I suffer from anxiety, depression, and sometimes it seems every mental disorder ever been discovered. Sometimes I think I have mental disorders that have yet to be diagnosed on anyone in the history of the world. Sometimes it feels like I’m going crazy. Sometimes it feels like I’m going to die if this feeling doesn’t go away. Sometimes I don’t think the feeling will every go away. What if I end up killing myself? What if I end up alone? Then, I would have to kill myself.
I’ve never self-harmed myself. I’ve never actually tried to commit suicide. I’ve thought about it though, and unbeknownst to many, I think that hurts just as bad. The fear that you might one day do it.
I’m terrified that my mom will die. She’s my rock. She keeps me sane when I don’t feel so sane, myself. What if she died? It’s this thought that keeps me up at night, panting, sweating, with a squirmy feeling in my gut and chest that prevents sleep from ever taking hold. I have to get up, walk around, shake it off… but sometimes, that doesn’t help. Sometimes it just makes it worse.
I can’t do the things I used to love to do. I can’t get on a plane and be okay just sitting there for however many hours. I panic, and I throw up, and people stare and judge me. I can’t easily get in a car with my friend and go on a roadtrip because I hate the thought of being away from home, away from my mom.
The worst part is the fear. Always scared. What if? What if? What if? The thoughts haunt me in my waking hours, and my sleepless nights. What if I can’t get a job because I’m this way? What if I lose all my friends? What if I’m stuck in my parent’s house for the rest of my life? Maybe that wouldn’t be such a bad thing. I could live with mom, my rock, forever. But then she’ll die, and then what would I do? I’d probably kill myself.
And so the thoughts continue on until they’ve paralyzed me, thrown me into a panic, and I can’t breath.
Once, I was scared that I might have been raped as a child but I just couldn’t remember it. Maybe I had been molested and now I’m permanently afraid of everything, and if I could just remember, maybe it would help. I couldn’t recall any such memory, but the thought of it made me shiver. I couldn’t feel comfortable around my dad anymore, and he is my best friend. I wanted to scream. I spent nights trying to remember some traumatic experience in my childhood. I cried and cried, and missed my dad. Luckily, that fear finally dissipated, but of course, replaced with a new fear to debilitate me once again.
It got better. I went to school an hour away from home, and that was hard. But I made it through. I hardly had any bouts of anxiety there. I made tons of friends, kissed guys, went to parties, and lived like the girl I knew I was. Then I went home for the summer, and it came back.
Depressed all the time. Anxiety eating away at me. I was nothing. I couldn’t eat. But it got better, just like it always did.
It will always get better. I have had anxiety/depression for over three years now, and it always ends up going away. And just like it promises this, it also always comes back. But I deal with it, with the help of my mom, and my boyfriend. I’ve learned to rely on myself to some degree. Through my anxiety, I have grown stronger.
Like I said in my Hero post, the feats we accomplish in our own life, make us heroes. Societies standards have nothing to do with who we are, or what we overcome, or what makes us heroes. It depends on solely ourselves. What takes courage is what, to us, takes courage.
Overcoming my anxiety when it rears its ugly head is a trial, and an obstacle in my life, but each time I jump the hurdle, I grow stronger. Slowly, I’ve been able to piece myself back together. Anxiety is a part of who I am, but it is not who I am. I will not let it eat away from me, because it does not own me; it is merely a part of me. It does not hold the Governor position over my mind and body. My courage does. And when my anxiety begins to recruit all the bad things and fears to start a rebellion against me, I fortify my strongholds and train my armies and sharpen my swords. Each war may leave broken, but not enough to prevent me from picking myself back up again. Because when Anxiety was busy fervently trying to breach my walls, I was picking up new recruits for the next attack. I have many powerful allies. Love. Hope. Family. Friends. Joy. Blessings. All the things that are good in my life.
If any of you want to talk, or ask questions or share your stories please do so below. Being able to lean on each other helps immensely. And we are all in this together. At least, that’s what Troy Bolton says. (:
sincerelystephanie.org 