Anxiety isn’t a one size fits all, it isn’t consistent and it isn’t always easy to explain to people who don’t suffer from it. Anxiety is exhaustive. Mental Illness is something that is constantly lurking around and often has us in a choke-hold. We can’t breathe or formulate clear thoughts.
Anxiety is exhausting.
It’s why I’m always tired. This is true even on days when I don’t have panic attacks. There isn’t a day that goes by where I don’t get lost in my swirling thoughts, if only for a moment. I think about everything. I think about what needs to be done, what I’ve been procrastinating on, all our responsibilities, our appointments, homework, etc. My thoughts usually jump to the worst-case scenario. I worry that something will go wrong, our children will get kidnapped, raped, murdered, fall and hurt themselves. I worry about getting into a car accident, job loss, our finances, everyone health and happiness.
I sometimes need to share it with my husband, otherwise, my head will explode with panic. Like it did the other night when I burst into tears and couldn’t breathe just as we were getting ready to go to bed. It felt like someone was crushing my chest. I couldn’t get free.
I also see that this is tough on my loved ones. I understand that it’s tough to see me hurt. I constantly worry about how my anxiety is affecting my family. I feel terribly guilty about it.
Anxiety is heartbreaking.
I wish I could just feel free, to be able to truly relax, to be happy without feeling the shadow of anxiety lurking beneath. I wish I knew what it feels like to be carefree and not a prisoner to this ugly illness. Free of the voice that follows me listing all her insecurities.