"Bi anxiety bintwala"… A lifestyle.
I’m afraid to die but I’m also deathly afraid to live. Finding the balance to live my best life given this paradox is my singular greatest challenge. This is easily one of the most honest pieces about myself I’ll probably ever write. I’ve dealt with anxiety for about 5 years now and somedays are great and other days are horrible but there isn’t a day I can recall that I haven’t had to deal with it. Sometimes its debilitating to where I can’t leave the house without having a panic attack. Other times its empowering when I do mundane things like walk to the shops alone and come back in one piece.
Often, I wonder whether anxiety is as a result of a piece of your peace being stolen from you. If acts of assault are acts of theft. Theft of pieces that can’t be returned or replaced.
Or if empathy from stories of victims of said assault will always exacerbate existing anxiety.
This happens a lot, triggers that feel like they’ve undone all the progress you’ve done. I can’t watch the news because of it. It feels like a form of ‘management’ somewhat. 10/10 would recommend.
I understand anxiety comes in various forms and sometimes I feel like I got the short end of the stick with a lot of them. For example, to mention a few:
I get anxious when cars pass through puddles because it sounds like a mini car crash, when my brothers play fight and shout or scream my first thought is they might be being kidnapped or harmed, peaceful sleep almost sounds like a myth because anytime the wind blows it sounds like footsteps outside my window, men walking past me on the road always give me mini panic attacks because I think they’re going to assault me, large crowds make me uneasy because of my social anxiety, often my mind translates loud noises (like banging doors) to gunshots, I can’t drive without the fear of being followed, the presence of men in general makes me uneasy and being out at night freaks me all the way out because half of my most traumatic experiences have happened when I blamed the sun for not being there to protect me with its light.
Living I’ve come to realize is incredibly complicated. But writing uncomplicates a lot of the grey area. It’s my therapy of sorts. Speaking of therapy, that’s a whole other experience for another post but writing allows me to work through and acknowledge a lot of my crazy. Because honestly that’s what I feel like sometimes, crazy. Anxiety has made me feel like it’s a part of my composition and I hate it. I wonder if anyone else goes through the motions with as much fear as I do and if they have, did they ever overcome it or did it gradually get better?
I dream of the day anxiety frees me from its chains. For the day when the rust from those chains no longer stains my every thought. To wake and sleep without it resting heavy on my chest. For me to dream of the days it when it was my greatest burden in times when it no longer is. To only have distant memories of it and finally bury it in the sands of time.
Sincerely,
Sometimes She Writes
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