If I had to sum up anxiety in one scenario an unanswered call/text/email is probably the easiest situation to use.
I phone you. You don't answer. You don't call back. Depending on who you are I could convince myself you are dead on the motorway husband) or that I've upset you (friend).
I create all sorts of scenarios in my mind for reasons you haven't text. I start to panic. My heart races, I can't concentrate. I become obsessed with checking for replied. I plan your funeral because in my mind I believe you have died. Sometimes I cry because I believe I have upset a friend.
In those minutes, hours and days I create all sorts of things which sometimes I can rationalise, sometimes not. Sometimes your delay in replying provides me with evidence towards a negative core belief. For example, you don't reply. I believe I've upset you. This provides evidence that I am, as I feared, a horrible person and I've just proved it.
Similarly sometimes I don't reply. I try to use these times as evidence that I am busy, so other people might be. This can help rationalise my response to the unanswered message. Sometimes an unanswered text from me is I have nothing I believe of any worth to say. Or I don't want to burden you. Or I don't want to lie about things being OK so instead hide away.
I try not to let my obsessive thoughts, my anxiety affect my behaviour. I brush off these things pretending to be rational, to be normal. Sometimes it's too hard and it will spill out, usually in self destructive obsessions that only hurt me. Alienating people with my neediness.
This is anxiety.
Pretty much exactly 5 months after my last church attendance I returned today. Since my last time I had only seen 3 people from the congregation face to face. People who live in my town. Who I've seen at least twice a week for years, I'd seen so few of them. Children had grown. Newborn babies now starting to move. Barely bumps now earth side. There were a few new faces too. We decided to go today because we had been invited for Sunday lunch by a couple from church. The sweet, kind hearted, godly doctor who was on duty the weekend I was first taken to hospital. I didn't give myself a choice this morning. I'd set up an excuse not to go for lunch already. Our car was broken. It was true, it was, but I knew it would be fixed in time to go. So I got up and we went. I'd spoken with my counsellor about not feeling it was my home any longer. That I wasn't part of the fellowship anymore. That physically I didn't know where to sit. Our usual seats, middle,front, with ...
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