The other day I was going through an article which very correctly stated that anxious people always like to involve themselves into doing something. Whether it’s art or sport, they must always do something, otherwise the overthinking brings panic. I also read that anxious people write as if someone’s listening. I was dumbstruck.
I started this blog when I was in 9th grade. I did not, in my wildest dreams, imagine that I would be able to fund my education or luxuries with my writing skills. Guess what you never dream of, often becomes a reality! I am grateful in that sense, but the statement that, “anxious people write as if someone’s listening” was a hard hitting reality check. I was involuntarily writing something, keeping in mind, the reactions of my audience, my readers.
I suddenly slid into a soliloquy. Am I a mere product of my mental illness? The silhouette of little birds against the sunsets that I paint, are definitely something I want my audience to see. The colour black, which is on my eyes, my T-shirt’s, my shoes, my hair and most probably in my heart as well, is definitely something I want people to witness. They weren’t wrong when they said, black is a feeling. Now suddenly, the writing skills that my English teachers always appreciated, that made the other students envy me, since I always had the highest marks in this subject, also became a slave of my audience’s ears. I am not writing for nobody. The bitter truth is, I do write as if someone’s listening. The ego of the self-reliant loner inside of me stands shattered, while I agree to this. I am a product of my illness. Everything that I do is a symptom of my anxiety.
Checking my watch numerous times and gazing constantly at the gates before boarding a plane is a symptom of my anxiety.
Not being able to read literature written by authors suffering from depression is a symptom of my anxiety.
Saying something that you’d always wanted to say, and then imagining the worst of scenarios even before the person replies, is a symptom of my anxiety.
Imagining the best of what is to become of me, and then always ending up in worst, is a symptom of my anxiety.
Thinking that my friendship is a burden on my ‘friends’ and then distancing myself to rid them of this undue burden, is a symptom of my anxiety.
Pointing out a hundred reasons why my crush won’t like me back, is a symptom of my anxiety.
But when did I become this way? My soliloquy continues and takes me through the smiles and the tears that are etched in my heart. Was it because I missed a flight? Or because, I feel like Sylvia Plath’s future might become my own? My overthinking contributes time and again. Was it because I never won a debate or got appreciation when I acted, back in grad school? Or was it because a ‘best friend’ found a better best friend and gave up on me? Maybe, it was because a crush accused me of being manipulative when I only wanted to know the name of the person he used to confide in, while talking about me!
But when the sanity returns, it reminds me that this is not true! I never missed a flight. Even if I miss a plane in the future, I’d make sure to roam around the city like a local and have no regrets. I know my future might correspond to that of Syliva’s, but that would only be in terms of her observation and insight. My sanity tells me that nobody’s appreciation matters, unless your heart is content with the growth and the knowledge that you receive while doing something. I know that ‘best friends’ don’t give up on each other, if they do, they aren’t the best amongst themselves! I know he never mattered because I never dreamt about him. I still have vivid dreams about someone that I’ll probably never speak to.
But until I begin dreaming about the man who holds my hand in reality, I am hoping! I am hoping for consistency. I am hoping to find real-time listeners, even though this post will only be seen by employers as a part of my writing portfolio. I am hoping to become the type of woman, that I admired as a little girl. Constantly hoping for the best, is also a symptom of anxiety. I’d like to consider this as the best out of the lot.
This is a reminder to seek help, if you’re having suicidal thoughts or if your overthinking is interrupting your daily life and restricting your productivity. Please seek help. Also, you are not your mental illness. You are a beautiful person inside out and I believe that you’re worth every happiness. Love yourself unconditionally!
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