Staring at the ceiling at 2:30 in the morning with a lump in my throat and a football in my chest, my brain is overcome with thoughts of how unsettled every single thing in my life is at the moment.
What is it about anxiety that makes us so unwilling to tell anyone in our lives that we’re affected by it? Why is it that such a large portion of the population seems to suffer from it but we keep it to ourselves? We all just sort of… suffer in silence.
I have anxiety. It’s bad. It hasn’t been this bad since I was a teenager. Everything is bothering me right now. I don’t have a job, I don’t have a direction, in six days I won’t have a place to live. And, as I struggle to see beyond the large aspects of my life that are crumbling around me, I can’t help but be effected by the small things in life that my brain just won’t let go of. I burnt my breakfast this morning and I cried. I cried and crawled back into my bed for two hours because of it. I just can’t let things go.
I remember this feelings all too well. At sixteen I was a walking head-case and I had no idea what was wrong with me at the time. Everything affected my anxiety. I would go for weeks on end without sleeping and lived in fear that everything and everyone was going to hurt me, disappoint me or forget about me. My heart felt as though it was going to jump out of my chest and I had no idea why.
It’s been over a decade since I’ve felt anxiety to this extent. The difference between then and now is that I know what anxiety is this time around. At least I know what’s wrong. I don’t know how to fix it, but I do know what’s wrong. I’m not sleeping. I’m struggling to eat. I’m struggling to trust anyone. I just want some answers. I want these feelings to go away.
Actually, I want to talk about this. I want to tell people in my life. I want them to know what’s happening inside of my head. I want anxiety to be something that people aren’t afraid to talk about. I wish that people wouldn’t have to suffer in silence anymore. I wish for people to be able to converse about things that aren’t always happy.
Life is messy. Let’s be real about that.