Care keeps his watch in every old man
How can a person deal with anxiety? You might try what one fellow did. He worried so much that he decided to hire someone to do his worrying for him. He found a man who agreed to be his hired worrier for a salary of $200,000 per year. After the man accepted the job, his first question to his boss was,
We live only a few conscious decades, and we fret ourselves enough for several lifetimes.
The past could always be annihilated. Regret, denial, or forgetfulness could do that. But the future was inevitable.
Man is not worried by real problems so much as by his imagined anxieties about real problems
Worrying is carrying tomorrow's load with today's strength- carrying two days at once. It is moving into tomorrow ahead of time. Worrying doesn't empty tomorrow of its sorrow, it empties today of its strength.
Mattie sat at the table, obsessing, orbiting around herself. She was sick of her worried, hostile mind. It would have killed her long before, she felt, if it hadn't needed the transportation.
Martin Q. Blank: Don't you think that maybe you're just upset because I told you what I do for a living, and you got upset and *you're* letting it interfere with *our* dynamic? Dr. Oatman: Whoa. Martin. You didn't tell me what you did for a living... Martin Q. Blank: Yes, I did! Dr. Oatman: You didn't tell me what you did for a living for *four* sessions. *Then* you told me. And I said, "I don't want to work with you any more." And yet, you come back each week at the same time. That's a difficulty for me. On top of that, if you've committed a crime or you're thinking about committing a crime, I have to tell the authorities. Martin Q. Blank: I know the law, okay? But I don't want to be withholding; I'm very serious about this process. [pause] Martin Q. Blank: And I know where you live. Dr. Oatman: Oh, now see? That wasn't a nice thing to say; that wasn't designed to make me feel good. That's a... kind of a... not too subtle intimidation, and I, uh, get filled with anxiety when you talk about something like that. Martin Q. Blank: Come on, come on. I was just kidding, all right? The thought never crossed my mind. Dr. Oatman: You did think of it, Martin! You thought it, and then you said it. And now, I'm left with the aftermath of that, thinking I gotta be creative in a really interesting way or Martin's gonna blow my brains out! You're holding me hostage. That's not right.
Antonio: [after Joe's Anxiety attack, Antonio walks in Joe's office to make sure he's alright. He finds him holding a squeezable doll in his hand] What's with the Dolly? Joe Hackett: The Doctor gave it to me. I'm supposed to squeeze "Mr. Googi" whenever I feel I might pinch over again. Antonio: So there's nothing physically wrong with you [then adds in a sarcastic subtle tone] Antonio: You're just a nut case. Joe Hackett: [In an angry provoked tone] Look I'm not... Helen: Calm Down honey, no body thinks you're crazy. Just squeeze Mr. Googi & visualize your happy place [after a two second pause] Helen: Don't get confused again and squeeze your happy place and visualize Mr. Googi!
But I can hardly sit still. I keep fidgeting, crossing one leg and then the other. I feel like I could throw off sparks, or break a window--maybe rearrange all the furniture.
After all, what is happiness? Love, they tell me. But love doesn't bring and never has brought happiness. On the contrary, it's a constant state of anxiety, a battlefield; it's sleepless nights, asking ourselves all the time if we're doing the right thing. Real love is composed of ecstasy and agony.
The suspense: the fearful, acute suspense: of standing idly by while the life of one we dearly love, is trembling in the balance; the racking thoughts that crowd upon the mind, and make the heart beat violently, and the breath come thick, by the force of the images they conjure up before it; the desperate anxiety to be doing something to relieve the pain, or lessen the danger, which we have no power to alleviate; the sinking of soul and spirit, which the sad remembrance of our helplessness produces; what tortures can equal these; what reflections of endeavours can, in the full tide and fever of the time, allay them!
But the great artists like Michelangelo and Blake and Tolstoi--like Christ whom Blake called an artist because he had one of the most creative imaginations that ever was on earth--do not want security, egoistic or materialistic. Why, it never occurs to them.
Some people feel guilty about their anxieties and regard them as a defect of faith. I don't agree at all. They are afflictions, not sins. Like all afflictions, they are, if we can so take them, our share in the Passion of Christ
The more you pray, the less you'll panic. The more you worship, the less you worry. You'll feel more patient and less pressured.
It did what all ads are supposed to do: create an anxiety relievable by purchase.
Did you have one of those days today, like a nail in the foot? Did the pterodactyl corpse dropped by the ghost of your mother from the spectral Hindenburg forever circling the Earth come smashing through the lid of your glass coffin? Did the New York strip steak you attacked at dinner suddenly show a mouth filled with needle-sharp teeth, and did it snap off the end of your fork, the last solid-gold fork from the set Anastasia pressed into your hands as they took her away to be shot? Is the slab under your apartment building moaning that it cannot stand the weight on its back a moment longer, and is the building stretching and creaking? Did a good friend betray you today, or did that good friend merely keep silent and fail to come to your aid? Are you holding the razor at your throat this very instant? Take heart, comfort is at hand. This is the hour that stretches. Djan karet. We are the cavalry. We're here. Put away the pills. We'll get you through this bloody night. Next time, it'll be your turn to help us.
People who are diagnosed as having
Temperamentally anxious people can have a hard time staying motivated, period, because their intense focus on their worries distracts them from their goals.
To hear the phrase
I wondered what you'd have on the side with a plate of Deep Fried Anxiety. Pickles? Coleslaw? Potato-strychnine mash?
The pleasure of living and the pleasure of the orgasm are identical. Extreme orgasm anxiety forms the basis of the general fear of life.
Anxiety is love's greatest killer. It makes others feel as you might when a drowning man holds on to you. You want to save him, but you know he will strangle you with his panic.
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