From B.R.: "I want to get better, but because of my fear, I want to do it on my own terms"
I believe anxiety disorders fall under the category of affective diseases, right? Because I thought I may as well share a bit about my experience. It's nothing really dire, but it is something.
I've had general anxiety and panic attacks as far back as I can remember. There are stories my mom can tell about me when I was two, exhibiting signs of baseless anxiety. Feeling sick or antsy on road trips, for instance, but then being perfectly fine the second we stopped at a hotel. I still have problems with that, actually.
I can't go into stores by myself, especially if they're unfamiliar. I don't want to not know where things are, to be in someone's way, to pay with the wrong amount of money, to say the wrong thing at the register, or somehow embarrass myself. And it's so trivial. It doesn't make any sense at all. It is, in fact, completely irrational. But I honestly can't help it.
I was at the airport with my mom once, and we were flying on Southwest. Our tickets were for different boarding groups. I said she should board first so she could grab some seats--because the thought of getting on the plane first and by myself and then getting the wrong seats was terrifying, as was the prospect of possibly having to defend my choice to a stranger who wanted the seats I'd chosen, or for my choice to somehow be a stupid one. So my mom got on first and left me with one boarding pass. When it was my turn to get on, I handed them my boarding pass and it turned out to be the wrong one. We had a connecting flight and I'd been given that boarding pass, instead. I immediately flushed, started panicking, and felt sick. I was dizzy and started having heart palpitations. I began babbling a bit when I was asked if I had an ID to allow me onto the flight. I had to swing my backpack onto the ground, and dig for some kind of ID. I managed it, but it felt like it took so long. I was shaking and hyperventilating while waiting to get on the plane. It was so incredibly stupid. I told the woman who had checked my boarding pass that my mom was on the plane, and in those few seconds, I considered the possibility of them having to pull her off of the plane so they could get my real boarding pass, which would hold things up another few minutes, lose us our seats, and be all around incredibly humiliating. I thought maybe they wouldn't believe me or let me on or check for my mom on the plane. I thought I'd have to get another ticket on another flight. And I had worked myself up enough that, even when everything was taken care of and I was on the plane sitting next to my mom, I started sobbing. My mom initially thought the mix up with the boarding pass was funny, but then I started crying and she saw how hard I was shaking and--well, it wasn't funny anymore.
It's always something stupid like that that sets me off. I have to ask repeatedly if a certain kind of food is okay to eat, if leftovers are still good, if the expiration date on something means it'll get me sick, and if there's no one to ask, I Google extensively until typically, my anxiety tells me that I shouldn't bother risking it and I eat something else. It's also why I don't like eating at restaurants. I don't trust people I don't see to make my food, and I only develop that trust after eating good food there on several occasions in the past. It has to be familiar--or very small and very local, as I've discovered. I don't trust chain restaurants or fast food joints. I don't even like going to arcades because I'm afraid someone there will get sick or be sick, and I'll catch it. It's why I don't like being around children or at doctor's offices. I carry around a bottle of hand sanitizer with me at all times, and often refuse to touch anything with my hands directly. And this fear usually manifests in upset stomachs that for years had us thinking I had IBS, and several other symptoms I've already listed above.
Most of all this stupid disorder keeps me from driving or going out with my friends. I've been a recluse for all of my teenage years. Drugs, drinking, partying, and sex were never concerns my mom had about me because I never had opportunity to do them, and even if I did, my anxiety kept me too afraid to experiment. I only got my driving permit last week, and I've been 18 for several months. I considered the whole thing about going to the DMV and taking the written version of the test an ordeal. It only took just over an hour and the test was only five minutes, and I passed easily enough, but the entire rest of the day I was angry and on edge. I was considering choices of what to eat for dinner when I suddenly became overwhelmed by the decision and headed back to my room in tears.
Enough with the stories, though. The point is, my anxiety has always been a problem, but hilariously enough, it's kept me too afraid to seek out real help. I've had to develop methods of coping with it on my own. The most difficult part has been getting others to understand and to help me deal with it. My mom, as supportive as she tries to be, often gets frustrated and gives up. She's told me on multiple occasions, when she's felt utterly exasperated, that I'm being irrational and there's nothing she or I can do. It's more of a problem in public when I need her to do things with or for me, because doing them on my own scares me. The angry silences from her make me feel horrible for not being better, independent, or strong enough to overcome these stupid, irrational fears on my own. In desperation, she borrowed some CDs about 'curing' anxiety from a friend of hers in the hopes that listening to them will make me feel better. I know that this is also a stupid and irrational thought, but it feels like she's passing me and my problems off onto a disembodied voice that will teach me "self-hypnosis" so I can get over my anxiety.
All in all, I've managed to force myself to go through the really difficult things on my own, because I figure that the panic attacks will pass and all of it is in my head. I've become adept at avoiding outings or public places or events that scare me, and coming up with excuses so it's not too conspicuous. But really, I just feel overly dramatic. I often think that I'm making up this anxiety, because clearly no one else is this incapable of doing things, and if they are, they have actual clinical diagnoses to point at in explanation. What do I have? A bunch of immature fears and anxieties that I most likely conflate with an actual problem. Who knows why I do it, but I always try and make myself stop, or at least suck it up enough to not be a nuisance, or to be the reason someone cancels or changes plans or topics of conversation. It doesn't always work. And often I'm just left feeling really conflicted: I'm legitimately terrified and feel sick and really just need comfort, but I'm probably just working myself up to get sympathy I don't deserve--and so I keep quiet, or don't tell the full story, or lock myself in my bedroom for hours and ignore the problem until it "goes away."
I guess the main problem with anxiety is that...I know that I'm being irrational. I know that any question I ask is stupid and childish. I know that any reason I have for not doing something will sound silly. But knowing that doesn't mean that I can just get over it. It's infuriating, to be sitting somewhere and trying to decide something trivial, knowing that it's trivial, but still feeling like this decision means everything. It's suffocating. Like having my logical self gagged and bound in a dungeon somewhere so that it has no power over my thoughts or actions.
Anxiety's not logical. That's sort of the point. Sometimes I'm angry that, even after 18 years of dealing with me, my mom still doesn't know what will set me off and often overcompensates for areas that don't scare me while forgetting something that leaves me nauseated with terror; that I'm too afraid to ask her to do or say certain things to help me when she's done the opposite, because she's always taken it as an insult, or me refusing to get better. I want to get better, but because of my fear, I want to do it on my own terms, but I don't feel permitted to articulate them.
I've already gone on far too long, so I guess that's it. I fully support this project in helping to remove stigma from mental illnesses, and encouraging people to genuinely help and support those who suffer from them, especially the serious and more difficult cases. I don't feel I necessarily fit in that category, nor can I say I know what it's like, but this project and this movie are just a small part of the greater movement happening in the world today, of telling the truth about mental illness, making it accessible, and helping everyone understand that it's common, and that it's not something to be ashamed of. Easier said than done, I suppose.
We’re publishing submissions about the ways affective disorders have affected the lives of those with the disorders, their friends, family, and caregivers. Submit here on tumblr or to [email protected].