The build-up to an anxiety attack is like walking barefoot on pebbles towards a calm sea. The picture is serene but those pebbles press into your feet. Waves begin to form but you keep on walking until you stand at water’s edge. All of a sudden, you’re consumed by a tidal wave.

Anxiety causes fear to spread and situations seem daunting. When dating someone with anxiety, one should realize that sometimes he or she has the tendency to turn meaningless actions into monumental disasters.

The best way to describe how an anxious mind works is to tell you a true story. Though this happened in the past, I’m writing a first person narrative in present tense.

One sunny morning quickly turns chilly when no whisper of “good morning” falls from my boyfriend’s lips. All his attention is on the soulless device I want to smack out of his hands. There seems to be something on his mind and bothering him, but we both pridefully ignore it.

My head rests on his shoulder; there is no pulling me in closer, no arm raising up to allow access to his chest.

“What are you doing?” My brown eyes glance quizzically at the cold device he holds.

“Waiting for you to get up.” His answer is as unemotional as the small box that captures his attention.

I attempt to playfully bring the covers up and over my head. They are tugged away and that chill sweeps back into the room.

“What is wrong with you?” I whisper.

“You took the covers off of me.” His eyes never stray from the words enticing him away from me.

“Fine, whatever.” I stroll out of the bedroom and down the hall into the living room. Pondering on the thought of making breakfast has me deciding against the idea because frustration exhausts me into doing nothing.

Finding solace in the scratchiness of the sofa, I mentally beg him to come out and clue me into what was wrong. Tears leak from my eyes and I angrily brush them away. I began to envision a breakup upon confrontation.

Why can I not get up and go ask him?

I am too scared. I don’t want to be hurt. I don’t want a repeat of our breakup.

I just wish my body would get off this sofa and confront him.

But, he should come out here. He should talk to me.

I’ll make breakfast to take my mind away from things.

Gathering myself off the sofa allows my thoughts to sway away from frustration for a moment. Once in the kitchen, I discover that I’m too distraught to make him breakfast. Opening the cupboard above the microwave, I pull down a coffee mug from the second shelf. As my water heats up in the microwave, I turn on a breakup playlist to further enhance my mood and feelings of frustrations. The corner where the sink top connects a counter holds my droopy body from sinking to the floor.

Ding.

My mind registers that sweet salvation is almost in hand. A good cup of tea tends to relax my soul—perhaps the warmth will ebb away the chill of my spine. My tea bag slowly seeping into the water brings a calm over me.

Maybe, I should just go and see if he is mad…

“They say that time's supposed to heal ya, but I ain’t done much healing.”

Adele, you sing it.

Oh, he is mad at me, there is no doubt. Why can’t he just man up and talk with me about it? Why can he not just tell me he is mad? This is dumb.

My hand dips the tea bag up and down…swirling my emotions around in a black mug. My eyes glide outside and a memory forces itself to the front of my brewing storm. Sunshine mocks me. I glimpse out through the kitchen window onto the deck chair where he had slumped after our break up. We broke up because of this very thing, lack of communication. Great. That is where we are headed again.

My body monotonously opens the fridge to pour milk into my tea, puts the milk back, closes the door and leaves mug on counter.

Silent tears fall down my face.

The jerk!

“If I were a boy, I think I could understand, how it feels to love a girl, I swear I’d be a better man.”

Grabbing my mug off the counter, phone off the microwave, the lyric threatens to add streaks to an already tear stained face. Slowly opening the kitchen door and stepping on the deck, I reminisce on the previous day when everything had been fine.

What did I do wrong? What did I say to cause him to be angry with me?

Sitting on the chair I lay my phone on the glass table. I rest the mug on my knee and stare out into the trees. Tears spill over as more lyrics remind me of why we would not work out.

Time becomes irrelevant and turns into several hours.

Sipping my cold tea calms me and adds to the coldness my body has felt since 9 a.m.

The kitchen window is open and I hear him inside messing around. The pans clatter as they’re washed and set on the stove. We will be having eggs because I hear a crack, a fork scraping against a glass bowl, followed by a sizzle.

If he is making breakfast and thinks I will just let this go, he has another thing coming to him. We can’t not talk about our feelings; this is where it all went wrong before.

I hear the screen door open and I hide my face halfway in my shoulder. He kisses my neck, placing a glass of orange juice, a plate of scrambled eggs, an English muffin, sausage and fresh cut strawberries in front of me.

“Good morning,” he whispers as his beard tickles my neck.

He is seriously not going to mention anything, just play it off as if he was not angry. I’ll show him.

“I’m not hungry.”

His hazel eyes search into my soul for something but nothing is found. He walks over to the deck railing and stares at the house next door. He goes inside.

Good, leave me out here alone.

He brings his plate and glass outside to sit beside me.

“I thought you weren’t hungry,” he accuses as a fork of eggs enter my mouth.

“Well, I…uh.”

He watches me with a blank stare.

We eat the rest of our breakfast in silence. He returns inside once he finishes eating. I hear the water in the sink as he washes away leftover crumbs. The dishwasher opens and closes, then there is silence. I finish my food and sip my tea.

Why can’t I just confront him? Why, why am I so scared? I should not care what he thinks…but I do.

My body coils in on itself as my hands become clammy. Frustration breeds the tears flowing freely down my face because of anger to myself. I just wish to speak my fears to him but I can’t even thank him for breakfast.

Several hours pass while I contemplate our relationship and my fears.

Now inside, I’m sitting on the living room sofa as his slim build occupies the chair beside me. My computer is in my lap as the keyboard taps out my anger. He won’t look at me and I won’t acknowledge him. My body is rigidly straight against the sofa cushions as he sits in that stupid chair and gazes at his laptop. The room feels as if one word will break the rubber band that has been created taut between us. The whole afternoon played out with us ignoring the other as we occupy the same room.

The afternoon turns into mid evening.

Boyfriend is in the middle of the room fiddling with the ceiling light. He makes eye contact and asks if everything is all right with me.

“Yeah, I’m fine.” My smile falters at the end. “I mean, no, I’m not. But I am. I don’t know.”

He gives me a “what the hell” look and moves to sit back down. My body is stretched out along the sofa and I look up at him.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Sure.”

“Uh….” My mouth is unwilling to cooperate with my mind. My heart starts to flutter out a panic to the rest of my body. My insides begin to churn in on myself. I don’t know how to ask him if he is mad.

“Uh…uh…uh.” I can do this. He won’t be mad with my asking. I need to ask. I can’t keep this inside. Come on mouth. Use words. Just talk.

“Wereyoumadatme?”

“When?” he questions.

“This morning when we were in bed.”

“Uh, no.”

“Oh. So, you weren’t mad at me?”

“No, I was not. I knew you were acting weird but didn’t know why.”

“Huh…I uh…oh.” Nervous giggles release a day’s tension from my body.

I had created my boyfriend’s anger out of his attention on something other than me. My feet were stumbling on pebbles and the wave came out of nowhere, sweeping me into its cold embrace.

My boyfriend is teaching me that confrontations are better than anxious imagination. We are both learning and growing from my anxiety.

Dealing with anxiety is a step-by-step process and for some, those steps are going to be small. Having a partner who understands patience is a lot of help in taking those steps.