A message to people who “don’t believe in anxiety”.

I go to groups, meetings and appointments for my mental health. To find my independence, and to basically find me a job that’s suitable for me/that i can manage. Or atleast get me prepared enough to even face contemplating getting a job.

I know that sounds entirely lazy and spoilt, but it’s not like i enjoy depending on my family. I don’t wake up in the morning, and take copious amount of joy in the fact that i rely so heavily on them, or that i can’t live alone. Not to mention that i don’t have money, enough to even pay my nan (who i live with) board.

I’d love to be a grown-up. I’d take pride in having my own place, in having a job. Supporting myself… but it’s just not plausible. Do people think that it fills me with delight to know I’m incapable of the simplest of tasks? That most children can fuction with more success than me.

Things like saying “hi” to people. Asking people to go out places with me. Saying “no” to things that i really don’t want to do. Walking into shops. Having to take an unplanned route. Having to make an unforeseen journey. Not knowing how to react to the most basic situations, or respond to a straight forward question.

Do people think i bathe in the knowledge that i often am too afraid to ask where the toilets are? Or if i can go to the toilet? Do they think i honestly enjoy making a journey twice as long, because my fear of roads renders me useless? Which inturn makes me late for most things.

Whilst on the topic of being late. Do they think i drive myself insane just for the fun of it? Being unable to leave the house until I’ve done certain things, multiple times sometimes. Having to do that almost every time i leave the house ultimately results in being late, so much of the time. Do people not see how demeaning it is to have to create elaborate excuses, to explain away my constant lateness or sometimes my impromptu absence?

Do people not realise how much of my self worth it wittles away each time i fail, to correctly perform an action? Or do they truly believe that i glorify my futile attempts to partake in an activity, in which a 10 yearold could achieve with ease?

Prelude to a bus journey.

Money pressed into my hand.
Stomach already churning.
Retreating from each passing car.

Aware of my breathing.

Checking for any sign of the bus.
Squinting against the sun.
Hands shaking.

Aware of my heartbeat.

Feeling my legs start to give.
Checking the bus times again.
Still no bus.

Aware of my the twinges in my stomach.

New tactic.
Observe.
Observe the ongoing traffic.
Observe the fellow bus stop dwellers.
On the opposite side of the road.
Oh no. Theres the stomach again.
There’s the breathelessness.

Hurry bus!
Hurry!
Where to run?
Where to hide?
How far back home!?
Maybe i can just sit here and dissapear…
God, just let me dissapear.
Take me back home.
Home!
Where it’s safe.
Help me!

Not the tears…
Please not the tears!
Focus.
Focus!
You’ll be home before you know it.
With family.
With friends.
Soon.

Don’t lose it.
Keep with it.
Come on!
YOU’VE DONE THIS BEFORE…
Breathe!
In. One, two, three, four.
Hold. Two, three, four.
Out. Two, three, four.
Hold….

Unnecessary preperation – Necessary when surviving anxiety…

Examining all possibilities.
Studying the times.
Contemplating alternative routes.
Just incase.
Memorising.
Calculating.
Taking into account the snow.
Added worry.
What if my friends can’t make it?
What if I’m too late?
What if i can’t handle it?
Waiting around allows my anxiety to swallow me whole.
All the “what if’s” floating around.
Dizzying.
Facing it alone.
Making a journey I’ve never made on my own before…
Harrowing.

Depression – The art of successfully fuctioning as a zombie (Part two)

You push yourself into bed.
Exhausted from the day.
Re-watching how ignorant you were to the people you love.
Imagining all the awful things they think about you.
How much you let them down.
How pointless it was that you even visited.
Because you barely spoke.

Constantly preoccupied with an unseen, very important appointment with your thoughts.
Dreading that they won’t ask to see you again.
Even though, with all your heart.
They are the only thing that gets you through.

What makes you scrape that hair back.
And douse your mouth in mouthwash.
After turning your alarm off 15 times.
They’re why you peel yourself out of bed.
Reluctant but necessary.

Because zombie auto mode.
Disembodied dreamstate you.
Is better than overly analysing.
Racing heart.
Tight chest.
Brain whirring.
Vomit inducing.

Scarily on edge of screaming.
Crying.
Desperate to switch off.
Urgently needing to escape.
Drowning in your thoughts.
Suicide evoking you.

Depression – The art of successfully fuctioning as a zombie (Part one)

Depression is baby wipe washes.
And mouthwash teeth cleaning.
Scraped back, week old, unwashed hair.
Stained clothes.
That you slept in.
No makeup.
Plenty of body spray.
A practiced fake smile.
Steely determination to face everyone.

Trying to grasp at the day.
As it passes in a daze.
Clasping at moments.
Screaming to find the smallest slither of emotion.
All while seeming approachable and friendly.
Engaged and present.
While you over analyse a social interaction you completely screwed up 2 weeks ago.

Mechanically going through the day.
Laughing when needed.
Agreeing when appropriate.
Desperate to find something real.
Swallowing down food with no taste.
Realising you’re on auto mode.
But you weren’t aware.

Urging yourself to find energy enough.
To show your siblings you honestly really do love them.
You really do want to hear about school and their favourite toy.
But instead just signing out.
Resenting yourself.
Because you adore them.
But you just want to sleep.

Zombie faced.
Glazed eyed.
Going through the motions.
Knowing later on all of the terrible interactions.
And lack of interest you’ve shown in people.
Will come creeping into your mind at night.

Where the darkness can’t reside.

Throwing myself into the kids, (my siblings, not my own children). Focusing on them. On my family. Laughing extra loud. Making way more jokes. Being there for them. Pasting a smile on my face, but not because i have to. Because they are my safety net. I do it to survive. It’s just, eventually that false smile will transform into genuine happiness.

The smile that’s just about keeping my insides from falling out, preventing my contents from being splayed across the living room for all to see. All my sadness and shortcomings. My worries and termoil inside. Will ultimately change into what I’m trying so hard to portray. It’s not bad that i fake it. It’s something that I’m grateful for. If it wasn’t for my family, I’d be lay in my bed rerunning old movies of past mistakes. Fortune telling misfortunes that are to come. With no chance of experiencing anything positive.

I push the negative feelings away. You could argue that’s unhealthy, but for me it’s excrusiatingly exhausting to let myself get to that point where i can’t function, where i lose grip on reality. Lose the ability to breathe. When it’s all falling down around me, and the uncertainty and the feeling of loss, the overhelming emotions are swallowing me up.

My family are my tether to what’s bright, what’s right. Where the darkness can’t reside. Where the demons can’t get to me. I’ll happily place myself in this bubble of safety. Surrounded by my family for as long as is possible. Because not only are they what i live for, but because those said demons lay waiting back at home. Looming towards me as the day draws to a close. As i head back…. to the lonliness of my room. They come for me.

I admit i might not have the best coping mechanisms, but they work for me. They give me happiness. Make me feel almost normal. For as long as I’m around my family, the bad and the sadness, dissipate. The horrors, and those vicious thoughts that circle the deep pits of evil that lay dormant in my brain, fade. They can’t reach me when I’m here. My happy place. My safe place.

Writing – My outlet

I have wished more times than i can count that i was normal. I don’t write for sympathy. I don’t write because it’s stylish to have a mental illness. I don’t write because i want to embarrass people i love. I write because writing is a positive focus and a healthy outlet.

I write because i enjoy writing, and when my brain is whirring along, not giving me a seconds peace. When everything seems inconceivably daunting, and entirely unmanageable. When i feel like giving up, and the tears start falling, tumbling over the dam I’ve built, overflowing. When i have nowhere to turn, i write.

Internal conflicts lead to external battles. Anxiety vs society. (Part two)

I’m living my life, but I’m not actually living. There’s this relentless feeling of uncertainty, of dread. The constant unease of something being amiss. Even when i should be undoubtedly ecstatic… when something amazing happens. It’s always there. Hindering and dampening every occasion. I’ve forgotten how life was without this never-ending weight of doubt and worry. Nothing can ever be fully enjoyed or appreciated. It’s always there.

Day by day the severity of the devastation it causes deepens, as the corruption increasingly festers away within. My exterior struggling to stay afloat, due to the huge hidden cavaties deep inside, as a result of this persistent torment my brain inflicts upon me.

Anxiety is an insufferable leech. It’s not satisfied until I’m inconsolable, in utter despair. Entirely devestated. It beats me down every single time i dare to defy it. It returns with a vengeance, if i attempt to escape it.

It decieves, and it tricks and deludes. It gives me a glimpse of hope and then snatches it away. It’s relentless, uncompromising. I can’t ever evade it. I just have to surrender and submit.

Internal conflicts lead to external battles. Anxiety vs society. (Part one)

I know i might think I’m alone a lot of the time, but recently i really am. I didn’t even realise until now. You know when you just sit there and stare. Or clean. Or re-organise your bag three times just to pass the time, to distract yourself from the awful thoughts clawing away at your brain. Trying to escape from the deep, forgotten place that you pushed them into.

I think i need to do something, because as soon as I’m alone, as soon as I’m not around my family or friends, I’m a mess. As soon as I’m away from the people in group, as soon as I’m in my room, if i don’t distract… the cracks start to show. As the time trickles by, smaller cracks form from the previous cracks, and suddenly i have a million tendrils of horrific events ambushing me. Plaguing me, one after another, not giving me chance to fight or breathe. Smothering me with a contant barrage of catastophies inside my head.

That said, it’s not just being alone in my room that breaks me. I’m not sure i even enjoy going out on my own much either anymore. That’s such a contradiction, i admit. It’s complicated as i love my independence after years of not having it. So now the little that i have i grately appreciate and thrive in… usually. However, in the recent months i can’t function more often than not when I’m alone.

Without the familiar presence of a family member or friend, without their support i feel the crushing weight of even the smallest things around me. Each passing car, every deafening cough, every obnoxiously loud step someone takes. Sirens, finish me off. I can’t deal with the cacophony of disjointed, misplaced noises. Not to mention the fact that my legs literally forget how to move me, and have also found this new weight to them too. Then there’s the smells, that i didn’t quite notice existed until now. Food smells, my clothes, people, items. Everyone’s far to close to me. Everything is invading my space and mind, every sense being assaulted. It’s all together too much for me to comprehend and navigate through. I’m left a dizzying, exhausted, confudled mess.

I feel like I’m actually damaged. My brain is fighting against me, and i it. I desperately want to be happy. It’s a battle we have both been participants in for as long as i can remember. Circumstances, and the way my brain processes and deals with information and events, is just so unnecessarily complex and unhelpful. It ruins everything. Everything nice that i have in life, any occasion i should be looking forward to, any person, any experience that should be anticipated, gets annihilated by the warfare occurring within my head.

Conversations with my anxiety, fighting a losing battle.

Me: Finally, i feel okay. Nothing is going wrong. My family, friends and boyfriend love me. I’m a good person. Life is going well. I’m happy.

Anxiety: Is it though? What if they don’t actually like you. They’re lying to make you feel better. Really they’re fed up with you crap. They’re going to leave. You’ll be alone again.

Me: No! It’s Different this time! It’s just in my head. Just let me be happy! Let me believe everything can be okay. Let me live my life.

Anxiety: Fine… you carry on blissfully unaware. Oblivious to the fact you’re actually an encumbrance to people. A drain on their energy, patience, love and life.

Me: But what if I’m just being silly? What if this time it’s really happening? I am actually finally happy? What if it’s all going to work out? Maybe it’s not a bad thing to believe I’ll be okay?

Anxiety: Are you happy though? Or are you just being naive? We can both ask what if… What if you, in reality are just deluding yourself. In fact you know deep down you definitely are deluded. Don’t let them make a fool of you…

Anxiety: Imagine when everyone leaves. Picture how they will laugh at you, their faces… your face. All because you were dumb enough to believe everything could possibly be okay. Just think of all the times in the past! Think how it worked out then! Why on earth would it ever be different! It wouldn’t would it! It’s never going to change! You’ll always get hurt. They will always let you down and leave! DON’T TRUST ANYONE! JUST DON’T TRUST THEM!

Me: No… they’re not like that. This isn’t the same. They love me… I’m finally happy. I’m in a good place, surrounded by good people. I’ve learnt to let people in and believe in positive things. Bad things don’t always have to happen just because i feel good. I’m allowed to feel at peace. It’s okay to accept that i am good enough for people to love me.

Anxiety: Love you?! THEY TOLLERATE YOU! YOU KNOW DEEP DOWN THEY TALK ABOUT YOU. THEY’RE ASHAMED. THEY’RE ALL LAUGHING! THEY’RE LAUGHING BECAUSE YOU FINALLY BELIEVE YOU CAN BE HAPPY! THEY THINK YOU’RE STUPID. YOU CAN’T EVER BE HAPPY! YOU’RE A WORTHLESS JOKE! IT’S ALL A TRICK. YOU’VE BEEN DECIEVED BY EVERYONE YOU TRUST! YOU KNOW HOW THIS ENDS…. EVERYBODY IS IN ON THIS. YOU’RE WALKING RIGHT INTO THE TRAP.

Me: But… they said…

Anxiety: THE WHOLE WORLD IS IN ON IT. EVERYONE YOU MEET. THEY’RE JUST PRETENDING TO BE NICE. THEY’RE ALL WORKING TOGETHER TO BRING YOU DOWN. THEY’VE BUILT YOU UP SO IT’S EVEN MORE FUN WHEN THEY TEAR YOU DOWN. YOU’RE WHOLE LIFE CRASHING DOWN AROUND YOU.

Me: I’ll just send a message to check they’re okay with me…

Anxiety: THERE YOU GO AGAIN! ANNOYING THEM. YOU NEEDY, INSECURE PIECE OF CRAP! THEY’RE GOING TO IGNORE YOU. DO YOU KNOW HOW TIRESOME YOU ARE! IF THEY DO REPLY IT WILL JUST BE OUT OF PITY. THEY JUST WANT YOU TO LEAVE. FOREVER! EVERYDAY THEY HOPE YOU DON’T MESSAGE. THEY’RE HEART DROPS A LITTLE EVERYTIME THEY SEE YOUR NAME APPEAR ON THEIR SCREEN!

Me: *Pushes everyone away. Throws away a brilliant, amazing group of people. Destroys a solid support network. Spends hours crying in desperation because I’ve shattered the very thing that was allowing me to have independence, and to finally live my life to some extent. Begging to be normal. Craving to belong. Alone again. But can’t risk being hurt*.

What am i doing?

I’m not going to overthink this. I’m just going to state facts. I have anxiety. I have depression. I’m not fantastic and writing, but i do enjoy it. It also helps with my mental health. I should probably apologise for the generic blog name. I’ve never done a blog before. I usually post my stuff on instagram. I don’t really expect anything from this other than it being somewhere where i can write what i feel. That, and for the people that find what i write interesting, informational, relatable or helpful to be able to read it. So here it goes i guess.