I was surprised by how strongly I reacted to it. I've dealt with anxiety on and off for close to two years now, and while I've done plenty of research about how to function with it, I tend to stay away from reading about others' experiences of it. I don't want to know. I don't want to dwell on how debilitating it can be, or how painful. I don't want to be constantly thinking about it, since I'm doing enough of that already.
What I'm realizing this morning is that, yes, I've kept myself from thinking about it even more than I already do. But in doing so, I've deprived myself of a community that may in fact be crucial to recovering, to feeling 'normal' again and not so much like my life is spinning out of control. There's camaraderie, community in sharing these experiences, and there's value in seeing that I'm not alone.
I'm very much the "I can deal with this alone" kind of person. I saw a counselor briefly, but didn't like going. I didn't like feeling like I needed someone else to get better, to be okay. My husband knew, and he encouraged me to seek counseling, and keep going, but when it came down to it, he trusted me to know what was best for myself. When I stopped going, he just hugged me and said that if I changed my mind, he'd support me.
I didn't tell my friends. They'd always told me I "hid it well" when I just had a migraine at work, when I was in excruciating pain, and they said it like they didn't quite believe I was really hurting. How would they respond to finding that I was struggling on an even more abstract level?
I didn't tell my family, not for almost a year. When I finally did tell my brother, he bought me a book about spirituality. When I told my dad, he asked if it was all in my head. There wasn't the empathy I needed, even though I didn't know how to ask for it.
Two weeks ago, I resigned from my job as a teacher. At the end of this school year, I'm moving into IT, which I've written about before here. As a result, I've had dozens of conversations about why I'm leaving, how I made this decision.
I'm not being honest. I'm saying all the things you are supposed to say -- that I needed a change, that I was ready to move on, that I'm going to really miss teaching but that I'm excited to start something new. I've told a grand total of one person the truth: that I have had so much anxiety with this job that sometimes I feel like I'm drowning, and I can't do it anymore.
Thankfully, that person is one of my best friends, and he's been nothing but supportive. I don't know how I would have functioned if, like so many others, he'd said "you hide it well." Instead, he's asked how I am, watched videos I post on facebook about what anxiety is like, made an effort to check in on my mental health. It is the reaction I had dreamed of, that I wouldn't be judged or hated or anything else and instead supported.
But because I have anxiety, I worry that he'll get sick of me, just like I worry that my husband will get sick of me, and so when I found @AnxietyHashtag and #ThisisWhatAnxietyFeelsLike this morning, I had a little bit of a breakdown.
Instead of spamming my Twitter content with tweets, I'm going to put them here. My Twitter, which is actually for Bishop and I's Let's Play channel (not that we do anything productive with that) is supposed to be funny, not sad. not anxious.
If I can, I want to be part of the community suddenly, so bear with my brutal honesty. This is my experience of anxiety, and has been for almost two years.
#ThisisWhatAnxietyFeelsLike
- like I've had too many cups of coffee, jittery inside like I can't possibly sit still
- worrying a thought like a hangnail so it can't possibly go away
- wanting to call, text, facebook, whatever, someone but not doing it for fear of seeming clingy. or crazy.
- This tweet from someone on the feed:
- having to explain my thought process, like why I checked with a friend that it was really them I waved to on the road a year ago, and feeling like that explanation makes me sound insane
- talking too much. All. The. Time.
- physical symptoms: headaches, stomachaches, back pain, shoulder pain
- not explaining things to my friends because I'm afraid they'll judge me
- worrying that they'll think it's nothing. or for attention:
- finally working up the courage to tell someone, then feeling guilty when they said they had no idea and ending up apologizing for not telling them
- feeling guilty anytime I talk about it since I told someone, like they'll get sick of me; feeling guilty because that's all I want to talk about now that I've broken through the initial fear
- wishing that I wasn't such a mess, that I could keep myself together instead of needing other people to help
- worrying that my husband will get sick of dealing with my mental health issues and leave
- telling him this and having him comfort me and promise it'll never happen, which somehow makes it worse
- knowing that I probably need to see a counselor, but being unable to pick up the phone and start that process
- Writing, no matter how small:
- losing hobbies I once loved because I'm scared that I won't like that book when I start it.
- struggling to play video games on bad days because the stress makes me susceptible to severe motion sickness
- correcting this post like six times to make sure it's perfect.
Overall, I'm pretty lucky. Bishop knows by now when I'm having a shitty day, and he'll take care of me -- snuggle me, get me food, make all the decisions, whatever it takes. The one friend I trusted to tell pushes me to talk, won't let me hide and say I'm fine when I am obviously not (and gives me a hug when I start crying, which is usually what I need more than any words).
I have the resources to get counseling if I ever manage to get myself together enough to do it. I've pushed myself hard enough to have a new career waiting just beyond the horizon.
I am doing well. Everything could be so much worse, and I have come out the other side of this knowing I am so much stronger than I thought I could ever be.
I worry that it'll happen again, that my career change won't truly alleviate what I feel now and I'll end up just as unhappy. My friend at work keeps telling me that I have to make choices based on my own happiness, and he's right. But there is safety where I am now. I know how being unhappy here feels, and as sick as it is, I am used to it. Changing my life means opening myself up to something new, something that could be good and could be terrible. I'm willing to make the leap, and I'm ready, and yet that little voice is still lingering in the back of my mind, wondering if this is really the right move.
#ThisisWhatAnxietyFeelsLike
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