I’m so anxious I can’t think straight

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Cary’s classic column from FRIDAY, MAY 4, 2007

 

I know what the issues are, but I can’t really deal with them.


Dear Cary,

Lately I’ve been very anxious about my father. I’ve been anxious about mortality and life goals, or how to live in general, but particularly as it concerns my father.

I’ll back up. I’m 31. For the first time in my life, I have a good relationship with a man I really love. It’s a lot of fun, and such a relief, and I think maybe not having relationship anxiety has cleared the way for some older and possibly greater anxieties. For the first time in years, I’ve been having the mortal terrors again at night. I contemplate death and scream out loud. (When my man is around for that he tries to comfort me, and it does help a little.)

I assume most other people don’t feel the way I do. I never hear them screaming. But how could they fail to? In particular I worry about my father. He’s in his 60s. We get cancer in my family. I have this worry. I don’t know how I’ll cope. And: I’ve been having some low-level longings for a baby, these past years, and when it occurs to me that my father might not get to be a grandfather to my child, it breaks my heart.

If I were a shrink I might wonder if that’s a transposed longing to do my childhood over again. Maybe so. I think my childhood was actually wonderful (and it was a time when I was much closer to my father). My young adulthood was more a series of lost years from which I am only now emerging. So some of this might not be about mortality so much as it is just about my relationship with my father, of course. I feel that I have special things expected of me. I am the one who takes after him; I am cerebral and stonewalling, while my brother is affable and socially gifted. But we have ways of interacting, my father and I, that are not really interacting. He retells something he read and I listen. I tell a story from my life, but I end up addressing the other people in the room more. I don’t know why, but he’s hard to talk to. Or I have a hard time of it. We are rarely somewhere talking, just the two of us. Lately, though, he seems a little to be reaching out to me.

I am scared to talk about all this with him because it is much more than I ever talk about with him — and because I feel that all my worries are rooted in my fear of mortality, which I don’t want to mention to him, as a way of protecting him from it. I don’t know if that’s silly or not. A couple of his friends have died lately and I think it’s been hard. At some level I guess I am really scared that he is as helpless as I am. And I guess he is?

I feel that he has been having a hard time. Maybe reaching out to me has nothing to do with it or maybe it does. Alcohol has been brought up as an issue too. I’m worried he needs a refuge, and if I talked to him I’d have to know of one. I drink most every day myself. If I didn’t (incidentally), would all these feelings be stronger?

I am pretty sure the right answer is: Go to him. Learn to talk to him. But I don’t know how and where to start. Other things are easier. Other patterns are in the way, including the pattern of aimless anxiety and the pattern of talking to my mother instead. I’m worried I won’t do it. I’m worried I’ll fail. I’m worried I’ll try and it’ll be banal, or not enough, or that everything I say will come out wrong. I don’t know what I have to say. I don’t know how to invent a new way of relating. I don’t know where I’m feeling responsibilities that aren’t mine and where I’m recognizing what is truly and only mine. I’m even scared of the prospect of raising a child who takes after me and yet ends up distant from me.

Cary, can you tell me what you think?

Daughter

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Dear Daughter,

Yes, I can tell you what I think. But there are far too many phenomena occurring in your thought-sphere, and they are occurring too quickly, for me to take any one of them and unravel it, to say, “Voilà!”

But I can pass on to you something that has helped me, at times, to stop the whirlwind of anxious thoughts that sometimes starts up and will not stop: Try thinking of the anxiety not as the product, or result, of some other thought process, but as a strategy, a method, that you are using to avoid feeling these other things. I found this insight useful in my own life — that anxiety is a form of emotional avoidance. So then when I am anxious I think to myself, what am I avoiding? What I am usually avoiding, being the way I am, is feelings. There are some feelings about, say, my father, that I do not want to feel. So instead I flit about the house, anxious, nervous, unable to settle into my work, unable to complete a task.

Unfortunately, at that time, it is necessary to simply have the feeling. I do not like some of these feelings. They are dark, somber, helpless feelings; they are old feelings, some of them, old feelings full of regret and longing. But they are shot throughout, also, with bright, sunny memories of childhood innocence: the Sunday morning I must have been 6, walking down the clay driveway hill at our house in Tallahassee, Fla., him carrying a shovel to clear the drainage ditches at the sides of the drive, his hand on my shoulder. He called me “old-timer.” He said, “Good job, old-timer.” I did not know what an old-timer was. I knew he had a timer that he used in his darkroom when developing black-and-white prints. It was a black, spring-wound photographic darkroom timer. And I was not old. An “old-timer,” I thought. I liked it but I did not know what it was. It simply opened up into the mystery of words.

So when I am feeling things about my father, now and then something happy will come back — but tinged, of course, with the knowledge that the hill is gone, the clay driveway is gone, the strong hand on the shoulder of the child is gone. (I wonder if somewhere among his things that black, spring-wound photographic darkroom timer might still be ticking.)

So you see where this goes — it goes into time, and sadness, and loss. But it goes to the feeling of those things, not to our ideas about them, or our brittle attempts at separation from them.

Once one stops using the anxiety to avoid these things and instead begins to feel these things in their full richness and power, it is not so important to figure out whether our thinking is right or not, whether we are hiding this or that. We are simply feeling things of great heaviness and age. They come of their own accord, and sometimes they delight us, and sometimes they level us with their somber weight, but we are not charged with thinking our way through it. It is just the stuff of life: you and your father, facing together mortality and fate.

I get the feeling you are fully capable of this. You are holding these things at bay but you know what they are. So here is something to consider: This route is not the smart route. That is, it is not a thinking route. It is not clever, or revelatory. It is more something in the chest, a deep, heavy thing you carry around for a while. For this reason, I do not know why we do it or why it is important or what its evolutionary advantage is, this simply feeling the heaviness of age. Here is a thought: Maybe it slows us down so we can be around the old folks, so we can stop flitting about so much. But that is pure childish speculation. I do not know why this is so.

Here is something else: When the anxiety machine really gets running, it can be self-perpetuating. You have to stop it somehow: You have to stop it in order to stop it, which sounds circular. So you have to stop it by changing externalities. The drinking, for instance. The drinking allows you to continue with your anxiety, your anxious avoidance. So … oh, let me find the paragraph where I went into that (I actually tried to answer this letter a few weeks ago but got sidetracked, and then came back and liked part of what I wrote). Ah, here, this is it:

You have a lot of different things going on in your head at once. Too many things, in fact. So how does one slow down? What is the drinking part of it? Alcohol is a central nervous system depressant, so if you are using it every day, your nervous system is depressed for that portion of the day. So it may be a little out of whack. Think of your daily psychic and emotional economy. Say you have X amount of psychic and emotional stuff to process, and you have X processing power. Say that’s pretty much in balance, all other things being equal. But say then you eliminate four hours of processing time because the central nervous system depressant has put you on standby for those hours. You’re not processing. So what is happening? Stuff is building up. Little questions aren’t getting answered and they’re turning into bigger questions. Things that need to be felt aren’t being felt. You’re not doing the necessary daily work. You’re not cleaning house and assessing your needs and practicing, practicing, practicing. Things will pile up. You need to deal with this stuff every day.

So I think you are probably out of whack with all these emotional issues competing for your time. How do you get back in whack? That is where the “externalities” come in. Maybe, if you can find a very wise person to advise you, you get into some form of therapy. But that may not be necessary. Try some things first and see if the night terrors recede. Undertake some life changes to calm the nervous system. Just do simple things, like on the weekend clear the entire weekend and just do the things you need to do around the house. This will be grounding. Just take care of simple things. Take a bath, do the dishes, don’t answer the phone. And for a few days don’t drink. Sleep a lot. Take naps. Get lots of rest and exercise. And pay attention to what you are feeling about your father. Don’t run from it. You see what happens when you run from it. You can’t settle. You are like a nervous bird. You need to settle and accept what it is. It won’t happen overnight. It is a long process. But slowly you may begin to see these things not as complex riddles to solve but simply as situations, emotional situations, feelings, the stuff of life, simply to be felt and honored. If that does not work, you may need some extra help, a therapist to guide you through some of it. But give it a chance, first, to work on its own.

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Damaged goods

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Cary’s classic column from THURSDAY, MAR 11, 2004

I got engaged, then found out she is bipolar. How can I break it off with the least amount of hurt for both of us?


Dear Cary,

I am in my 30s and from a religious background where one only dates (limited to conversations over dinner or telephone) with the intent of marriage.

A couple of months ago, I met an intelligent and pretty girl. We got together a few times and despite some differences, I felt that she was the one for me. We got engaged a couple of weeks ago.

Three days after our engagement she started crying about problems she had in her relationship with her mother. Then the next few sentences were a bombshell. She told me how she had battled depression and had been under psychiatric treatment for almost three years. I was in total shock, but kept it hidden from her. I reassured her that there was nothing wrong with her.

That night I could not sleep. Her erratic behavior was now appearing less benign than I believed earlier. The irritability, the sudden crying to the point of sobbing, the racing thoughts, complaints of insomnia, the mood swings.

I consulted a psychiatrist and within seconds of hearing the symptoms, he said that he strongly suspected bipolar disorder. Although it is a treatable mental illness, he said that there was no guarantee that it will not get passed on to the children; in fact there was a high likelihood of that.

Ours was not going to be a love marriage, but an arranged one, based on mutual interest and values. I am not in love with her, although I care deeply for her. I searched deeply within me to see if there was a future for us, but I found that I cannot raise a family where the burden of ensuring the emotional and mental stability had to be disproportionately borne by me. I am fully aware of adjusting myself to accommodate another person in my life and the compromises it entails, but this is more than what I had ever imagined. I stayed single so I could help my family. Since I am done on that front, I want to settle down in a peaceful and stable life with a partner, and not invite another challenge.

I don’t hold her responsible for not telling me about her problems before the engagement as she was very much interested in me and did not want to spoil it. We are all needy and a bit selfish and do things to buy ourselves happiness by sometimes jumping over the moral fence. But at the same time, I do not think that I am under any obligation, emotional or moral, to continue this relationship knowing what I know now. I know she will be very hurt, but I cannot be blamed for that.

How can I end this relationship with the least amount of hurt for both of us? It gives me no satisfaction to end this. I have been locked up in my apartment for the past few days and screening phone calls. I feel the darkness that descends with each night inside me. I just wish all this would end soon.

Hurting

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Dear Hurting,

What’s interesting here is that you didn’t have a change of heart. You had a deal that went sour. Whether you both understood the deal in the same way isn’t clear, but I’m inclined to agree that since she didn’t tell you about her history of psychiatric treatment, the deal is off.

Even if she hadn’t broken the deal, you’re free to break an engagement for any reason. The engagement is a kind of waiting period during which both parties assess their intentions and make sure they’re ready to go through with it. If serious doubts arise, the marriage is called off. It’s unpleasant, but it’s not a moral breach; it’s what the period of engagement is for.

What interests me also is the fact that this marriage you describe as “not … a love marriage” might yet be perceived as such by the woman, because of the enormous forces of culture and gender identity. Even if she is of your culture and knows the rhetoric, she still may see it not just as a business deal in which she bears children and shares in their raising but as the fulfillment of her emotional desires and perhaps, if she is an old-fashioned kind of woman, the realization of her purpose on earth.

It raises a whole host of questions: Is there a written contract for this arranged marriage, or are the terms assumed to be fully understood by the members of your culture or religion? Are you courting only women of this culture or religion? And, may I ask, how are women treated in your religion? Are they afforded equal rights, or are they expected to be subservient to the man? If they are, that could prove to be a grating source of conflict. And what about grounds for divorce? What if, for instance, the woman you marry turns out to be infertile, or to have a high chance of passing on some genetic disorder? Would that then be grounds for divorce? And what about abortion? If, for instance, her role is to provide a child to you, but bearing the child threatens her life, is she expected to risk her life to fulfill her contractual obligation? Is abortion permitted in your religion? I think you need to spell out these contingencies to any prospective bride. And the biological burden is not hers alone: She should be tested for reproductive health, but so should you. If you turned out to be infertile, any prospective wife would have the right to know that.

While I don’t fault you for what you’ve done, I hope you see that if the marriage is to serve certain specific purposes, you have to spell out all the contingencies, and make doubly sure that any future marriage prospect understands fully the nature of the contract. Because if it’s just a business deal for you, it’s also a business deal for her.

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I’m a compulsive liar

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Cary’s classic column from WEDNESDAY, MAY 18, 2005

My deceptions are elaborate and crazy but I can’t seem to stop.


Dear Cary,

I don’t really know what good this will do; I just think I need to tell someone, some soul, the truth about who I am.

Ever since the 10th grade or so (I’m just shy of my mid-20s now), I have been a compulsive liar, a thief and a bit of a manipulator. So far, this has ruined countless friendships, several long-term relationships and one marriage. Sometimes the motivation is laziness, sometimes it’s all in the noble spirit of braggadocio, sometimes it’s just because I can or because I relish the simple thrill of getting away with something. I don’t really know why.

It’s been suggested that this compulsion is some simple misfiring somewhere deep in my brain and that with adequate therapy and chemical treatment, I could eventually become an honest person. I believe this is incorrect. I would love to believe that it’s not my fault; however, I go to extraordinary lengths to flesh out and protect my larger lies.

For example, I don’t think my ex-wife was aware of the fact that for nearly three years I’d go to local libraries to read up on the subjects I was supposedly formally studying, and that I was researching the local university’s infrastructure, geography and staff so I could keep up the illusion that I went there. I even went so far as to manufacture homework, quizzes, projects, transcripts and FASFA forms for myself.

I find myself moving from city to city to city, feeling that if I only start fresh somewhere, and just tell the truth to everyone, they’ll like me for who I am and not for the person I’ve crafted. And it always starts the same way everywhere I go. I always feel like my character needs a little more fleshing out, a little more motivation, and so I’ll concoct a long, involved story that neatly corresponds with easily verifiable data.

I sometimes think that perhaps I’m a sociopath, or that I’m a narcissist, or some -path or -ist that I don’t know, but it hurts me every time I do this, every time I lie or I cheat or I steal or hurt someone. I love my friends and my family and I wish they could know who I am, and not who I made up, but for some reason deep inside of me, that can’t be and I don’t really know why.

I don’t really know if there’s any advice to be given, or if there is, that I’d have balls enough to follow it. I suppose I just want to know if there’s still some hope for me to become a good person.

Tired and Twisted

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Dear Tired and Twisted,

I think you should see a specialist. However entertaining my words may be, they are vastly insufficient to the task of rescuing you. So let us assume that I have advised you to seek out a specialist in compulsive behavior and that you have agreed to do so. OK? You’ll go get some help, right? You’re not just telling me that? You wouldn’t lie to me, would you?

Now then. I would say this to you: Stop accepting the bribe. That is, stop accepting the payoff of your behavior. For years you have been carrying around a plain unexceptional self disguised as an immensely clever young man. Say goodbye to that clever young man. Now begins the era of the regular you. Discard the enhanced version of yourself. Starve it out. Refuse to take pleasure in it. Take pleasure only in things that are true. Say this to yourself: Only what is true is permitted. I will live secure in this little area of only the true.

Take a look at yourself unadorned. Take your unadorned self out on the street. Walk it around. See how it feels. Shave your head and only tell the truth for one day.

Admit all that is false. Admit it to anyone. If you like, admit it to me and I will keep your secrets.

There will be a cost. I’m saying start paying. Return uncashed all checks written on your false account.

Let the elaborate edifice finally fall: First comes tumbling down the facade. Then comes the whole building crashing down. Let it fall! Rejoice in the thunderous noise of its destruction! Clap your hands and sing!

Let it all fall down. Celebrate its demise. At the same time, toss into the fire all your false hope. You are not about to become a saint. You are simply a man discarding junk on the edge of town. Let go of grandiosity even in your hopes for the future. Envision a level world. Go to a neutral place. Do not believe in God nor not believe in God. Do not construct a belief in God or an idea of God. Leave God alone. Just dump the lies. Find a place in the ground and dump them there; find a place of ambivalent acceptance and cover it over with earth. Walk away quietly.

Don’t be so damned dramatic. Don’t go overboard. As I advised that person back in 2001, the trick is to cultivate an appreciation for the stupid tiny good things. “The facts of your life are fascinating if you cultivate them,” I wrote.

I still think it makes sense.

There are also some practical reasons for you to consult a specialist in compulsion: Eventually, if you do nothing, you may be arrested and charged with a crime. Eventually you may not be able to make a living. Eventually you may fail to amuse even yourself. Eventually you may forget who you are. Eventually you may fall apart. Eventually it will be much less fun than it is now. So it’s obvious you have to change.

So that is the program of change I envision for you: Good-faith work with a talented specialist; a radical jettisoning of accumulated falsehood; a coming clean, a time of reckoning, perhaps a series of ritual burials, a program of regular work and ongoing accounting, at the end of which you should have a story to tell that is not only remarkable but true.

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Desperately unhappy in the top Ivy League school

 

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Cary’s classic column from TUESDAY, APR 22, 2008

I want to work in New York publishing, and I know this is the route, but I’m miserable and depressed.


Dear Cary,

I am a freshman at the top Ivy League school in the country, and while this has never been easy, or, to put it more accurately, not too traumatic, recently things took a turn for the worse. Now I can’t imagine how I am going to survive until the end of the semester, much less three more years.

I’m from Los Angeles, a place with which I very strongly identify (which I discovered only after I moved to the Northeast). While I was really into journalism in high school, my true passion has always been creative writing. I had a lot of choice senior year, and it basically came down to the premier private university on the West Coast or on the East. I chose the East, mainly because I was really impressed with the sheer opportunity that comes with going to a school like this, but also because I was (and still am, although not as much) interested in getting into the publishing world of New York, both as an editor to pay the bills, but then hopefully as a writer myself. Having begun an internship at a literary magazine here I now know that my first estimates were accurate: If this were something I wanted to pursue, I would have no problem getting the connections I might need to succeed through this school and its alumni network. (Seriously, words cannot explain the alumni network. You eat breakfast in the dining halls and look up into intimate portraits of the presidents.) But since beginning here I’ve also become a bit rankled (and, if you can’t notice, a little bitter) at this empire that, under the pretext of academia, stretches to every office, every field and every department in the world. I just suppose that my experience here has tempered my previously bewildered awe for this place.

My freshman year so far has been something of a disappointment. I find myself coming up short on everything I’ve done here. Up until now it’s just been the work, and the unending papers and deadlines. Last semester I took only three classes but ended up writing 17 papers. I get really stressed under pressure and the weather just upsets me in general (the long, cold winter where everything looks dead is not something I enjoy). This semester I sought out student health services therapy for my depression, which had been ongoing for about a year before college, and while it wasn’t exactly a grand panacea, it did help somewhat to talk over things.

But even all of this was endurable because my dorm life had been relatively OK. I don’t have a lot of friends because first semester any participation I might have had in any writing organizations was stopped by the fact that I was already writing two papers every week, and I didn’t want to write more “for fun.” Also, I’m really quiet and introverted by nature, and my self-confidence in new social situations is lacking. So basically I didn’t really branch out a lot but that was OK, because I had made really good friends with my roommate and a couple of other friends in housing. However, ever since winter break I had considered the possibility of transferring, because even though I had made a couple of good friends, I am mostly miserable on campus.

I feel completely invisible here, like no one notices me or everyone looks through me as I walk around campus, and I feel my minority and female status has a lot to do with it. More than once I’ve wished that some fortunate and not too fatal accident/disease might land me in the hospital to relieve me of my responsibilities and let me somewhat gracefully bail out under an acceptable circumstance. While my grades last semester were fine (I got a 3.5) this semester is going quickly and neatly down the tube. I got an extension for this eight-page paper due two weeks back but still have yet to write a word. I’m barely toeing the line in a chem class and my languages are suffering as well. I’ve thought about dropping the class with the paper due as I’ve yet to read any of the book on which we are to have a final in three weeks, but each time I have been talked out of it, or talked into hanging on for a little bit longer. I’ve talked to my dean and my mom and my therapist several times about this, but they don’t seem to understand that when I say I’m sinking I mean I’ve already drowned. I feel awful about everything.

My dorm life too, which I had once depended upon so much, also recently imploded. Basically the major thing that happened was that my roommate, with whom I usually get along very well, became really upset with me because I didn’t give her enough advance to tell her that I didn’t want to enter into the housing draw in a suite with her because I didn’t want to room with another person who we were supposed to be rooming with. She said some things (including that she couldn’t trust me anymore). I didn’t say anything, mostly because I was feeling so guilty myself about it because she was completely in the right and I was in the wrong. Yet I just couldn’t room with this other girl next year. It would be a suite, always type-A, high energy, partying and drinking, and I’m just way more chill, more relaxed, than that.

A week or two later nominally everything had been settled, as we had the room draw and she got a single and I got in with these other girls who are pretty chill and low-key as well, except my roommate and I are still not talking. I had apologized the day of and then about a week after, except nothing came of it. Except the worst part about it was the way in which I was so totally dropped from the group, and people with whom I had been really close friends, even better than with my roommate, wouldn’t even greet me as we passed in the hall. It felt awful. At first I avoided my room completely, and I didn’t have a place to crash on campus except various common rooms and libraries. I felt so totally isolated. I remember going to a pizza parlor that day and sitting there for three hours and not ordering anything, just slowly turning over my own depression in my head.

The most disturbing thing about the situation, however, is that this happened basically once before, when I was in high school, over a journalism position for editor in chief with another girl who used to be one of my closest friends.

Over spring break I finally got up the courage to apply for transfer to the West Coast school I had turned down once before (I did this before the whole rooming thing happened). I don’t want to run from my problems, and I harbor no illusions about how much better life there might be than life here, except the way I figure it, even the worst there is better than the worst here because my friends and my family are nearby, and it’s not freezing six months out of the year. I just have no place here anymore, and I’m really alone and isolated and depressed nearly all the time. I don’t know what to do, and I certainly have no idea how to begin making headway on my homework. Most days I feel accomplished if I just go to class. I feel as though I can’t do anything, much less think, much less write. I feel like I can’t do anything right.

So I suppose the reason why I am writing is to ask your advice on how to continue on with the semester and general thoughts on the roommate situation and whether I should transfer back to the West Coast. I’ve never been one to read advice columns much, but I’ve read a bit of your stuff (well, OK, a lot), and I’m rather encouraged.

California Dreaming

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Dear California Dreaming,

I suggest that before you go back to the West Coast, try something new: Try really taking care of yourself. If you can really take care of yourself, you can get through this. And if you can get through this, you can have your dream of working in the New York publishing business. Or you can do whatever else you want to do, if it turns out that’s not your first-choice dream.

By really taking care of yourself, I mean giving yourself not just what you need but what you want, and more of it than you are used to giving yourself. If you are under a doctor’s care for clinical depression, continue that routine. But along with whatever you are doing with the doctor, try really taking good care of yourself physically, emotionally and spiritually.

After all, you are a California girl. You know how to do this. There are probably activities you used to take for granted in your California life that kept you sane and healthy. When did you feel happiest in California? What were you doing? Were you going to the beach? Were you in the sun? Were you getting massages or meditating? Were you dancing? Were you driving? Make a list of the activities that used to make you happy.

And then for six weeks do the following things. Exercise three times a week for at least half an hour. Eat three meals a day that include fresh vegetables and fruits and enough protein. Take a daily vitamin supplement with extra minerals and B vitamins. Get eight hours of sleep a night. Once a week, get a massage or sit in a hot tub or sauna or all three. If you come from a religious practice, do your religion. If you have a favorite food or meal, eat that favorite meal. Get your nails done. Have a facial. If you like animals, find some animals to be with. If you like to swim, swim. Consult your list of things that make you happy and do those things. Don’t worry about what other people think. Just follow your instincts and give yourself what you need.

If your grades slip a little, that’s OK. If it would make it easier to drop one course, go ahead and drop it. Meanwhile, establish a routine that keeps you in top physical and emotional shape. Do it as a program. Keep track of your self-care activities in a journal. Write down each day the things you do to keep yourself in good shape. Take note, in the journal, of any improvements in mood or attitude, but do not expect any overnight changes. You have been running yourself ragged for so long that it may take longer than a month to feel any genuine improvement. That’s OK.

Perhaps you can also adopt a new set of beliefs to get you through this. Try these new beliefs out: “It doesn’t matter how people treat me day-to-day. What matters is how I conduct myself. If I conduct myself with dignity and self-respect, and if I take care of myself, I will be fine. I do not need everyone to like me. I know what I want. If I take care of myself and work toward what I want, I will be fine. There is enough time for everything. I do not need to rush.”

Keep your mind on what you want. Establish some goals that make you happy to think about. If you want to be an editor and writer, what publishing house would you like to work for? What would be the titles of some of the books you would publish? What authors would you like to work with? But perhaps your East Coast experience has soured you on that dream. If it turns out that what you would rather do is work in the Los Angeles film business, then begin visualizing that in the same way. What directors would you like to work with? What movies would you like to produce?

Meanwhile, ask your therapist how to minimize the stresses you are most prone to. Ask what forces might be working on you that you are not aware of. For instance, you say you are introverted, but sometimes you sound like an extrovert. It may be that you have needs you are not fully aware of, and that you are incurring stresses because you do not take these needs seriously. Perhaps you have a higher need for approval than you realized. Perhaps you have a need for solitude but also have certain traits of the typical competitive, power-motivated extrovert. Winning does seem to suit you.

Explore these things. But do not expect quick answers. Just explore them to see if you can identify areas of stress that you can eliminate. This is all in the interest of taking good care of yourself while you work through this four-year program.

Do this and see how you feel by the end of the year. Take the summer off and enjoy yourself. Come back in the fall and do it again.

And if you do all these things and you still hate it there, no problem. You can always move to the West Coast and finish up there. Nothing wrong with that. The main thing is to learn to take care of yourself.

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