^{“I got all these thoughts, running through my mind, All the damn time and I can’t seem to shut it off”
– Julia Michaels}

On the road to recovery sometimes you feel like wallowing in despair, sadness and sheer exhaustion – This is a brief moment of that. Before we get back up, dust ourselves off, and keep on moving forward…

There’s a constant I’ve had in my life, for more than twenty years now.

A companion who hasn’t left my side,

There from the moment I open my eyes,

Until I drift back off that night.

Who is certainly protective of me;

Thinking of little else other than my safety and my wellbeing.

But our relationship is one that has become toxic.

He’s overprotective. Oppressing. Omnipresent.

Someone whose presence darkens my day,

As I struggle to break free of his claws.

We call him ‘Anxiety’,

I call him my darkest companion –

He calls me every day.          

*                                       

To some, anxiety has become passé,

It’s old hat.

Something that in the past decade we have been hearing so much about,

That it’s become monotonous.

We’ve become numb to the awareness campaigns,

The stats and studies.

It’s a ‘boring’ topic.

I agree.

I’m bored of my anxiety,

But it’s not bored of me.

But it’s there, every day,

Making my day that little bit worse.

I feel it in my rapid heartbeat. In the beads of sweat running down my back.

In my mind, buzzing, like a swarm of bees.

In the knot in my stomach, like being slowly clamped by a vice.

What was meant to be a passing feeling,

A life-saving chemical,

A rise then fall,

Has become my regular, every day, ever-present state.

Something I have – on one hand – become so accustomed to,

A feeling so constant, that it’s become my baseline.

A normalised state of being I’m generally able to function in.

And yet its sudden rearing continues to take the wind out of me at any moment, with just a single blow.

Menial, whilst wielding such power over me.  

*

I’m not sure when exactly the switch happened,

I was a shy, yet carefree child,

Always somewhat reserved,

Who began to live with the weight of the world on his shoulders.

Then at some point, the weight reached a tipping point, and pushed me inside of myself –

Into my own head,

And I never came back out.

*

I can count back and work out the certain moments or periods of my life that may have made me more prone to having anxiety in my adult life,

Things that make me react this way to certain stimuli.

A shy child can oftentimes breed a more reserved adult,

And past ‘traumas’ can rear their heads in the present day in a range of ways –

But what seems abnormal, however, is that it’s gotten to this degree.

That whilst making my way through the world, the same world as everyone else,

I’m left gasping for air,

While others can continue on, unphased by the things that weigh heavily – crushingly –  on me.

*

After all this time with my companion, I have learned myself well,

I know exactly what’s to come, and when it will come,

Yet I can’t avoid it.

I know if something’s looming; whether it’s an event, a meeting, or an appointment,

That my mind and my heart will begin to take notice 24-48 hours beforehand.

The anticipation, marred by a panic and fear.

Any joy that could be found in the lead-up,

Is instead plagued with feelings of dread.

Of planning and replaying the worst case scenario in my head,

Living out how things can go wrong,

And believing whole-heartedly that they will.

The process becomes so spoiled by this unending feeling,

Stretched out over such an extended period of time,

That by the time the day, the event, the conversation actually happens,

I’m left in a heap, flattened by sheer exhaustion.

Then the process of decompressing and rebuilding my stamina begins,

Before we go back round again.

*

The generalised day-to-day anxiety I don’t mind too much,

That, I’ve learned to deal with.

The predictability of the racing heart, the sweating, the catastrophising is (more often than not) just another part of my day.

A part of my routine that sits alongside exercise and skincare.

It can be hard, undoubtedly, living with this burden,

Believing that things will blow up in my face,

And that the worst can and will happen.

It’s become the barrier my mind puts up for me that I have to kick over every day to live a normal life,

Or a fog that may blanket me a little too heavily one day.

But the real illness,

The thing that lives somewhere deep, deep inside of me,

And the part I long to rid myself of.

Is the innate fear and distrust I have of other people.

A trust I want to have,

But one that anxiety has stripped me of.

*

As someone who is constantly doubting his ability to be liked and loved,

Who is frequently doubting peoples intentions,

Who reads deeply and, often, incorrectly into things,

My anxiety seeks to prove these doubts right every day.

My ability to think logically is there, yet my anxious mind takes the reins,

And believes that those who mean the most to me will inevitably abandon me for good,

And the things I hold dear will be taken from me.

Leaving me alone, unloved, and with nothing.

No matter if it’s friends I’ve had for years,

Or family who have been there since the start,

A job,

Even my partner –

My anxiety tells me that I am one moment from losing it all.

Whether it’s saying the wrong thing,

Not making it to an event,

Not being ‘good-looking’ enough,

Interesting enough, successful enough,

Being a burden,

Or simply because it was never real to begin with.

In my mind; it’s all set to go up in flames.

And while my logical side can tell me it’s not true, over and over,

With evidence aplenty –

My anxiety is winning, time and time again.

*

Anxiety makes me someone I don’t want to be.

Or at least makes me alter my life, to live a life I don’t want to be living.

Taking a social being, with a zest for sharing love, passions and excitement;

And convincing him to strip himself of these things.

Making him overthink every part of who he is, what he is doing, and what he’s done.

Making enjoyable moments laborious,

And paralysing the most simple of things with indecision and fear.

With a mind constantly reliving the worst parts of the past,

Concocting worse-case-scenarios for the future,

And missing out on what’s happening in the here and now.

It’s seeped so far inside of me that it’s warped my foundations,

Making them so unstable, and so shaky, that I’ve lost my self-belief,

My self-confidence,

And my willingness to take a leap.

Taking all that I want, and all that I have wanted to do, and making it seem impossible;

Or at least ten-times harder to achieve.

Whether it’s opting out of social interactions,

Or doubting something as simple as reaching out to someone via text.

I’ve been manipulated by my mind into believing that I’m not worthy of the time of others.

Not worthy of their love, their engagement, or a place of my own in their life.

It leaves me fearing that to survive, I need to become someone I don’t want to be:

Armoured.

Someone who believes that to survive, he needs to become cold, uncaring, or uninterested.

Someone who shuts himself off, keeping his distance, and chooses a life of aloneness as a choice.

Believing this will make him immune to pain.

When in reality, my passion and drive to live a life that is completely the opposite circles back unto me.

That it’s because I care so deeply about these things,

These relationships and these many forms of love and joy,

And hold them as some of the most important components of what makes me who I am,

That my mind knows to use these things against me.

An enduring, endless source of kryptonite.

*

Anxiety makes me a narcissist;

Believing that everyone’s thoughts and wishes are directed at me,

At all times,

And that they are all resoundingly negative.

Whether I’m there with them,

And especially when I’m not.

It can take a trigger,

A build-up of things,

Or nothing at all,

But once it does I can feel myself clam up,

My body trying to seal itself off – its defensive armour on.

And then the floodgates open, and everyone is tarred with the same brush.

Everyone is a risk.

*

Some days, to try doesn’t even seem worth the effort.

When the act of leaving the house comes with such fear and paranoia,

It’s so much easier to just…not.

When entering the outside world comes with the overthinking of such minute details;

Whether it’s a wave hello to a neighbour,

Or a passing interaction with a stranger.

If I’ll remember my order,

Have my card declined at a café,

Or the fear of whether this will be the day that my car finally kills me,

It often seems easier or safer to stay inside for a few extra minutes,

Or just not leave the house at all.

When I do, my first instinct – with fight and flight as my ever-present companion – is to feel that I need to be on-guard to protect myself during any interaction.

That those I’ll encounter in my day-to-day are a very real source of danger,

Who are just waiting to bring me down.

Whether it’s a physical danger, or someone who knows just to say the exact wrong thing to say to hurt me emotionally.

My mind has convinced me that when I see someone coming towards me in the street, danger approaches,

And so, my mind begins its story-telling, trying desperately to convince me of the threat that is to come.

So my guard goes up, and I endeavour not to meet their eye –

Lest I provoke a response.

Don’t speak,

Left foot.

Don’t look,

Right foot.

Don’t exist.

Left.

My head goes down,

Right.

My shoulders hunch,

Left.

I’m prepared,

Right.

As we approach one another,

Left.

Our steps bring us closer,

Right.

The tension in my back and neck builds,

Left.

My fists and my toes curl,

Right.

I’m primed,

Left.

I’m poised,

Right.

Ready.

Left.

And then…

They pass.

As they inevitably always do.

Another innocent passer-by,

Going about their own day,

In their own world,

Paying no mind to me.

Completely unaware of my existence,

Or the story I’ve written in my mind.

Someone I truly viewed as a threat –

They walk on by.

And so I relax, I exhale, I look back up,

And I lock eyes on the next person coming my way –

And the cycle begins again.

*

What hurts the most in all of this,

More than the aching shoulders and neck,

More than the exhaustion,

And more than the burden of the constant state of fear,

Is that I know (and advocate for the fact) that there is help out there.

People with degrees, with lived experiences, with skills and with open ears and open hearts who are there ready and willing to help,

Who want to discuss this illness with me.

Who are ready to work through it alongside me.

Who want to see me develop ways to manage it and live a more normal life alongside of it,

Who have the ability to help me leave a lot of this baggage behind,

And send me out into the world a more positive, resilient version of myself.

But all I have left inside of me at this point is an exhausted resignation that to help myself seems that bit too much.

Too much to ask of myself,

Too much pressure,

Too much dredging up of the past,

Too many mountains whose peaks I need to reach before this thing can even hope to begin being managed.

That to get over the hill means to bare my soul to strangers,

To trust – after years of my mind telling me that keeping my distance means keeping my peace.

That for the process to even start, I need to be calling, making appointments, and travelling –

All of which that are things that set me off in the first place.

A process that feels designed to target each of my vulnerabilities and trigger-points.

So that even when I put my foot down,

And say ‘enough is enough’.

The GP I visit is dismissive of me,

Or there isn’t a psychologist who is near me,

Or available,

Or who’s a good fit.

And so, I throw my hands up.

Thinking that maybe this is just where I’m meant to be.

That maybe this is my destiny.

That a life of my own internal hurt that doesn’t bother others is preferable to a life of potentially hurting them,

No matter the toll it takes on me.

That my own self-care may be an indulgence,

That to suffer in silence seems the dignified thing to do,

Especially when, by comparison, I have it easy compared to so many others.

And so,

Around and around the cycle goes again.

With me its only victim.

*

In the battle between this invisible force, my head, and my heart –

It’s clear that my biggest enemy is me,

Or at least that my enemy resides deep within me.

It’s not impossible for me to lead the life I want to,

It’s just a whole lot harder, and a whole lot more work to take each step toward my goals and my dreams.

I’m the one who can help myself,

Yet I’m the one stopping myself.

I am battling a cunning villain;

One that doesn’t particularly like me,

But one who knows me inside and out.

And who uses my deepest fears against me, to keep me down.

My anxiety wants me to have a smaller, lesser life.

Though as draining as the process of living like this can be,

And as infinitely worse as it looks when taken from the inside of my head, and written down on paper –

Something I am grateful for,

Is that anxiety hasn’t taken away my ability to be there when I’m most needed.

That when push comes to shove,

I’m able to be there for the most important moments.

No matter how stripping the lead-up is,

I’m still able to show up.

Yes, there will be days of nausea and fear in the lead up,

There will be a lack of sleep,

The car trip will be a mix of a racing heartrate and a swirling stomach –

But I’ll be there.

There for the birthdays, the weddings, the speeches.

Exhausted. Scared. But there.

In one aspect, I feel gratitude that my anxiety hasn’t become so debilitating for me that my only option is to withdraw.

But then,

Because I am there,

Because I show up,

On the surface I seem OK,

I can hide the churning waves beneath well.

But because from the outside it appears that I have a relatively normal looking life,

I can be hard to convey the severity of the anxiety inside of me,

To open up,

And be honest in how I am feeling at that point,

And how it affects me to those around me.

I think so deeply and so deliberately about what I say, how I act, and how much of my true self to show,

So as not to make my burden anyone else’s burden,

That the charade is zapping up what precious energy I have left.

It’s when I’m around people who know me best,

Who I trust implicitly,

Where I can let the ugliness be on show,

Where I can ever be the truest version of me.

And even then – I’m thinking this might be the last time this kindness is afforded to me,

To be wary of showing too much,

And to pull myself back in, and not bring others down with the negativity of my truth.

*

But it isn’t all helpless darkness.

Life hasn’t consumed me entirely.

Because even from inside of the fog that can often seem all-consuming,

What I have managed to hold onto all this time,

And what I would be a mere shell without –

Is hope.

The hope that things can, and will, be OK.

Someday.

That things will get better.

Someday.

That help exists,

That there is a way out.

That there is a light.

*

I know that I am just another one of the millions going through a version of this anxiety,

And one of the millions that can and will find help.

And that’s because of hope.

And the resilience that hope can give.

Hope is the reason I can carry on.

Knowing that even the darkest of nights will be met with the light of a dawn eventually,

And that in the depths of it all, when that light comes, a helping hand will emerge,

In whatever form that may take.

There’s a reason I can put my faith in conversations, in growth, and in friendship,

And in the lone crystal hanging around my neck.

It’s because of this hope, that I know this isn’t the only path for me,

That I know that this is an illness, and for all illnesses exists a cure.

Or at least a remedy.

Whether we have it yet, or not.

It exists,

And it’s waiting to be found.

I know the light, and I know it’s out there.

It’s why when the darker moments are their darkest,

There is always a way to put one foot in front of the other,

And why those bright days that come along every once in a while, have the power to bleach those darker days from our minds – even if just for a moment.

And it will be on one of those brighter days,

When we are able to ask for the help we need,

That will be that one day that it will all start,

As the process to change kicks off,

And we begin to heal from within.

And one day, maybe one day,

This piece – this way of thinking and of living – will seem so foreign to me.

And it will be just a memory,

A part of my past,

A moment in time that I have left behind.

I know it exists.

I know it’s there.

It’s just out of reach…for now.

_{“Think I forgot, how to be happy. Something I’m not, but something I can be. Something I wait for.”
– Billie Eilish}