So I quit my job today. I gave them one week's notice.

Look at me, saying it all confident-like, as if I just waltzed in, gave my supervisor a sly look, and said, "Look, uh... This isn't working out," and strolled out of there merrily, smoking a cigar or something. Instead, I worried about it all day. In fact, when I woke up this morning, I'd gotten myself in such a tizzy over a lot of various holiday stressors that I had one of the worst anxiety attacks I've had in quite a long time. My stomach made this painful little gurgle, as I felt so powerless and confused and just fucking scared. Of what? It doesn't even matter, really. It's not actually relevant what I was worried about, which is what makes anxiety so weird -- it could have been anything. It just plows into you. Anyway, that's how I was feeling early this morning, restless and freaked the hell out. Then I briefly burst into tears.

When that pain shot through my stomach, memories of high school flooded my mind. I used to go through that daily. Every day my stomach would hurt and rumble for 20 minutes or more before I ever left the house. Sometimes I'd literally make myself sick with worry. Instead of flooding my brain slowly like a rainstorm today, the memories moved in like a flash flood and left just as quickly. The pain immediately slammed me back into reality and made me think, "Okay, this is out of control. I can't do this to myself." I turned on my ocean music CD, and even though I couldn't stop the whirring in my brain long enough to do my deep breathing exercises, I at least felt calmer listening to the rhythmic ocean waves and musical patterns. Then I got started on my day, step by tiny step, and even though I kind of felt okay, I also felt like I was teetering on the edge of another full-fledged anxiety attack the rest of the day.

And that's the mode I was in when I went to talk to my boss. I couldn't even conceive of how I would tell her that fashion is so alien to me, that sales is so wrong for me, that I feel so out of place there, and most importantly, that I wouldn't be back after my trip to London. I'm not even sure what I said exactly, but I know I stammered and said "like" approximately 235 times in four sentences. And then she said, "Okay," completely unfazed, and smiled at me. She added that the season (for the seasonal sales people, as I am) is ending at the end of the month (which is when I'll be in London, for those keeping track). She had told me during my interview that the season would end at the end of January, but she had guessed wrong, apparently. The bottom line is, here I was fretting away about how to break the news that I wouldn't be returning, and all along, I was going to be laid-off while I was overseas!

Just another tell-tale example of how it doesn't pay to worry, I guess.

I wish I felt more in control of my worrying. But this is way more than worrying, isn't it? Anxiety is such a bizarre condition, such a strange thing to admit I have. I didn't want to believe it, not in high school, not in my first years of college... not until this year. I guess that's why I'm writing about it now, why I occasionally mention that I have it to people in conversation. It's like it makes it more real, and by doing so, makes another idea real: the idea that I'm not at fault for doing this to myself. For so long, I blamed myself, I felt sad and guilty when I couldn't follow peoples' suggestions to "just relax." I'd wonder why I was such a messed up freak. But now I don't do that anymore. Well, I try not to, anyway.

It's kind of like when I feel like crying a lot during PMS, and I'll remind myself, "It's just the hormones," and that makes me feel better. When I have the anxiety attacks, adrenaline pumping through me, stomach churning, I'm able to say, "It's the anxiety," and then I feel like I have the proper perspective to handle it. It really was scarier not knowing what was happening to me. Now that I know, I can deal with it. I know that even though I can't turn off the adrenaline rampage when it's happening, that I can slowly and deliberately make efforts to prevent it from happening. I have to train my brain to stay calm. I have to exercise. I have to meditate. I have to eat right. Have to. (Hell, it's even okay for me to drink alcohol to train my body to relax! My doctor said so! Bring on the booze!)

The good news is, if I do these things, the potential is there to never have anxiety attacks ever again. To cure myself, basically, by managing it so well day-to-day that it never has a chance to come back.

I think that's pretty fucking cool, personally. Because anxiety is a bitch to deal with. At least now, I know I'll have one less stressor in my life -- my job. I'll finish up next week, and that'll be it. Then I can move on to something more fulfilling, something that lets me be myself. That too, I imagine, will help fend off the anxiety. Because while being myself is certainly a strange experience, I gotta say... I do enjoy it.