I think the earliest symptom I can remember of anxiety is going back to check if, really, the door was actually locked.
And then again.
And again, because what if I forgot? And last time I didn’t, then we had to stay at a neighbor’s house and call the fire department because we needed to somehow get back into our own house. And I forgot the keys that day, and OH NO, what if I forgot the keys? I remember how angry and freaked out I was, and I can’t have that happen again, and…
I need to check.
Again.
Again.
Again.
I’d be lying if I said that there was a cure-all for it. A miracle elixir sold off the back of some circus wagon that would stop the panicking. I once broke my teacher’s inbox because I sent in so many versions of the same file to MAKE SURE that the giant project (worth many, many points) was actually turned in.
They weren’t happy.
I remember one time, I had this bio assignment due. I stayed up so late that the sun was peeking through the blinds. I hadn’t slept properly in three days, so the symptoms had only worsened. And I just COULDN’T FIND MY HOMEWORK. The giant packet of papers and diagrams that I had spent all night putting together…
Just. Gone.
Because I couldn’t find it, my “systematic way of finding lost things” went out the window. I threw papers and folders around with abandon. Dumped out an entire backpack. It was overwhelming. I couldn’t sleep. Couldn’t breathe. I had to stay home from school that day because I just ceased to function.
I’d be lying to say there’s a cure-all for it, but there are ways to make it better. It’s like when you have a cough and choose to just ignore it. The cough worsens. Maybe you get sicker, to the point you just crash. It’s just like taking medicine for a cold, no different. The ways to make it better, at least in my experience (which is no way everybody’s experiences since we’re all individuals), was to talk it out with someone.
I was lucky enough to have resources for me. I just felt so terrified. The stigma attached to not being okay. The so-called “weakness” of having to reach out, to not just biting the bullet and putting on a grin and dealing with it silently.
I couldn’t help but ask myself the dreaded question: if it’s in my head, is it even real?
Of course, it was.
I talked it out with those I trusted instead of just keeping it all inside. They helped me best I could, reassuring me that, yes, I did actually lock the door. That the world wouldn’t end if I just took a deep breath and tried to ground myself in the present as opposed to the whirlwind of just WHAT IS MY LIFE?
The past. The future. You have the present moment. Just stay in the present moment.
At the end of it all, I only ask this. Reach out. Whether that’s professional help, a friend, a family member. Religious counsel, a teacher, or someone else who’s been through this before. The world is kinder, sometimes, than the ugly, twisted reflection we build up inside our preconceptions of it. I wish you all the best.
Life is a lot, but we can have help through it.