working for me right now, though it’s still way better than it was before.

I’m better today and I doubt I’ll accidentally put any naked vaginas in my blog. I’m seeing my doctor on Weds, thank god. Hopefully, he’ll work some magic. Hopefully, I won’t miss any more vaginas.

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2 thoughts on “Anxiety and Accidental Porn

Add yours

  1. I have an essay out there that an overzealous HR person could find if they searched hard enough. The essay has some stuff in it that might keep them from hiring me. That bothers me off and on…but I try to think of the spirit that I wrote it in. Luckily I currently have work, but…

    1. I don’t think it would be very hard to find mine. The ironic thing is that I’m looking for writing jobs. I currently work in mental health and they don’t seem to give a shit.

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