Anxiety. What does it mean? What even is it?
The definition of it is “an overcoming feeling of worry or nervousness." In some circumstances I can relate to that; it is worry. It is nervousness. However, it is so much more that that feeling.
Anxiety ripped apart my life for many years in different situations. The first? Secondary school. I was known as the girl that cried every day going to school. The frigid, shy little girl that sat in class and cried her eyes out for no reason. Who was to blame? What was to blame? Our dear old friend, anxiety.
I was 11 when my anxiety first started, a shy little girl that melted down at the sight of so many strange faces. I had this idea in my head that it was impossible to make friends. That no one wanted to be friends with the girl that wept, the girl that got taken out of class because she caused a scene without intending to, the girl that had uncontrollable breathing without even doing anything, the girl that sat in the corner with her head down, a big dark black cloud looming overhead wherever she went.
I was that girl. Terrified.
Years down the line, I’m better. I can somewhat control my anxiety with the endless support of my friends, family and boyfriend. I still have days where the cloud returns just as big, sometimes even larger than before. I cry. I shake. I panic.
Anxiety is so hard to describe; there are no words that can simply pinpoint what it is and how it feels. I overthink a lot to the point where people say I’m silly for thinking the things I do. Lord knows why people put up with me. Lord knows how I am still coping.
I’d love to share more of my story, as this is only the beginning. Not even half of the things I feel inside or can even comprehend are written in these lines. For those who can read in between the lines, you may be able to predict the rest of my story and the rocky road I’ve been on to get to where I am today.