I’m afraid of a lot of things. Most of the things I’m afraid of are discernible and mostly legitimate. Spiders, drowning, heights, getting hit by a car — all of these things I would never be reluctant to admit. These kinds of fears are simple, straightforward, and avoidable. I never j-walk. I avoid skyscrapers. I stay away from deep, dark water. I see a spider, I smash it. It’s easy to run away from something that you can see. But what happens when what you fear is less tangible? How do you run from something that lives in your mind?
Enter: anxiety.
Here it is. This is my confession. I’ve been struggling with panic attacks and anxiety for the last few months. It might seem superficial, but I assure you, it is the opposite of that. To anyone who has dealt with similar things, I’d be preaching to the choir if I tried to explain to you what it feels like to be completely overtaken by illogical terror.
It’s like a war with yourself. For me, my mind has been split into two distinctive sides. One side is the logical, level-headed, and collected me. This is the side that is ready and willing to take on the world. It’s the me that’s ambitious, productive, and social. The other side is a variable display of agitation, confusion, and instability. It’s the me that’s afraid to take a step outside my apartment, afraid of everything. It’s the side of me that came bounding out of left-field.
These two side are at war with each other constantly. And lately, the latter side has been winning.
My palms are sweaty. My heart is pounding. My lungs ache for more air than I can possibly breathe in. My head is spinning. I feel like I’m about to vomit as the world in front of me turns completely sideways. The walls close in on me slowly but surely. I try to convince myself to relax and snap out of it. I tell myself that it’s going to pass, and that I’ll be fine soon. But it’s all an act of utter futility. The panic takes over, and I completely fall apart. And each time that happens, my grasp on who I am is weakened.
For the whole of my life, I’ve never had to deal with anything remotely close to this. I’ve always considered myself to be mentally durable and straight-laced. I’ve dealt with my fair share of stress and everyday anxiety, and I’ve always come out on top. To admit to everyone, and to myself, that I’ve submitted and surrendered my mental strength to an anxiety disorder is totally alien to me. Before this, I never would have pictured myself relying on pharmaceuticals to get through every day. And that’s where I am. Each day starts with a 10mg dose of Cipralex, and each day, the shadow of my former self weeps. The anxiety hasn’t left me, but the medication has created a disconnect. I’m aware of it, and I know it’s there, but I’m able to ignore it.
I imagine that this was the feeling Rogers Waters and David Gilmour were talking about. I am the very definition of comfortably numb.
As lousy as this all sounds, I’ve recently discovered a flickering light, hidden amidst all of the black, empty space. It’s weak and it’s wavering, but it’s there. The reason I’m writing this — outing myself to my readers — is because talking about it and sharing what I’m going through is acting as the fuel to my little, unsteady light. The more I share, the healthier I feel, the brighter my light becomes.
I’ve decided that, although this disorder has my life in a choke-hold, I will refuse to tap out. I refuse to let this define me. I refuse to let this interfere with my life any further. I made a plan for myself. I’m paving a road for my life, and I’ll be damned if I’m going to let this pothole put me in the ditch.
The most powerful words that have gotten me through were these: ‘you’re never alone.’ And it’s true. You’re not. I’m not entirely sure how I managed to fall into the mess that I’m in, but I do know for certain that shutting people out won’t help me. Letting in and surrounding myself with the people who care about me and want to see me progress is exactly what I need. To those who’ve already given me their support and love, my gratitude is boundless.
When (not if) I recover completely from this, and I’m able to get back to my way of life, I vow to make every effort to pay my little light forward.
