A Letter to the Loved Ones

I need you to know that this is a thing that happens. I can’t predict when, as much as I wish I could; the timing is often just as much of a surprise to me as it is to you. It might be prompted by something someone did or said, whether it was directed at me or not. It might be the stress of an event or deadline that is rapidly (or sometimes, not so rapidly) approaching. It might be, and often is, triggered by a simple thought; a “what if?” that came from no where in particular.

I need you to know that it gets away from me. It’s something I’m familiar with, but that I’ll never get used to. A minute ago nothing was wrong, but now my mind is racing and my chest feels tight and it’s getting harder to breathe. I’m having to focus hard on this to try not to make it obvious, the breathing. But that almost always makes it worse.

There’s something else I need you to know: it’s just as much physical as it is mental. It’s my fight or flight response completely out of context. I get that it catches you off guard. I’m so sorry for that. But I need you to know that a lot of the time it catches me off guard, too. Once it starts, I can't stop it. I can't redirect and I can't focus on anything else. It swallows me whole. 

It's completely terrifying.

I need you to know that I can't always explain it. It's not that I don't want to, it's just that not all feelings have words.

I need you to know that I’m working on it. I hate it even more than you do. Even when I feel okay, part of me is wondering when it will rear its ugly head again. I feel like a ticking time bomb. I’m afraid of how it makes me feel and act, and I worry it will make us fight. I know how confusing and frustrating it can be for you.

I need you to know that this is a thing that happens, and that it’s not your fault. I understand that you’re not sure what to do with it. Neither am I. But I need you to know that it’s not your fault, and that it’s not your responsibility to fix. All I need is for you to hold my hand and tell me something true and understand that this is a thing that happens. 

I need you to know that sometimes I have panic attacks, and I need you to know that I'm doing the best I can.

(2015)

Anxiety is:

Anxiety is being indecisive, because you are convinced that there is always a right choice, and you're genuinely afraid of making the wrong one.

Anxiety is walking into a room and immediately feeling like the smallest, least qualified, or least important one there. Every. Single. Time.

Anxiety is assuming and expecting the worst, no matter how much evidence to the contrary.

Anxiety is reacting physically and emotionally to a "what if" scenario that may or may not even happen.

Anxiety is frantically filling in the blanks. (Silence is loud).

Anxiety is constantly worrying that all of your worst fears will suddenly come true.

Anxiety is carrying the weight of a bad dream into your day.

Anxiety is mental, emotional, physical.

Anxiety is being afraid that other people will notice.

Anxiety is being bombarded with a constant stream of lies about your identity and self-worth, and feeling as if you have no choice but to believe them.

Anxiety is believing you're the only one, that no one else could possibly understand what it's like.

Anxiety is feeling like at any given moment you're only barely holding it together.

Anxiety is believing you fall short of every expectation. Yours, and everyone else's.



Anxiety is a lot of things and it can look different for everyone. This is what anxiety looks like from my perspective.

Title

even so

I struggle with pretty significant anxiety, and I have for a long time. I remember several months ago, my anxiety got so bad that I started to tell myself that even if all of my worst fears came true, and even if every "what if?" turned out to be real, it wouldn't kill me. I would be okay. I would survive. I can very clearly remember sitting on the back patio one evening and telling this to my husband, and even saying that I thought it would be cool to get a tattoo that said "even if." (The fact that I remember this so well is saying something, because due to the fact that my anxiety tends to make my entire thought process blurry, I don't usually form very clear memories). Even if was my banner, and sometimes telling myself this was all that could get me through a bad day or a panic attack: the simple thought of, "At least I won't die."

In August, my worst nightmare turned out to be a reality. Every single fear was confirmed, every single "what if?" was validated.

There are still times when it feels like this is killing me. It has actually occurred to me that this might be what dying feels like. I am convinced that it is.

But I am alive.

Sometimes it feels like the only thing I have going for me is the fact that I'm not dead. But then when you think about it, even if that were true, being alive in and of itself is a pretty big deal.

I am alive.

My even if became an even so. It's been almost three months, and here I am. Sometimes barely, but here just the same.

This thing feels completely impossible, but I'm doing it. When it feels like I can't do it anymore, I remind myself that I am doing it. I've been doing it. I am doing the thing that feels impossible.

I have watched my entire life and everything I thought was real burn to the ground around me.

Even so, I am alive.

Even so, I am standing up under this.

Even so, I am doing the thing that feels impossible.

Even so, I will heal.

Even so, I will be okay.