Living with Anxiety.

People think, just because my eyebrows are always on fleek, my lips are always lined, and my Instagram feed is perfectly curated, I’ve got this stable career going on, that I’ve got it all figured out. Little do they know what happens on the inside. I’ve mastered this art of putting up a facade of looking all put together, where no one can tell whats going on inside my head.

I have Anxiety. No, its not just worrying about stuff. Its more than that. Its so much more than that. Let me explain:

I’m always fidgeting, digging into my finger nails, my jaws all clenched and my muscles all tensed, its like I’m trying to hold on to something so hard and I don’t want to let go. I don’t want to let go of the control, sometimes its the only control I have on my body. I have to keep reminding myself to breathe, to relax, and that everything is fine, because I keep forgetting. All my mind sees are the flaws or that one tiny mistake I have made and how now I’m not perfect. And if I’m not perfect then I’m not good enough. And because I’m not good enough I’m going to be alone all my life. And if I’m going to be alone all my life, what does that say about me? I’m not good enough. My mind keeps running in loop, infinite loop, and what happens when your system runs in infinite loop? It crashes, it crashes real hard. And that’s exactly what happens with me.

Its like there’s a demon living in my head, and it continuously tells me, what a piece of shit I am, how I am not good enough and how I’m going to fuck everything again, just like the last time. It tells me to do things, making me feel like that it will fix everything, and then I do those things, because I’m in severe need of instant gratification, even though I know its not going to help, but I do it anyway. That’s when I lose control over everything, my mind, my body, reality, everything. The more I try controlling things the more they keep slipping out of my hand. Sometimes its hard to tell which voice is my own, and which ones the demon, or are they the same person, me.

And, then there is this fear. Fear of being alone, fear of falling, failing, fear of not being good enough, fear of death, fear of abandonment, fear of rejection, fear of not being perfect. And, how can I forget, this fear of fear, because when it starts I have no idea how to stop. Also, there are these constant nightmares that make me relieve the same past trauma over and over again.

And, if dealing with this whirlwind of emotions is not enough, I also have to deal with people who do not understand a thing about Anxiety. They think I am overreacting, fragile, weak, over dramatic, and some people even think that I’m faking it altogether, you know, for attention. Because when I’m feeling like I’m dying, literally, I should not seek attention I guess, right?

So I keep it all in, put on my boldest lipstick, curl my hairs, fake a smile and show up, each day and everyday. Keep making my Instagram feed perfect, keep my work up to date, because nobody should know what a dark, infinite, downward spiral my mind is.

What its like to deal with depression.

Days are hard, and the nights are harder. You think the voice in your head would get weaker and you’d get stronger but the opposite is what seems to happen, each day and everyday. It gets to the point where the line between you and the voice in your head starts getting blurrier. Some days its hard to say which one is your voice. Every morning you wake up thinking, this is the day I can conquer and every night you’re back in your bed thinking, “What’s the damn point! Is this all even worth it?”.

 

You want it all to stop, so you ask for help. People tell you if you exercise a little or may be just went out a little more, you’d be fine. So you do that, you try that as well. But no matter where you are, your thoughts don’t leave you alone. You envy people, you envy them everywhere you go. And you loath yourself, because chores like brushing your teeth is an enormous pain in the ass. “Why you cannot be more like them? Because, obviously, something is wrong with you. Very much wrong with you”. That voice is back at it again, continuously telling you what a pathetic piece of shit you are.

 

The pain of your own existence has started to eat you alive, its insufferable. You now desperately want it to go away so you’ll do anything, I repeat, anything, to make you feel better. And, when even that fails, you hit rock bottom. You think you’ve hit rock bottom before, but no, you were wrong.

 

This rock bottom is the worst thing and sometimes the best thing that can happen to you. If you do seek professional help, they do hear your last cry for help and lend you a helping hand and from there things starts getting better. No, I’m not saying magically the voices go away and you start loving yourself infinitely. Its just that now the days are a bit easier and nights are little less harder.