He was the first person I felt like something could go wrong. I have been battling GAD (Generalized Anxiety Disorder) for as long as I could remember. As a kid, I would stay up half the night afraid, I would stop breathing and worrying I was on a radar of this mysterious murderer who happened to be looking for me. I know it is ridiculous, but the worries became more realistic, in a sense. I worried about my future and grades, and I would lose sleep over it. It became so intense I would experience fainting and partial seizures. It was hell to live with.
I had dated a multitude of passive-aggressive and just plain aggressive guys in high school. The kind of guys who started off making you feel unique and beautiful and reminded you by the end you were a burden and hard to deal with. It made me lose faith that I could keep a stable relationship without ruining it with my incessant worrying.
Then I met him. He was perfect. Sarcastic and cool, everything that I would want to be myself. His smile seemed so welcoming; I would strive to make jokes just to see it again and again. When he asked me to be his girlfriend, I was ecstatic. He wanted me to only be with him, but more importantly, he wanted to only be with me. I had told him about my anxiety and bad relationship adventures, and he still wanted me. And that is what scared me.
After months of dating, I lay next to him in bed and I thought of our future. We could end up married and with children. But, what if we fell out of love? What if the relationship had been a waste of time? What if I had to love someone else again? I laid there, suffocated by my own worries to move. We had started to take a shower and I was silent. He knew something was wrong and after asking a bunch of questions. He asked one that broke me: “Do you want to break up?” That was the first break up.
I expected it to be the end, but he chased after me the whole day. He asked me if I loved him and I replied, “yes” and so we made up.
We were happy and at peace. But then the summer rolled in and we were separated by hundreds of miles: I was in Buffalo, he was in Staten Island. We constantly Skyped and talked on the phone. We agreed this would definitely work. I had started a job at a company my dad worked for, and the workload was intense for a temporary summer hire. I was overwhelmed with the work, and I took it out on him. I called him and picked fights and told him he didn’t care. He did care, but he would become frustrated too. I unfairly assumed that if we were meant to be he would understand my frustration. One day as the workload became too much, a rush of anxiety rushed over me; a familiar feeling that I had felt a few months earlier. I thought about our fights. I thought I was too much for him. When you came to visit, I thought we wouldn’t work out and I couldn’t sleep. He watched me suffer and cry, and there was nothing he could do. That was the second break up.
He wanted one more go and asked me to go on a dinner date with him. I agreed because I thought what would be the harm? I realized I still loved that smile and who he was. I told him I loved him and kissed him by the Erie Canal next to all the people playing Pokemon Go. I was happy again for a little bit.
As the summer pressed on I had anxiety that kept me in bed. It made it hard for me to move. It hurt just to think, and I blamed him. Why was I so stupid to think we would work out, why would I take him back? He forced this relationship. I hated him.
I didn’t hate him. He skyped me and watched me suffer. We had talked and decided I should go to the doctor and get anti-anxiety medication. I went, and the first one made me sick. I threw up while on Skype with him. He watched me suffer. The second one didn’t do anything but make me dizzy. I cried because I had lost control. The third one was better but I had lost hope. I blamed him again; he made me take these medications. Is this what love is supposed to be? Painful? Over the phone, I broke up with him for the third time.
We had kept in contact because I was trying to keep the friendship alive. He wanted to date me again, and we went out with his parents, keeping the facade we were dating and happy. His parents left and we immediately began having sex. I said “Should we do this?” and he replied, “I’m sure it’s fine” but I knew he was unsure himself. We fell asleep, with me laying on his chest. I was happy again.
We are still together. Learning how to distinguish my anxiety and hate for it with being upset with him became a skill I honed. I love him more than ever. Therefore, I give this piece of advice for anyone who is suffering and in a relationship: Do not lose hope. It feels like nothing can be normal and relationships with anyone is impossible but It’s not. It takes a lot of work to break the habit in your mind. In addition, it is important to realize they are suffering too. They watch you cry and hate yourself and they can’t fix it. They can’t take away the pain. Instead of pushing away and thinking you can’t love someone with the anxiety you have, push them closer. I swear you won’t regret it.