This is something that I've not give much thought about, and I'm not one to self-diagnose, but I have to find out if I have an anxiety disorder. All the symptoms are there: sweating, shortness of breath, headaches, etc. The list goes on. It's hard to concentrate, and I'm sick of excuses for why I'm not writing. It's certainly not lack of love or passion. And I am just a bit too affected on Sundays. The Baltimore Ravens are one of my loves in life, but this football team should in no way affect my attitudes and moods after game day. This, to me, is completely unacceptable.
As of late, I've also developed an unnatural fear of death. I have witnessed this transformation seemingly outside of myself. I've never actually been the "worry wart" type, and I'm far from letting this behavior continue. Depression, Anxiety - these are words that I have always abhorred; figments of the Pharmaceutical Industry's Utopian dream.
Quite a bit of this development is apparent in UNIQUE. From the first chapter, a few things happen to Evander that all could be considered catalyst for his reality-wrenching experiences. I don't know if this was planned as part of the plot or if I was just trying to figure out what was going on with me and my curiosity. Regardless, for the sake of my novel and my lifestyle, and I'm going to at least learn more about anti-anxiety treatment, and go from there.
It's odd, but I honestly fell into this strange relaxed feeling when I discovered this, or self-diagnosed myself. I'll let the professionals do the diagnosing (which I always vowed was a hoax), but I feel a little bit better. Perhaps it's because I have a sense of direction, that for years, my novel did not have.