“Well, you don’t look like you’re in pain or like you’re struggling.”
Surely, you can’t see how my lungs are being pushed from either side like they’re under a hydraulic press. Surely, you can’t see my heart beating out of my chest, trying to escape from the jail cell that is my rib cage, which now feels all too small. Surely, you don’t notice that my hands are trembling so bad that I have to hold them in fists just to make sure no one notices.
But I don’t look like I’m struggling, so I must be fine.
What you don’t see is the confusion and dizziness that comes along during the three-week trial period of anti-depressants, each with the promise to help quell the beast that is anxiety.
What you don’t see is curling up in my bed with the door locked and a pillow shoved to my face so that I can sob without anyone hearing, or the tears that inevitably hit the smooth porcelain along with the water from a shower.
What you don’t see is how I lay in bed with my eyes wide open because I don’t even have the energy to close them. And you certainly don’t see the next morning, when I’m lying there, staring at my ceiling and willing my body to move, but having my limbs refuse, all while my mind is screaming “Get up, there is so much that needs done.”
What you don’t see is how my brain refuses to shut off and jumps from each topic that I worry about like a frog jumps from lily pad to lily pad. “Your grades aren’t good enough. Don’t you want to go to graduate school? Don’t you want to get a good job? Oh, and here’s this embarrassing thing you said, like, two years ago. Oh you think I forgot about that? Ha, good one.” And so the story goes.
To this you’d probably respond, “Well, it’s all in your head. Why don’t you just stop thinking about the things that make you upset and anxious?”
What if I told you that I can’t?
Let me tell you, if I could, I would. My brain is like an impatient child with a marshmallow in front of them; it only sees what it desires, not the big picture. When my brain sees something that might upset me, it grabs it like a claw grabbing a stuffed animal that you just won. Only this time, the prize isn’t so sweet and you didn’t ask for it.
So next time, before you say that I don’t look like I’m struggling, remember that anxiety doesn’t look a certain way, and it doesn’t target one specific group of people. It affects people who seemingly don’t care about anything to people who seem like they have their lives together. Most people are embarrassed to say they have anxiety so they hide it in any way possible. I know that I don’t look like I’m struggling, but I promise you- I am.
And you don’t get to tell me that I’m not.
