Anxiety took a Sabbath when my foot drop improved, but took up full-time residence in the pit of my stomach following my bicycle accident. “You call yourself a writer?!” she snorted. “You can’t write with a wrecked wrist! You know it won’t ever be the same. Besides, you are undisciplined. You don’t sit your butt down in the chair and actually write for four hours at a time like proper writers do.” Rather than whispering sweet nothings, Anxiety murmurs messages of fear and angst. “Are you sure your daughter is okay? Will she be able to keep her new job? Last one in, first one fired.” (Yet another factor contributing to the stress of the year: my forty-year-old daughter’s employment insecurities.)
The pandemic was not the only plague to visit us in 2020. Even if we were fortunate enough to avoid being visited by the virus, Anxiety was only too happy to nuzzle up in the middle of the night. “Your husband was coughing last night. I’ll bet he has the virus,” messages propelling panicked patients into the welcoming arms of local therapists.
The last time I felt this bad was around 9/11. On top of this national calamity, I (and the FBI) suspected my daughter of dating a Tunisian terrorist, and her brother was kicked out of school in Washington D.C. for smoking pot. (I actually had to buy Anxiety a pillow she was spending so much time in my bed that fall.)
Anxiety makes appearances during daytime hours as well. She is really kind of glamorous, one of those femme fatale women of film noir fame—form fitting scarlet red dress, charged up cherry nail polish, and red lipstick. Longish dark wavy hair. Alexander McQueen heels. But instead of being an Ava Gardner, she is more like Cruella de Vil.
So how do you rebuff this unsolicited and unwelcome visitor (who does not even have the good manners to knock? Uninvited, she just barges in.) Some obvious techniques are short-lived—wine, Xanax, exercise, wine. Actually, when the wine buzz wears off in the middle of the night, that’s another time you wake up and find her sitting at the end of your bed, dropping ashes and venom on your newly dry-cleaned duvet.
At my age, I’ve grown accustomed to her visits. The length varies, sometimes feeling an eternity, and occasionally whimsical drop-ins. “Unbidden guests are often welcomest when they are gone” -—Shakespeare.