First and foremost: anxiety looks different on everyone.

Mental health is complex and affects everyone who struggles with it differently. People directly unaffected have a hard time understanding that. This causes those on the outside of the condition to develop certain expectations. When those aren't met it can create even more confusion, frustration and misunderstanding; assumptions don't help. Listening and patience do. There are common symptoms for illnesses like anxiety, sure. Those of us living with these disorders, though, respond, feel and experience every part of these symptoms in our own way. Each of us has a story.

My relationship with mental health is lifelong and complicated. There is an obvious stigma that exists in society towards people struggling with these illnesses – which is fascinating since in 2015 at least “40 million adults between the ages of 18 to 54” suffered with anxiety, and that doesn’t include those who were misdiagnosed or undiagnosed. This ridiculous social construct of people who are different from the “norm” (whatever that means, since "normal" is relative) being mistreated or silenced is a big reason why I felt I had to hide who I was from an early age. I perfected a mask and for many, many years I was able to hide my anxiety, and other disorders from everyone around me, including the people I was closest to. The only ones who I ever confided in about my issues were a couple of best friends that could relate to my situation. To everyone else, I may have been odd at times, moody and unpredictable, but no one ever questioned it had anything to do with my mental health. Even when my high school went through an awful year of death and suicides, there was a blanket of silent judgment for anyone who felt they needed to seek out help. My walls could only last so long. Every loss, trauma, and symptom triggered, slowly chipped away for years until one day I had a breakdown at my old job. I don’t like to cry in front of people, and I completely lost it. The breakdown was the result of years of untreated illness and drastic changes happening in my life. Reaching out for help afterwards was the best decision I ever made.

My anxiety and mental health symptoms come in waves. For example, sometimes my anxiety is bad enough to trigger panic attacks and avoidance; other times, even though I'm anxious and internally struggling, I'm seemingly the most outgoing person out there. Part of that is because I do love meeting and engaging with new people, and I hate that anxiety attempts to hold me back. My symptoms only reflect my experience, though, not necessarily someone else's.

One of the reasons why anxiety symptoms differ between those affected is because many people diagnosed with anxiety do not just have one disorder. Oftentimes, depression, for example, is present as well. In my case specifically, I have been diagnosed with a handful of mental health illnesses: generalized anxiety disorder, social anxiety, depression, a mood disorder, obsessive compulsive disorder (OCD) and minor post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD). Some of these conditions are directly related to one another and encourage symptoms; others create a strange push-pull effect within our own minds and bodies. My job can be tricky, for example. I work as a reset specialist at a retailer. Part of my job allows me to work by myself on projects, part of it with others, and always exposed to customers who may need help while I’m out on the floor working. There are other components to the job, but what’s important is how sometimes I am able to overcome my anxiety and stay in control, and other times in which my anxiety makes decisions for me. Sometimes my OCD, while correlated with my anxiety, becomes the forefront of my decision making. Oftentimes I have to literally stop in my tracks and straighten out my thoughts when there is too much going on (I’m always thinking about multiple ideas or issues at once given any time of the day, and being at work just adds to those thoughts) because the anxiety and my OCD are feeding each other as well as fighting for dominance. At least that's how it feels.

An important key about understanding anxiety is knowing how the physiological aspects affect a person suffering from it. Anxiety is not just about fear or complex feelings; the body experiences rapid responses when anxiety is triggered. At my job, say there is a call over the radio to do a price check on an item a customer is inquiring about. In that moment, my anxiety is triggered every time without fail. My response usually goes one of two ways: either I find the merchandise and get the price check, heart racing but determined, or I freeze and remain in whatever aisle I am working on, silently panicking and pleading for someone else to answer the call. My response has almost everything to do with the physiology. You may have heard of it before: fight, flight, or freeze. When fight comes into play, I am anxious, but I am able to still perform the task as usual – such as answering a simple price check over the radio. However, when flight or, more specifically, freeze, kicks in, the anxiety is so overwhelming that my body reacting to the sudden change in my nervous system prevents me from responding to the call. This is an example of anxiety being debilitating (also as a result of conditioning) even if it only lasts for a few seconds. It causes me to be unable to perform what I feel is a simple task, but anxiety is a tough bedfellow. Then, of course, the aftermath is even worse. Once you have successfully avoided whatever triggered your anxiety, you get a rush of relief, and with that rush of relief comes a disappointment with yourself, fed by the unwanted thoughts filtering into your brain thanks to the anxiety and depression. You feel worthless and ridiculous, despite any relief you are experiencing due to getting rid of the anxious triggers. And this goes on and on in a vicious cycle that is hard to break. Having help makes it more manageable, though.

Again, anxiety is more than just fear. Other emotions often come into play. Sometimes the sadness I experience as part of my anxiety, depression, and my mood disorder is so overwhelming it feels like I'm drowning. It’s the most isolated and alone you could ever feel, and it is suffocating. It can hit out of nowhere, your happy, casual mood suddenly being pulled into this painful depth. You could be surrounded by friends, family or whomever, and you will never feel more alone then you do when this strikes. And, it’s incredibly hard to come back from. Usually, at least in my experience, the night is essentially “ruined” for the rest of the hours that I’m awake. That type of overwhelming sadness and deep hurt in your chest is hard to let go of, especially when it feels like it won’t let go of you. It's anxiety, depression and other disorders working hand-in-hand against you in this exhausting, complex battle.

For me, the absolute worst part is when you inadvertently lash out at the people around you because the physiological reaction to the anxiety and depression starts taking control. When I’m anxious, I feel on edge and agitated. My psychologist tells me it’s a certain hyper-awareness that makes you sensitive to stress and other sensations such as hearing or touch - it's sensory overload. You physically feel so much tension that the smallest annoyance can make you react harshly without thinking. You hurt someone’s feelings, not meaning any of what you said, and you feel worse. You can apologize, try to make it right, but even the smallest mistake makes you feel like the absolute worst and most useless person on the planet. It feeds into the anxiety, the sadness and the pain; many of these elements simply become another cycle, one feeding the other, and on, and on, and on, we go. It feels impossible to break. My fear of disappointing and upsetting others stems from this, as well as just being another thing I dread.

Unwelcome thoughts have been one of the hardest areas to figure out while I have been seeing my doctor. I have a fear of dying, for example, so the constant thoughts of killing myself, or hurting myself are usually ironic to me. I know I won’t commit suicide, I’m too afraid to die. I’ve also been surrounded by death (including suicide), I’ve felt and seen the pain it causes, and I don’t ever want to intentionally be the cause of that pain for the people I love. And yet, I think about it every time I’m triggered by depression. Every single time. It’s emotionally draining. It is also another part of this complex puzzle people don’t always understand about mental health disorders, namely anxiety and depression: it’s the constant thoughts that usually cause the greatest impact. The thoughts of hurting myself, and of killing myself are pointless because I won’t do it, but they also feel incredibly unsolvable. If I won’t do it, why think about it? The work I have done with my psychologist to learn about mindfulness techniques have helped to make sense of the power thoughts have over us, especially when they go unchecked or ignored.

In my experience, and others I have spoken with, anxiety is usually not something you can get through on your own. Reaching out is key, whether it be to a friend or a professional (though I highly recommend the latter). Millions of people are experiencing their own story as they learn to live with anxiety, and any number of disorders. Do not ever believe that you are alone, or that others don’t understand, because there is always someone out there who does.

There’s nothing wrong living with anxiety or any mental health illness.

There’s nothing wrong with needing help.

There’s nothing wrong with finding a way to love, accept, and take care of yourself first.

There’s nothing wrong with believing and knowing you deserve better, that you deserve to live a life as happy as the next person. You absolutely do, and you are loved. Keep fighting.