My blood rushes. My head spins. My heart drops then beats fast as it tries to revive. A million thoughts/worries rush through my head. I never thought anxiety could ever apply to me until university, where experience (as opposed to textbooks) became the learning tool.

I thought whatever feelings I had were nothing, that they were something maybe but only momentarily. They were things I couldn't pinpoint exactly, as if typing them out or trying to talk to a psychologist suddenly made them quiet. It sucked because I knew there was something not quite right, but I had difficulty talking it out. I invalidated them with the thought that maybe they weren't anything at all, that I can solve them just by ignoring them. I only learned the definition of anxiety, and this was enough for me to tell myself that I wasn't having anxiety. There did, however, come to a point when I started to worry that maybe I was wrong. It wasn't apriori knowledge; but even if the psychological definition or some stories didn't apply to my case, this was something I had to accept.

The thoughts inhibited me from doing a lot of things. They're trying to stop me from telling my story right now, actually! They're telling me that I'll be judged, that I'm just overreacting, that these feelings really aren't anything. I'm just gonna keep typing, though, because mental health is real; and if something doesn't feel right, you talk about it. I can be pretty mean to myself, and I need to not do this, ya feel? I've never been vocal about my mental health, most likely because I only had textbook knowledge about mental health before then. I didn't think these would happen to me; however, reaching university saw me being more aware of myself. You can say that I was surrounded with optimism, but this generalization does not take away the fact that we face negativity. Too many details come into play; but to put it simply: I was not okay.

I consider myself as this bubbly and extroverted person; but of course, life isn't always this way. It's that feeling of being stressed about the stress- that anxiety flooding my mind with so much worry- that drove me crazy. During those times, I can't just say that I should prioritize me over my studies. It's easy for me to advise my friends to take care of themselves, but to be honest, I have a hard time complying with it. The anxiety tells me that if I don't study for all the minutes of the day, I won't do well in my classes. If I sleep, I'm wasting time. If I choose to take a break and breathe, I'm wasting time. That voice accounts for the fact that I have a hard time concentrating, but it twists it in a way that berates me for- you guessed it: wasting time.

Basically, I feel like I'm running out of time when midterms/papers due dates are approaching, then I become mean to myself. In a way, this thing makes it difficult to accept that I am human first. It's actually, sort of present right now, as I'm typing. There is, however, this being in me that's suppressing this voice. It's the one that told me that creativity was my thing. It's reminding me to be kind to myself; of my faith; and to look at the list of quotes I've taped up on the wall. I'm looking at one of the quotes, which reads, "do not be afraid, I am with you." Take it how you'd like; but for me, I see it as God talking to me. It's wild how fast this calmed me down. I'm wrapping myself in a blanket and sweet music, and I'm breathing. (Mom, I'm fine. I swear!)