Independently in Love

I am so incredibly angry, and disheartened, and exhausted. 

You guys don’t know this, but I’ve struggled with an anxiety disorder (and a panic disorder) my entire life. It started when I was 7. I’m now 29. It’s been a while. 

It affects things like eating, traveling, socialization, general happiness, shopping, loud situations…honestly, there are more things that trigger my anxiety than things that don’t. I live in a constant state of stress and anxiety. 

Most people don’t understand this. They think they have felt anxious or get stressed in certain situations, so they expect me to cope in the same ways they do. But they don’t understand it. Let me break it down for you.

I’ve had four breakdowns in my adult life. Why? Who the fuck knows? Once it was from travel. Once it was from partying too much. Once it was from a fight with a friend. It can come from anywhere at any time. And, when this happens, I am out of commission for a YEAR. I’m not shitting you. 

I lay on the couch and try to breathe through every waking second. I can’t see people. I can’t go to the store. I can’t work. I panic when the sun comes up, and I panic when the sun goes down. I panic when it storms or the lighting is a little off. 

These breakdowns destroy my life, and I have to build it back up. It’s a nightmare, and I live in constant fear that the next panic attack could be the one that destroys everything I have fought so hard to build. 

Anxiety has manifested itself in physical symptoms for me as well. I have had TMJ for thirteen years from grinding my teeth. I have a specialized form of eczema on my hands that is stress induced. My muscles are so tight that a massage feels like agony. I’m exhausted all the time.

I have done everything right, guys. I’ve been to therapy for two decades. I’ve taken my meds, on time, every day. I’ve meditated. I’ve studied Buddhism. I’ve challenged my fears and survived them. Still, this is my life. It is joyless.

And now, I have a job that I love. It’s what I’ve always wanted to do, and I’m so good at it, you guys. It pays me (almost) like I’m a human. And you know what? I had to lie to get it. 

When I was interviewing, my boss told me that we have quarterly retreats all over the US for teambuilding. He asked if that would be a problem, and I lied. I did. I said, “No problem.” You know why? Because it ticked off every other box I had. It’s remote. It pays enough. It’s my dream. I thought, “I’ll figure something out before I have to take one of these trips. I’ll get better. I have to.” 

Well, it’s here. The company has announced that they’ll tell us where we are traveling to within two weeks. And guys, I am so defeated. I am so angry. I can’t tell them who I am because jobs don’t give a fuck about mental illness. 

If I had an illness that manifested physically, you know, besides the sweating, shaking, hyperventilating, vomiting, eczema, headaches, malnourishment, and exhaustion, then any job would be happy to accommodate my illness. But they can’t see it. It doesn’t show as a broken bone or an open wound, and it doesn’t receive the same treatment.

I spoke with my dad about it today because I was so deflated. He said, “I don’t want you to use this as an excuse.” And you know what? I apologized to him like a fucking idiot. I apologized. For being ill. THAT is how deeply ingrained shame and dismissal of mental illness is. I feel like shit because I’m sick, but I’m not allowed to be sick. 

I’m stuck in this loop of self-hatred. Why is my life like this? Will I ever actually experience joy? I don’t think so. I really don’t. It’s been so long and nothing has changed. I feel hopeless. I won’t harm myself because it won’t fix anything, but God do I feel like it. 

Y'all, it is mystifying. I, the world's largest skeptic, once the most passionate atheist, now know that I was wrong. I don't know what's out there. Honestly, it feels like it is right here in simultaneous and intertwined existence.

Earlier, I placed my thumb and index finger together to form a circle and allowed myself to just play. My thumb circled the index finger over and over in a self-soothing massage, and, when I finally parted them, I felt a cord of energy snap. They were linked by something I couldn't see, and I had given power to it by feeling it.

I have ignored or misunderstood my intuition my entire life. Recently, I have allowed it to creep into my logical brain. It is real and has been grabbing me by the face, screaming with joy at finally being acknowledged.

Roots are growing from my chest. I can feel them just as I feel an unfolding within myself.