*Disclaimer- This article is inundated with “I’s.” Please accept my apologies. However, I thought this struggle is worth sharing because although anxiety is isolating and we try not to “show our crazy.”

It is an issue now more than ever as nearly one in five Americans suffers from the disorder. I was inspired to share my struggle after glancing at a list of idea prompts. Maybe this will be a solitary piece I am writing for my own good, but the more research I do, the more I think this is a serious issue that needs to be addressed and perhaps there is a series to be written in the future. We need to realize we are truly all in this together, there’s strength in numbers and all that jazz.

I wish this title was an exaggeration, a statement typed purely for dramatic effect. Sadly, it’s not. Although in fairness, “everything” might be too broad a term for what makes me fearful, for what causes me to panic. The list is long, and has been a part of my life for as long as I can remember. I have feared things as trivial (though vile and disgusting) as vomiting either by my own gullet or someone in my germ-fearing vicinity, and have also feared things much more common place such as crowds or flying, sometimes I am panicked for no apparent reason at all.

I love to travel, yet am often too fearful to leave home. I love people, but often hyperventilate in social situations. That is the crux of this thing that I fight, day in and day out.

Medication has been suggested to me multiple times. And multiple times I have tried them, navigating my way through the side effects, waiting for them to subside. I am not opposed to the use of medications; unfortunately I’m not really able to tolerate them. Anti-anxiety medications turn me into a zombie, a shell of myself, which is almost as painful as the anxiety.

I wish that I could put a face to my fear, so I would know who to avoid, but it is a faceless, nameless monster that often times imprisons me, sometimes for hours or days. Sometimes weeks or longer. I try to force myself to leave the house, but some days it is taxing work to try to be out in the world and create the illusion that I am functioning like a normal human being. It is exhausting.

Throughout the course of my adult life, my panic and anxiety has led me to depression, to miss out on things, to cancel plans at the last minute and has often caused my relationships to suffer. I don’t talk openly to those who don’t know me well because I don’t want to “show my crazy” and honestly everyone has their own life, their own stress.

I hate this about myself. I hate the fear of losing control. The fear of change. The fear of illness. The fear of coming undone. The fear of death. The fear of so many things. When I was a child, I feared getting lost, being separated from my parents, getting sick, being around someone who was sick, and sometimes even eating in restaurants. I was eight.

Today as an adult, I still fear many things for many reasons. Some days, the majority of days in times of high stress, I am forcing myself to be in the real world and functioning like a real adult who holds intelligent conversations with people, and works toward her Master’s Degree.

What I have hated the most about this “illness” or whatever this “thing” is classified as, according to the DSM, is it has often times stripped away who I really am, or who I want to be. I am a skittish marionette, panic and anxiety manipulating my strings. In my mind, I am not someone gripped by paralytic fear while she sits in a classroom trying to have an educated discussion among her peers. I am not someone who obsesses over every ache and pain just knowing that the grim reaper waits just outside my door. I am not someone who is often too out of sorts to be social, to be out in the world and among the living.

In my mind, I am adventurous. I am easy going. My creativity is unbridled. I am unstoppable. I wish to serve others and make the world a better place. I want to accomplish things. I want to love and be loved, in spite of the dark shadowy figure riding on my shoulders threatening to crumble me at any moment. I want my passion for life to flow freely and my joy to pour itself onto those around me. But I’m stifled by this thing.

What have I learned about panic and anxiety? It is scary. It can be terrifying. It can be a weight so heavy that some days I have thought I couldn’t bear it another second. But anxiety in some ways can be a gift — at least that’s what I tell myself these days. If this is the only affliction I have in this life, I will have been a lucky girl.

Anxiety, this homely, ogre of a thing that follows me constantly has forced me to find my strength. This anxiety has cornered me and inspired me to fight my way out — maybe not out, but through. My anxiety has taunted me as I try to leave the house some days. But I have learned that my ambitions, my drives and desires have the brawn to kick anxiety’s ass — maybe not every day, but some days.

Some days, I Ronda Rousey anxiety until it begs me for mercy, some days I sit quietly and try to hold myself together while anxiety laughs at the puddle I’ve become. But the Ronda Rousey days are becoming more frequent.

One has to wonder why it is that the United States has higher rates of anxiety than other areas of the world where people should be anxious, countries such as Nigeria, Lebanon and Ukraine? Seriously. What happened to the laid back way of life that Norman Rockwell depicted? What happened to human connection? Why are we always rushing?

I don’t know what the answer is, or if there is an answer to why we have become a society of proverbial Nervous Nellie's. What I do know, anxiety has had a profound impact on my life. And if one in five of us is suffering from anxiety, panic attacks and depression, then that means we are all in this together. Let’s learn to embrace what makes us human. Let’s love one another in spite of our “crazy.”