Catsidhe

The Fear is that dawning and lasting realisation that something, somewhere, is horribly wrong. And it's all your fault – if only you could remember what the hell it was that you have screwed up so badly. There's that yawning sinking feeling in the gut that there's something really important you should be doing right now, otherwise everything will go to hell, and not only is it your fault that the horrible thing is going to happen, it's also your fault that you can't remember what is wrong, and it's your fault that you can't remember what to do about it, and it's your fault if whatever you do is futile anyway. But even if it's futile, and you know it is, you should be doing it, and you're a horrible person for doing nothing.

So what you have is a lead ball in your gut, impelling you to increasingly desperate and frantic and random action (in the hope that you'll do what you should have been doing all along by accident), or else to lethargy and despondency and despair that there's no point, because even if you knew what to do, it's too late now.

Whatever it is you're supposed to have been doing.

That's the thing: there doesn't have to be anything actually wrong, the feeling that it is is enough. And the intellectual knowledge that you've actually got your bases covered does not help in the slightest, because it's undercut by the feeling, the deep indescribable certainty, that you don't, you just don't know what it is you've missed.

The Fear is that nagging feeling that just on the edge of hearing is the whistling sound of the Other Shoe Dropping from out of orbit, and it's going to land on you, and it's all your fault.



What makes it worse is when you have a long and increasing list of things which you do know you should be doing, and are increasingly unable to face.

Welcome to the world of chronic episodic nonspecific anxiety.