My anxiety journey

Ever since I was little, I remember always being on edge. I'm not sure what would set me off, but I was always worried about something. When I was in first grade, a massive earthquake hit Haiti and seeing that on the news really set something off in me. Something had lodged in my brain that I couldn't get out: what if I couldn't get to my parents in an emergency? My appetite went way down and all I could do was manage to eat 1-2 small kid cups of yogurt a day for a few weeks. My mom took me in to see the doctor to try and talk to me on what was going on. He knew it was anxiety and thought I should be put on medication, but my parents said no. I was 7 and they felt that was young to be put on medication. Slowly but surely, over the course of the next few weeks, I fell back into eating and acting like a normal kid again, so that was the end of that. 

Cut to 13 years later. Of course, I had small bouts of anxiety throughout that time over tests, surgeries and small life ordeals. However, my mind would get a little ahead of itself and then forget what I was even worried about. Middle and high school passed and even transitioning to college didn't throw me for too bad of a loop. That wasn't until the end of April. 

It was a typical Sunday, studying at Caribou with my roommate when out of nowhere, a sense of unease hit me and I couldn't figure out why. I thought if I ate dinner, showered, and went to bed, everything would be okay. Maybe I was just tired. After taking forever to eat dinner, I showered and as I was getting ready to lay down to sleep, one of the biggest waves of nausea I've had in a long time hit me. Surgery exempt, I hadn't thrown up since 4th grade and this amount of nausea terrified me. I stood in the bathroom breathing deeply and slowly before heading back to bed and sleeping on and off again, occasionally waking up in sweat. 

My mom suggested that I stay home for the day from school and I couldn't remember the last time I had done that. I laid around all day and drank anything that had electrolytes. Dry pieces of toast went down easily and stayed that way. I got plenty of sleep and woke up feeling off again. What my mom and I initially thought was the tail end of a small stomach bug I could have contracted from stress turned out to be an anxiety bout. Sometimes I'd want to eat small portions of food and the off-feeling would disappear only for it to show up a couple of hours later. 

To be fair, there were plenty of things going on in my mind. Finals, a reading of a piece (ironically about anxiety), a new internship starting, and finally starting my role in Editor-in-Chief is a lot to have on your plate. The reading passed and 2/4 finals were finished when the off-feeling returned. I called my mom and during it, I just remember sobbing to her on how I couldn't keep feeling like this. She suggested I come home a week early instead of staying for my friends' graduations in order to get a full mental reset. On top of all on my plate, I'd been hustling through my first few years of college, filling my plate with a bunch of classes and working at the paper that I think my body and mind were unsure of how to deal with slowing down for a few weeks, not just a quick weekend getaway. 

It was a rollercoaster. A few days, I was totally fine and the off-feeling disappeared and I could eat and act like I'd always been, but then a day or two would hit me out of nowhere. While anxiety differs from person to person, I wouldn't wish mine upon anyone. My mind felt like a large brick with unconscious anxiety sitting at the back of it. I talked with my friends and mom about it all, but even getting everything off my chest and mind sometimes wasn't enough. When I would tell them I couldn't pinpoint anything, it just made me feel more out of it. Because your nervous system and digestive system are closely connected, and as I had mentioned, my eating schedules were off. Sometimes I wouldn't eat for up to 18 hours or more with only a piece of toast, soup, or a banana in my system. However, I made sure to drink plenty of water to try and balance it out. 

The hardest part of my anxiety was the vicious cycle I couldn't seem to get out of. Of course, people told me to "not think about it" but when you haven't eaten a lot for fear of nausea and you feel weak and tired all the time, it's hard to not think about it, thus creating the cycle of how-do-I-get-out-of-this? The anxiety was throwing off my mood so much that I stopped doing what I truly loved doing. I was doing face yoga (yes, that is a thing) but not full body flows, I stopped having dance parties in my room, and I wasn't taking the time to connect with myself through activities that were good for me. I just felt like a shell of the person I used to be. At one point, I couldn't remember the last time I smiled/laughed without faking it. Sometimes, I couldn't even bring myself to cry even though I desperately wanted to. It was unlike any other sadness that I've felt before. It truly is something I wouldn't wish upon anyone.

Eventually, I broke down to my mom and said that I couldn't live like this anymore. When I went to the doctor to try and figure out the cause of my issues, she said all my symptoms were a mix of anxiety and depression. I didn't know how closely interconnected the two of them were. Everything finally made sense. I didn't feel like I was going crazy. Coincidentally, this all occurred around the start of Mental Health Awareness Month. I followed some mental health accounts on Instagram and to gain helpful advice helped me work through my problems.

Just like me back in first grade, I slowly but surely got over it. I started incorporating things I enjoyed doing back into my daily life and getting out into the sunshine (figuratively and literally). I wasn't afraid to be open to more people about what I was going through and them sharing their anxieties with me made me feel like I wasn't alone. Eventually, I wanted to do the things I liked once again including reading and writing (and if you know me personally, to not want to do that was like hell.) I remember the day when my head finally felt empty (in a good way) and taking deep breaths didn't feel like work. I cried out of pure joy because it was all behind me. This horrible mental demon was gone. To have a mental weight be lifted off your mind and feel like everything on your chest is lifted makes you appreciate the times you felt normal for granted. It makes you want to be all those cheesy signs you see at craft stores that tell you to "appreciate the little moments in life" and to "live each day with a smile."

While I am still on the mend of feeling like myself,  (currently 2 weeks!!) there are still some occasional moments where my anxiety likes to show up in small ways. It may be for a fleeting moment, it may last for an hour or two. I'm still reminding myself that it may take a little while, but it's not as bad as it was. In a few weeks, I'm following through with my doctor's referral to see a therapist, something I have never done before. Regardless of how I feel, I'm going to go. I believe gaining some insight as to how and why my body and mind react in the ways it does and getting coping mechanisms will be beneficial for me. 

I definitely know this isn't the last time in my entire life that I'll feel this way, but I'm not purposely willing myself to try and predict with whenever that will be. Having that mindset that this wouldn't last forever was something that got me through along with plenty of positive affirmations and just talking about my issues with those I trusted. For those who may be suffering with similar mental health issues, be it anxiety, depression, or any other disorder, there is no shame in reaching out for help or going through rough patches. Your feelings are completely valid and asking for help doesn't make you weak; it makes you strong to recognize you need help. The weights will be lifted, the sun does shine again, and things do get better. 

Signed, 

Midwestern Redhead