Jo, Washington DC
Having an anxiety disorder means that I don’t just have a lot of feelings, I have feelings about my feelings. I worry that my feelings aren’t real or that my feelings about my feelings are the correct feelings, or my feelings are the wrong feelings. I have shame about my feelings, guilt about my feelings, anger about my feelings. Sometimes I wonder which feeling is real – the initial feeling or the resulting feeling? Am I making myself feel this way or do I just feel this way?
I’m always looking for patterns. I thrive on routine. Anything to make me feel less trapped, like I have control. My best friend dying in high school threw this desire for control into overdrive. I can’t enjoy concerts or festivals or bars because there are too many people – what if there’s a fire? What if someone starts shooting? Will I get crushed to death in the inevitable stampede?
One time in high school my friend spent the night, sleeping on my floor directly underneath the ceiling fan. I couldn’t sleep for hours because I imagined what I would do if the ceiling fan suddenly collapsed. I went over the plan again and again, all night long.
Airplanes are a problem. I travel a lot for work. My airplane routine is thus: pack efficiently at least two days prior. Select an odd-numbered window seat (preferably A, but F will do at a pinch), preferably with a seven or a three (but not 13) – 11A is my favourite seat – 17A comes in second. I will pick 27A over 25A, even though it’s farther back in the plane. I wear my airplane sweater, the same sweater I’ve worn on every flight for the last four to five years and take anti-anxiety medications.
I love my friends, and I know, intellectually, my friends like me (otherwise why would they hang out with me?). But I’m constantly worried they don’t like me, or that I’m being annoying, or that they only invite me around because I’m just that friend that’s always around who you can’t get rid of.
Anonymous, 20
I’ve always been an anxious person, even as a child. Moving away from home forced me out of my comfortable hole, out of my comfort zone, which is when my anxiety and depression got so much worse.
It was after months of paranoia, violent imaginings and a confusing sleeping pattern that I forced myself to get help. Since then I’ve been in therapy more or less constantly, which has helped me learn more about myself, and ways of coping. In a way, therapy offered me a chance to reintroduce me to myself.
If there is one take away piece of advice I could give, after years of debilitating anxiety and depression, it would be to make valuable friends, and to not be scared to talk to them about your anxieties and worries – it’s a very British thing to just bottle everything up, but you have to unbottle, and release the pressure sometimes.
Sinead Taylor, Melbourne, 24
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