Glenda: ALERT SOMETHING’S WRONG.
Me: Mate.
G: NO LEGIT SOMETHING’S WRONG.
M: Sigh. Care to be a little more specific?
G: Nah.
M: Try pls.
G: IT’S A LIE HE ACTUALLY HATES YOU.
M: Look, there really seems to be a lot of evidence to the contr–
G: LIES. ALL LIES.
M: Right. You realise that, even if this is an issue, you being a lunatic is, like, not helping, right?
G: YOU KNOW WHAT YOU SHOULD DO YOU SHOULD JUST CHECK, LIKE JUST ASK. YEAH. NO HARM IN ASKING IF HE STILL LOVES YOU.
M: Oh yes, I’m sure the 967th time will be the char–
G: JUST DO IT BITCH.
M: FUCK OKAY.
***
M: …see? He loves you.
G: Lies.
M: Fuck you.
G: He’s getting real sick of you asking too, by the way…
M: I JUST SAID–
G: Muahahahaha.
M: YOU KNOW WHAT, SLAG BAG?! Say he does hate me. Let’s say you’re right. Would that be the worst thing?! He dumps me, I’ll be sad, we move on. What’s the biggie?
G: Isbadisbadisbadisbadisbadisbadisbad.
M: But-
G: Isbadisbadisbadisbad hehatesyourfamilytoo isbadisbadisbadisbad.
Sigh.
Meet Glenda. Glenda is a bit of a pain in the b. She is also known as the voice of my Generalised Anxiety Disorder (kind of not really an anagram), and the above is a conversation that I’ve had with the delightful cherub regularly whenever I’ve been in love with someone. Which is just fantastic because as if that whole saga [being in love] isn’t complicated enough without Glenda The Lunatic voicing her crazy-ass opinions through her intrusive and inconvenient thoughts.
She’s also the same paranoid hoe bag who feeds me ideas like the total certainty that is my boyfriend dying in a horrific inferno on his way down the mountain from work, and how awful it will be when I eventually sleep through my alarm one morning and definitely get straight up sacked despite how much my boss loves me.
Now let’s just get the part where I brag about old mate current partner and how wonderful he is with this right out of the way. He’s great. What a guy, puts up with this shit constantly. Endlessly appreciative. Love you babe. Champion boyfriend. ❤ ❤ xoxo
My point is that I’m on a little journey with old Glenda here, and sharing that is important. Because, as is always the point of my posts, talking about it is progress. Not just for sufferers directly, but through helping others to recognise Glenda when they see 
her. I feel like we have made some progress with the obvious, “I’m terrified of flying/open spaces/confined spaces/the world” kind of anxiety. But it’s time to broaden our horizons. We have to
learn to recognise anxiety as a society, in ourselves and others and in all its forms, for what it is: a curable, or at least manageable, illness. Instead, we are still stuck in this “you’re just crazy” mindset, perpetuated by the “clingy girlfriend” meme and Barney Stinton’s Crazy-Hot scale. We mistake treatable mental illness for a permanent personality trait, with negative connotations and no empathy. What up with that?
And now I’m going to get really real: The only thing worse than the ignorant non-sufferer is the ignorant sufferer. The genius going through life, totally crippled by the mental and physical manifestations of this disease, completely unwilling to admit that anything’s the matter. It’s time to get over yourself. Because how insulting is your attitude to the rest of us? I’m not talking about those struggling to come to terms with their illness, or those incapacitated by the vicious circle that is being too anxious to seek help (spare a thought for those humans, but also, this is why the rest of the world needs to get their Glenda-radar working). I’m talking about, “Help is for crazy people, I don’t need therapy.” Sorry, 1957 called, they want their social perceptions back. We know now that people aren’t crazy because they’re possessed by the devil. This isn’t the Salem Witch Trials. Admitting that you can’t stop thinking about the love of your life driving off a cliff will not invite an exorcism. Just a care plan, thanks to Medicare and this occasionally spot-on country’s public health system.
So I present to you: Janie’s I’m-by-no-Means-an-Expert-but-Thought-it-Might-be-Comforting-to-Hear-of-my-Experiences Guide to Saying Farewell to Glenda.
STEP ONE: Affirm her presence.
This one can cost you a lot of money in therapy. Although care plans are good. But I found it very comforting to spend a crazy amount of time getting to the bottom of why I was so anxious about particular things, or at all. Some may see this as unproductive, but I found that an explanation allowed me to validate my feelings. Then, I was able to be less hard on myself. Glenda, although misguided, is only out to protect me. Sure, she does so about as efficiently as Hitler fixed the world but her intentions are pure. All of her insanity exists for a reason: to protect me from something that has hurt me in the past. The avoidance of pain is a pretty basic evolutionary concept and therefore, quite the opposite of crazy. Coming to this realisation allowed me to be at peace with myself and Glenda, and accept her existence in my life, as opposed to doing the thought process equivalent of shutting my eyes tight and clenching real hard.
STEP TWO: Talk to her.
That’s right. “How to be less crazy: talk to the voices in your head.” Bear with me. Also I don’t actually hear voices. Just wanted to clarify.
The very concept that is acknowledging your anxiety as a second and separate person makes for an easy (okay, easier) transition away from them. For me, the biggest frustration with anxiety was that it was always inconsistent with what I knew to be rationally true. I can always see all of the evidence that my boyfriend loves me, but my anxiety continued to convince me otherwise. And the worst thing about anxiety is that it argues like a hormonal woman: based entirely on screaming you down as opposed to logical processes. It could never defeat the real, rational me using reason, but it could wear me out. But I started calling Glenda on it. “No, sorry, where’s your evidence? What makes you think that? What about all of this evidence to the contrary? Why doesn’t that get the same weight?” Eventually, I learned to trust my own rational thoughts, and slowly, Glenda starts to fade… Which brings me to step three.
STEP THREE: Get better at it.
Practice. Seriously, that’s it. If you were reading on eagerly awaiting the quick magical fix, I’m really sorry. But I swear this worked for me. It’s like they say about quitting smoking: each time, you get a little better at it. You go easy on yourself and you stand up to Glenda, one baby step at a time. She might still wear you down sometimes, when your resistance is low. And you do your crazy person dance and you let her come over you and once she’s done her thing, you apologise to the poor quivering boyfriend huddled in the corner and you try again next time. And each of those experiences is one closer to a time where you won’t need to think as hard anymore. It won’t take as much energy or as much forced conscious thought. You might not need a nap afterwards. And that will be progress.
But all of this is made so much harder when the world doesn’t get what’s going on. When the perception is, “fuck she’s a typical, crazy woman.” No no, she’s trying really hard not to be. Because she knows that the people around her don’t deserve it, and even more importantly, she doesn’t deserve it. She deserves patience, understanding and support. So be less shit, 2016. You’re better than this.
Invisible Squared 