I remember being 16 and telling my mom that I was dying. I remember multiple doctor visits when the doctor would tell me that I was perfectly fine, every time. I remember knowing I was not “fine” and still being 100% sure that I was in fact, dying.
Telling this story to anyone sounds silly but I had every reason in the world to believe it. I don’t know exactly when my anxiety started, but I do know that when it did- it was bad. I would be in class with absolutely nothing to worry about and then suddenly it felt like my lungs were collapsing. As if all the other students had taken up all the oxygen in the room and there was nothing left for me. Constant short breaths and gasping for more air would make me incredibly lightheaded; almost to the point of passing out. Now all of this would be happening, while I simultaneously tried my hardest to make sure the students around didn’t notice.
After school I would tell my mom about everything that had happened to me. She would respond by saying that it’s all in my head and that I just needed to calm myself down. As if I hadn’t of tried that already… It was so bad that there were days when I couldn’t even sleep because I thought that if I did, I would never wake up. I believed this because sometimes I would wake up gasping for air, as if my body would forget how to breathe when I was asleep.
This led to more doctor visits, where I had multiple tests taken to make sure I didn’t have respiratory problems. Of course though, I was fine. The doctor told me that I just had anxiety and even laughed a little, as if I was exaggerating about everything that was happening to me. This made me angry because at the time I had no idea that anxiety could even get that bad and he made it seem so little.
Throughout the years I have learned that my anxiety attacks come with absolutely no warning and no mercy. I have had multiple times where I have to leave certain places because it feels like I’m going into cardiac arrest. I have learned how to cope with it and make them shorter, but believe me when I say that the attacks don’t get better- each one worse than the last.
I don’t go around telling people that I have anxiety, but for the people who do know, a reoccurring question always pops into conversations; “What does it feel like”. Hmmm, I don’t even know the answer to this question. All I know is that it feels like you’re dying, but you’re still alive.
