I believe anxiety was the needle that stitched together in my DNA. It’s just always been there. Anxiety was my finger twirling around my hair every waking moment. Anxiety was my feet growing needles and doing a dance of fear every time a bird flew near me. Anxiety was the thing ignoring my desire to get my ears pierced.
Those are the simple things we all face, though. Those pieces of anxiety were manageable even if they were a bit louder than everyone else around me.
I could tell you the day that my anxiety intensified. I could tell you that it felt like the anxiety that was on that needle grew legs and spread through every ounce of my DNA, slowly but still consuming every bit of me. The moment it happened, it seemed to shut down my immune system or slowed down whatever was inside of me that was fighting off my anxiety. Anxiety began to consume me. Anxiety became so much more than twirling my finger around my hair. It became almost everything in me.
Anxiety was sitting in my first college science exam and becoming dizzy. It was trying to read the words on the pages, but only noticing the fact that I couldn’t breathe and that I was scared. It was quickly answering all the questions just so I could leave.
Anxiety became the thing that made me nervous to go back to class because I was scared of having that feeling again. The overwhelming sense of fear of having another anxiety attack began to trigger more during the class. Once it started, it was leaving the classroom early. It was then giving myself goals to stay in the class for at least 30 minutes. It was trying to work with myself. It was trying to let anxiety run its course. It was trying to be patient with myself.
Anxiety grew obsessions about my health. It was overanalyzing my skin and my muscles and the colors of my mouth. Once I achieved my goal of finding something wrong with me, it consumed my thoughts. It was the need of constant reassurance that I was going to be OK. It was rocking back and forth at 2:30 a.m. with tears streaming down my face and a shortening of breath because I was afraid. I was afraid that there was something wrong with me and I wouldn’t be able to experience the fullness of life. I sat there rocking back and forth and allowed anxiety to run its course because I couldn’t stop it.
Anxiety was the thing that created irrational thoughts in my sweet little brain. It’s thoughts like driving in a car with a storm brewing and being afraid of that lightning striking my car. It forces my whole body to come together creating a wet rag, and it’s as if my anxiety is twisting the wet rag inside of my skin and I swear the pain causes me to scream. Sometimes all I can do during these moments of obsessive anxiety is scream in my car. Sometimes I scream and tremble all the way home. And sometimes it takes sitting in my bed with the comfort of pillows to make the trembling and anxiety go away.
I wish I could tell you how to make the anxiety go away. I wish I could tell you that I have this five-step plan that kills off the anxiety in my DNA. I wish I had the answer, but I don’t. All I know is that there are moments when I don’t think about my anxiety. There are moments I’m able to dance around in parking lots and stare upon city lights without being worried about something. There are moments when life is so good.
And I think that’s something that people with anxiety really treasure. We treasure those moments when we aren’t afraid. When we are able to just breathe in the fresh air and not think about what could be wrong. When we can just fully and beautifully live.
