To my anxiety:
You keep me up at night. You have me second-guessing my nearly every move. You make my mind race all the time, and you let my imagination run wild. Sometimes I wonder how I ever lived a day without realizing having a hundred thoughts race through my mind was not normal or typical.
At first, when I heard people off-handedly joke about anxiety or panic attacks when they are not truly experiencing either of those things, it did hurt a little. Until you have experienced a panic attack at the most inopportune time, like an hour before your final exam.
You would never hear a person joke about drowning, yet that is exactly how a panic attack feels which people joke about all the time. Struggling to breath, gasping for air, trying to feel normal again - all trademarks of a panic attack.
Yet people joke about you all the time, and I pretend to be okay with it. Then I go home, and I wonder if they realize I struggle with anxiety. I struggle with racing thoughts, being too worked up to eat or enjoy a meal, too anxious to do anything but sleep all day, or being so anxious that I avoid talking to people or going outside.
Sometimes I look at my family members, the ones I am not super close to, and ponder if they have ever been plagued by the same affliction.
Do they also stay up all night some nights and ruminate on everything that went wrong that day? Do they experience the same numbing panic attacks? Do they too worry about appearing weak when asking for help and understanding from friends and family?
I worry. All the time, all day and all night. I worry about being late or being too early. I worry that all of this worrying is getting in the way of my ability to do everyday things. I worry that I’m not worrying enough.
Over the past few years, I have found more ways to cope with you. Listening to classical music while I’m working has proved very helpful for keeping the worrying thoughts at bay, in fact I am listening to it as I compose this very article.
Taking a good long shower is another great way to relax. A weird coping mechanism has been lifting weights. Something about a good routine is a great way to keep my mental health in check. If all else fails, there is also useful medication to try, and there is no shame in that.
To my anxiety, I want you to know that I am not afraid of you anymore. I am not my disorder. I am not the racing thoughts or the panic attacks. I am so much more.
If any of my readers find memories of your own struggles with your mental health in this letter, I hope you know that you are not alone. You are strong, and you will get through this. I also encourage you to talk to your doctor to help you in your journey.
