On the outside, I don't "look" like someone who has anxiety. I'm outgoing and sociable, stubborn, outspoken and many of my friends would describe me as someone who has her life together. So when I tell people that I struggle with generalized anxiety, it's often met with disbelief.
The thing about anxiety, really all mental disorders, is that they don't discriminate. My anxiety doesn't care that I'm an extrovert. It doesn't care that I'm comfortable making phone calls or speaking in front of crowds. It doesn't care that I choose to live a busy life. Anxiety affects roughly 3.3 million Americans, and it affects us all differently.
Sometimes my anxiety is okay. Sometimes it's even a good thing, like when it forces me to finish a project before a deadline for fear of a low grade or ask for help at work because I don't want to do something incorrectly. But a lot of the time it's not. A lot of the time it can be paralyzing. It can make me shut down and avoid my problems because I'm scared of being in negative situations. It can make me stop going out, talking to people, doing anything. It can make me go for days without answering texts, phone calls or emails, because I'm scared that whoever is on the other end is upset. It can make me go from feeling perfectly fine to having full body tremor heat flashes, blurry vision, struggling to breathe - a panic attack, in every sense of the word.
I'm self-aware enough to recognize when my anxiety becomes severe, though I'm not always so good at recognizing why. Or doing anything about it. Sometimes I think that I can deal with it on my own. History has proven that this is not usually a good idea.
My anxiety peaked during my senior year of high school, due to a series of personal struggles, and it resulted in me almost falling apart. My grades, relationships and self-worth suffered. Eventually, due to support from my parents and some particularly amazing teachers, I got the help I needed.
I was hesitant to go to therapy. I believed that I should be strong enough to deal with my problems on my own, and not burden others. With my therapist's help, I realized that it is okay to ask for help. After weeks I realized that just because my anxiety is a struggle doesn't mean that it has to be crippling. My anxiety isn't gone, and some days are better than others, but if I had to get bad before I could push myself to get help, then I am grateful for that. The most important thing is that I have learned that it is okay not to be okay.
