December 12, 2015

For the first time in what feels like forever, my ears have opened.

I can hear a noise other than the voices inside my head.

Suddenly, the whirring of cynical whispers

that had become like white noise to me

just ceased, leaving a sense of calm in its vacancy.

In the wake of my sensory rebirth, I heard birds chirping cheerfully as the world offered a satisfying yawn, preparing itself for a new day.

But it was only temporary.

Because then, I heard my own footsteps.

They were menacingly echoing, following me.

They grew faster and faster, louder, and louder still.

And I couldn’t run fast enough.

These were the words I composed as I walked home from a friend’s dormitory at 5:23 a.m. This was how I felt every day as I walked on campus alone. Even the people rushing from place to place all around me couldn’t alleviate the extreme isolation I felt. John Donne said that no man is an island, but I had to disagree. I was an island of my own circumstance -- glacial, resigned and ceaselessly perturbed.

My first semester of college was undoubtedly the hardest time in my life. I felt as if I was sleep-walking through my days, just trying to cope with my relentless anxiety. The truth was, I was mentally ill. There’s no other way to say it, and I’m not ashamed of that. It was determined that I struggled with severe anxiety and lower levels of depression. Moderate social anxiety was something I had always dealt with, but with this escalated diagnosis, I felt like a monster of my own creation. Why couldn’t I make friends as easily as my peers? Why couldn’t I take a joke lightheartedly? Why did I look over my shoulder in broad daylight, fearing that someone was chasing after me? Why couldn’t anyone understand the way I felt, and why was this happening to me?

The lenses of my rose-colored glasses were shattered shortly after I arrived at Mizzou. I would not make plenty of friends, thrive in my classes, and be noticed for my writing talent and creativity right off the bat. I would not fall in love with Mizzou at first sight, or miss school when I was home for break. The reality of my college experience was such a complete contrast from my expectations.

As the weeks passed, I sat alone at the bustling dining halls, nauseated by the energy of the surrounding population. To get out of bed some days was a challenge in itself -- not because I was hungover, or exhausted from staying up late with friends the night before, but because I was terrified. For days on end I lay awake trying and failing to soothe my worried mind. What people didn't understand was that I wasn't antisocial or pessimistic. I actually couldn't control my thoughts and actions some of the time. My anxiety planted its roots in my mind and no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't seem to stop its progress on my own.

I worried about virtually everything, checked and rechecked that doors were shut, unlocked and relocked my cellphone just in case someone needed me, and counted my shaky steps as I walked to a class I feared I would fail. I didn’t know when the next panic attack would come, and I trudged through my days with a heavy heart and an overly acute sense of dread.

Even though the attacks happened mostly in private, there were several times when I had to rush out of class, a party, or some other setting, because I felt one coming on. I would feel the muscles in my legs go stiff, the temperature of my body rise, and my hands percolate with sweat. My pounding heart rattled my rib cage, and my breaths grew rapid and short. Relying on the coolness of ice on my wrists and the occasional friend to come calm me down, I would finally, after what felt like hours, feel myself release all tension. The attacks happened at least once a day, but usually two or three times. My trigger points were everything from getting lost on the way to class, to not liking the way my hair looked, to spilling my coffee. I felt like my anxiety was tattooed on my forehead for the world to see, so I holed up in the narrow cavern of my comfort zone, and didn’t come out until I had no other choice.

It was November when I reached my breaking point. Three panic attacks in an hour, a bad reaction to my first attempt at adjusting to an antidepressant, and several days of missing class due to my condition forced me to travel home to try to center myself again. My decision to take time off school for several weeks was extremely important to my mental health, and looking back, I realize those critical steps were my turning point. I got help from professionals and took time to work through my thoughts and feelings, and soon enough, I was healing.

After a few weeks, I felt myself relax more and more, and my friends and family could see the changes too. I could sleep more than a few hours a night, and shower with my eyes closed, not fearing that someone would violently rip the curtain aside. I could socialize with others once in a while and not feel like they were judging me with a critical eye. I wasn’t becoming some medically altered, synthetically happy version of myself. I was growing stronger, becoming my true, organic self again. Between the medicine and the therapy, both of which I still continue, and will probably continue for the rest of my life, I conquered my anxiety. I beat that disease into the ground, and I swear I will never let its constricting tendrils strangle my spirit again.

Before I started making changes in my life, I was pretty sure I would have to drop out of school. If I couldn’t complete simple daily tasks without breaking down, how could I tackle the challenging coursework and personal development that college demands? I planned on either transferring or dropping out, convinced that Mizzou wasn’t for me. After a trip to Colorado and a few uplifting experiences during my second semester, I started to see that I was exactly where I was supposed to be. The past eight months broke me down to the core of my being and gave me the opportunity to discover myself, flaws and all, and rebuild myself from the ground up.

I chose to stay at Mizzou and redefine myself now that I was able to see the light at the end of the tunnel. I knew that overcoming these challenges and rising above my circumstances would make me stronger, wiser, and overall more resilient. Some days, I still struggle, but I know that years from now, I’ll look back and be extremely proud of how far I’ve come. I will be indestructible, and I’ll have myself to thank for that, as well as a few close friends and family members who helped me along the way.

Anxiety is an invisible illness, but it affects the majority of people to some degree. I didn’t realize this until after I allowed myself to open up to my peers. By nature, I’m an open book, and it felt so good not to hide anymore. By letting people know what I was dealing with, they could forgive me for being so distant and hostile at times, and help me through the bad days. They understood that my situation wasn’t what I asked for or expected -- it was just a challenge that I had to face, and that didn’t make me any less lovable.

Today, I am a thousand times happier than I thought possible several months ago, though my battle with anxiety still continues. I hold leadership positions in several of my organizations, as well as balance schoolwork with several jobs. I have made some pretty incredible friends at Mizzou, and I look forward to the many memories to come in my remaining three years. I’m honestly shocked that I’m still at this school, but I couldn’t be more proud of how far I’ve come. I now allow myself to indulge in what I love -- writing, photography, exercising, and spending time in nature. I have a variety of coping mechanisms I can turn to when things get a little rocky, and I have full confidence that I can handle any challenge that comes my way. I am stronger than I’ve ever been, and it shows.

To all those struggling with anxiety, please recognize that you are not alone. If I can push past it, so can you. Remember how important it is to practice self-forgiveness. Your reactions are not always under your control, and it’s crucial that you are gentle with yourself when you slip up. You’re doing the best you can. Take comfort in the fact that nothing lasts forever, not even anxiety, and there are plenty of ways you can rise above it.

Don’t be afraid to seek out counseling from a professional; I promise it will change your life for the better. Reach out to those who care about you; you might be surprised at how much it helps. Most of all, please understand that you are stronger than you’ll ever know. Your anxiety doesn’t mean you’re weak or overly emotional, and it certainly doesn’t define you. So take a deep breath, and keep moving. The battle won’t always be uphill.