I assumed that everyone knows what anxiety tastes like, but my friend Oklahoma Amy (as opposed to Wisconsin Amy) asked me what it meant when I said I tasted anxiety.
It's metallic. It's on the back of my tongue. It includes a cold-tingling sensation that runs down my neck and shoulders. The cold washes over me while I perspire lightly. And, most of all, I can't swallow the taste.
Were you ever young and dumb like I was and you were dared to lick a 9 volt battery connectors? Or maybe you're still dumb and check the smoke detector batteries still. It's like that. In fact, it's a lot like that, down to the tingle.
And that is me when in the middle of an anxiety attack. Now, I can push through (at least usually) when I have to get through it. I have coping techniques. I can usually stay in the moment. It may not leave for a few hours (seriously), but I can cope through it. Maybe I'm not the most successful in the world at what I'm doing at the time (I once spent three hours working a jigsaw puzzle to get through one), but I can survive.
That's it. Survival.
I'd like to do more than just survive, but that's a project for another day.
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