Defining Irrationality: The dictionary to every anxiety avatar

Somewhere along the way, we all went from rote-learning definitions of concepts we’re yet to understand to scrambling to make our own definitions of abstract emotions. We now seek a tangibility in emotions that attracts understanding and empathy to anyone who would listen, or to anyone who may seem to be experiencing the same.

When you define something, it simply becomes a much easier subject to confront, or at other times — embrace. My demand for definitions began at the forefront of understanding what my anxiety felt like. Between having a friendly stop sign to a blazing, glaring red sign that read WARNING in my head, I sought a definition.

Not a definition of the cause of these warnings, because I knew there is none — it’s irrational. A definition for what is happening in my head. Simply put, I sought definitions for all the numerous ways anxiety manifested in my head.

If any of these definitions make sense to you, you have my empathy.

Here’s a definition of every embodiment of my anxiety —

The Feathery Boulder:

A tricky cousin of overthinking, my feathery boulder sits comfortably on my chest. It’s an over-emphasized version of the simple task/day that lies ahead of me. It’s just a feather of a worry in the disguise of a huge, unmovable boulder. It’s a terrible disguise so you know it’s just a feather, it’s not that big of a deal.

In fact, it may not be big enough to be labelled a deal. It’s a Pluto in the Solar System of Problems, but your perspective makes it seem like a boulder. A tiny, insurmountable, feathery boulder.

The Snoring Uncle:

Just as you’re drifting away to sleep, the anxiety uncle will let out a loud snore, loud enough to wake you up. You get up, look around, walk aboard a time machine and visit every problem or questionable moment you’ve had in the past and might have in the future before you find yourself drifting back to sleep.

That’s when he’ll snore again. Soon enough, you’ll lie awake waiting in anticipation for anxiety uncle’s next snore.

The Party Pooper:

When I do something really well, when what I’ve done is validated, and when more than one person agrees that this something is done really well, by me, I hear The Party Pooper calling. He’s the wet blanket of my life, slowly telling me that what I’ve done is actually terrible and people are being nice or, what I’ve done is truly amazing and a complete fluke. I have now set expectations for myself that I can never again surpass unless it’s through the help of a crutch called sheer, dumb, luck.

My Party Pooper is astoundingly indecisive and keeps me humble and grounded enough to only see four walls of mud, painted in mediocrity around me. I try to ban him from the invite list, but he’s always the plus one of every compliment I’ve ever received.

The Party Starter:

With this one, it’s a party alright — a pity party! The playlist of the night will be a remix by my Party Starter of their greatest hits — I’m sorry to bother you, I’m sorry if I annoyed you, I hope I didn’t ramble too much and my personal favourite –– They Hate You (Ft. Only In My Head)

Sometimes the Party Starter and Party Pooper do collaborate together. Their greatest hit is, They’re Just Being Nice, Stop Talking.

It’s a wonderful party to be a part of with only me in attendance.

The It’s-Just-A-Bit-Tight Shirt:

The anxiety I am closest to, the It’s-Just-A-Bit-Tight Shirt. It’s when everything is perfectly fine, but the shirt you’re wearing today is just a little bit tight. It’s clasping on your chest and you feel like the buttons will pop off if you breathe out.

You’re mostly okay, you’re just uncomfortable.

I temporarily adore the shirt when I do breathe out, and the buttons never seem to pop off.

The purpose of this post isn’t to preach a solution but to define the ever daunting abstractness of anxiety.

The purpose here is relatability, empathy and acknowledgement within a sea of undefinable abstractness.