My anxiety: What it feels like
I’ve been shy. I’ve been nervous. I’ve been afraid. I’ve physically trembled. My voice has gone out. My mouth gone dry. But I’ve also been the life of the party, Homecoming Prince, and Mr. Popular.
Anxiety is hard to explain, especially to those who haven’t experienced it. Especially when you have gotten good at masking it.
When I’m anxious, which is daily, my mind operates in one of two ways. It’s either riddled with rampant thoughts or completely vacant. And then, of course, when I feel anxious, I feel that those around me see that I’m anxious. And then my anxiety itself seems to get anxious. However, when I’m not anxious, the world opens up and I truly enjoy life.
Putting a name and description to anxiety has helped make it more manageable. Anxiety is most powerful when it is an amorphous force that feels like it is operating on a different dimension than you are. One where we have no agency to combat it.
Describing it in your own words gives it shape. Gives you a chance to deconstruct it, poke at it, and find its weaknesses, absurdities, and errors.
“Error” is a key part of all this. It may be the key part. Anxiety is an error in our human processing, not an existential flaw in who we are. And processes can be changed. Most of us who suffer from anxiety understand that logically, but that means nothing unless we understand it intrinsically.
At least, I think. We’ll see if that theory proves to be true
My anxiety
I was diagnosed with general anxiety about 12 years ago in my mid-twenties.
“General” is by definition the least helpful diagnosis when you are trying to get specific with what you are suffering from. For me, it’s really social anxiety. And if I’m being honest, it all stems from performance anxiety.
When I feel like my “performance” is being judged–which is always–my anxiety is triggered. That could be in traditional performance environments like sporting events or public speaking, but most often it’s in low-stake gatherings of friends, colleagues, and even family.
For some reason, as far back as I can remember, I always needed to be the best at everything. And it was never to be better than others, but solely so that no one could find fault in me. The “best” might be the star athlete on the court or the smartest person in the room, but it could also be the funniest person in a conversation, the person who had the most thoughtful response or creative idea.
Even as I write this, I’m aware it sounds absolutely absurd. Those things are not even quantifiable. And logically, I know none of this is possible or even something that should matter. But emotionally, my body and mind believe them to be everything.
My anxiety manifests in two ways:
The pressure cooker: In this form of my anxiety, there are a million and one thoughts in my mind and they bounce back and forth off the walls of my brain at light speed, much like I imagine atoms work if I had any understanding of how atoms worked. And then as the situation I’m worrying about gets closer in time or different people with different personalities get brought into the situation, this ball of ricocheting thoughts starts to condense, making the thoughts bounce back and forth even faster, making catching any one of them all the more impossible. All through the situation, the ball continues to shrink, and I am no longer trying to perform at my best but simply trying to get through the situation by any means possible. Often this will result in physical symptoms like sweating, a shaky voice, or even getting light-headed.
Complete emptiness: On the opposite pole of the pressure cooker, other times my mind will go completely blank. I know and remember nothing and am convinced I have really never known anything of value. Even on topics that I am well-versed and even for simple facts about my personal history, there will be nothing in my brain.
Again, this could be in high-stake work meetings where I’m expected to perform, but very regularly this could be at the playground talking with a random parent who just happens to be there with their kids at the same time we are.
There is no rhyme or reason to it.
But no, there has to be. And that is what this is all about–finding the rhyme, finding the reason for it all, and understanding it so that we can change it.
