Tiny Breakthrough (Temporarily Defeating the Metaphorical Flamethrower Bear With Profanity)

For want of anything else to do with everything that is causing my crushing anxiety, I just opened a document with the thought of writing something, and having nothing to say, pretty much just typed nonsense (okay, profanity), and, oddly, while I was doing that, I felt a lot more relaxed.

I am going to guess because it took enough of my conscious, chatter-box brain’s attention to type words to distract it from focusing on any source of stress. Maybe the swear-iness also helped, since those are words habitually associated with venting negative feelings.

Just putting this out there, on the chance it is useful to anyone else.

Give it a shot.

Maybe typing “What in the fucking fucking fucking fuck of fucking fucking fucked up fuck ups fuck ups fuck ups fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck…” will also be of use to you.

Or you could pick a less swear-y repetition. “All the puppy puppying puppies time the puppies puppy puppily puppytime…” might work better for you.

Hell, if you are scientific-method-ly-minded, try both, and see if one or the other feels more helpful. Maybe throw in a third neutral word (since puppies might have some positive or negative emotional resonance for you), like typing “and” over and over, for point of comparison.

This was a random discovery on my part, so no idea if it will actually be useful to anyone else, or even for me again, but as anyone who feels like they are drowning in a relentlessly rising tide of shit well knows, like twenty seconds of peace can be heaven, since “anxiety” is, as far as I am concerned, just a euphemism for “survival response,” which is, in turn, a euphemism for “death-threat response,” which really should be what we call it, since that is, you know, what it is, and how it feels.

Saying you feel “anxious” diminishes the reality that you are trying to accomplish what, in better mental and emotional climes, would be mundane tasks, while your entire body (your brain is a part of your body, and that we tend to pretend that is not so based on the Western world’s raging, multi-century boner for Cartesian dichotomy and mind-body divide strikes me as stupidly self-destructive) is screaming:

“HOLY SHIT, IT IS A BEAR WITH A FLAMETHROWER, RUN, RUN FOR YOUR LIFE, GRAB A STICK AND HIT THE BEAR WITH IT, DO SOMETHING, DO ANYTHING, DO IT NOW, LIE DOWN AND PLAY DEAD, OFFER TO BUY THE BEAR A DRINK, STAND STILL LIKE A STATUE, SOMETHING, WE HAVE TO DO SOMETHING RIGHT NOW OR WE ARE GOING TO DIE!!!!!

(For those who use the misleading term “fight-or-flight” for what I term the death-threat response –  or, if you prefer, murder-response – I included a variety of bear-related mentions of all of the elements of said response, which are, to my non-professional knowledge, freeze, flop, friend, flee, and fight.

Also, so far as I am aware, freeze is the most common survival response, just fyi. If some bad shit happened to you, and you think you are weak or cowardly or somehow complicit in whatever bad thing happened because you couldn’t move, you can let that shit go – your survival brain was at the wheel, and that is its favored move. Happens, apparently, to most people who face down death – and with anything that physically endangers you, I don’t imagine survival brain drawing distinctions between death and other injury. Prior to antibiotics, a scratch could be the death of you, and evolution moves at a snail’s pace – there is no rationally believing the oldest parts of the brain do a recent-advances-in-medicine-check before going to defcon-flamethrowerbear when our physical safety is threatened. Seriously, from a second-hand-therapist mention, the part of your brain that is responsible for your anxiety/survival/fight-or-flight/death-threat/murder-response does not understand language.)

I hope the nonsensical repetitive writing trick might be helpful to you, and also hope you know to apply it only when you are dealing with a phantom flamethrower bear; if something in your immediate vicinity is actually threatening you with bodily harm, typing “fuck” over and over seems pretty unlikely to be helpful. Then again, I am no more a self-defense expert than I am a mental-health professional, so really, in either case, you should bear (flamethrower-bear-pun accidental, but acknowledged) my limitations in mind as you assess your actual- vs. phantom-bears, and respective strategies for dealing with said (hopefully) metaphorical bears.