My Brain Sucks: Coming to Grips with Anxiety

The first time I can remember feeling it was at a high school talent show. I was playing a song on my guitar in front of a crowd for the first time. I began sweating profusely, my skin became very hot, and I felt like throwing up. Stage fright. I got through it. Moved on.

For the next twelve years, I would feel it more and more. When I got my first job, I woke up in the middle of the night vomiting, shaking from the images of cash registers and popcorn machines bombarding my brain. When I began dating, nervousness guided my behavior. No matter how chaste my interactions, guilt still crowded my thoughts. My stomach was often upset. Any time I traveled, I felt it. The fear. The fright. In cars, I jumped at every lane change, every sudden stop, feeling as though every car was out to hit me. Before flights, I threw up, multiple times, without fail. Consciously, I am not afraid of flying. Subconsciously, my body can't deal with anticipation. 

I still feel it. When I'm scared, when I'm nervous, or even when I'm excited. I can be absolutely thrilled, beyond elated, about an upcoming event, but my body will fight it, resist it, with everything I've got. Sick to my stomach. Sweating. Shaking. 

It got really bad on my mission. In a new place, with new people, I had to confront a lot of my fears head on. I had to come to terms with my mistakes, my life choices. I had a panic attack for the first time in a tiny bathroom in the Bahamas. I'd have three more before my mission would end. And then I came home. Talk about an adjustment. I would have two more panic attacks in less than a month. My sister rescued me with a remedy. The emergencies were handled. Back to daily life.

I put it away. I had learned to live with my daily emotions -- worry, fear, wonder. I still felt it, my heart racing, tension in my chest, migraines, restlessness. I didn't even notice it anymore. Then, six months ago, I started to get sick. Really sick. My stomach wouldn't function. On an almost daily basis, I became violently ill. Naturally, I went to the doctor. He diagnosed me with a digestive disorder, caused by stress and anxiety. "See a counselor," he said. 

So I did, and here I am. Being treated for what I always knew I had: generalized anxiety. Somehow a simple diagnosis has empowered me beyond belief.

Now, I don't feel ashamed of my fears and stresses. I understand so much more about my behavior and who I am, and why I do the things I do.

For example:

My whole life I've been an entertainment guru, obsessed with television, movies, music/concerts, books, pop culture festivals, etc. I have figured out that this is a form of catharsis for me. I spend all day every day thinking about a million different things. In those moments, when I'm lost in entertainment, I'm only thinking about one thing. It is a brief moment of clarity for my exhausted brain, and I cling to it. Entertainment gives focus to my otherwise scattered brain. 

This is also why, though I love reading and writing, I struggle to complete both things. Unless a book captures my brain completely, I am left thinking about too many other things and I struggle to make it to the end of a story. I either LOVE a book or I can't finish reading it. Same with writing. When I write, I have to remove all other distractions, completely. At first I thought this was symptomatic of ADD or something, but I've come to realize it is directly linked to my anxiety. My fears of failure keep me from finishing. My worries about the future keep me from focusing. My inability to live in the now prevents me from excelling as a writer. I could also add the same struggle exists with my previous devotions to music, exercise, etc. That's one of the reasons I like martial arts and being in a structured class. It gives me a focus, a peace of mind, that I cannot achieve by simply getting on a treadmill.

I've realized more things that I won't take the time to detail now, but it's been an eye opening experience. The therapist lady, as I call her, asks me questions about my behavior and helps me realize these harmful patterns I've been repeating for years. My pessimism, my conflict avoidance, my reliance on to-do lists, the subtle hints of compulsive behavior, or depressive behavior, everything is linked to my anxiety. Just knowing that has helped me cope, has helped me deal with my stomach pains, my sleepless nights, my total breakdowns. I am learning to live in the now, but it is so much easier said than done. 

I think my brain is like the Doctor, constantly regenerating, traveling through all dimensions of space and time. To be honest, a lot of the time, I hate it. I hate my stupid brain. I just want it to calm down and be normal. But I can't make it do that, so instead, I'm learning how to train it to behave a little better. The crazy thing is that my intellect, my ability to think critically, is a specific blessing from God. I have been told that much, and felt it to be true. And yet, my overactive brain is also my biggest burden. Go figure.

So many people say "I never would have guessed that you have anxiety, you're so outgoing, even comfortable in front of a crowd." To me, that just proves that you never know what battle people are facing. I am a great actress. I perform every day. And I have spent years working on being comfortable in front of a classroom. But I feel panic when I make dinner. I feel panic when I wake up in the morning. I feel panic when I go to the doctor. I feel panic when I ride in someone's car. I feel panic when I pay the bills, panic because I feel panic, and sometimes I feel panic FOR NO REASON AT ALL. 

For years, I played it off. It isn't a big deal. I can handle it on my own. I'm not as bad as so-and-so, I thought. They're really messed up, I'm not that bad. My counselor told me in the first few minutes of our first meeting, "quit comparing your suffering with the suffering of others. This suffering is yours. It is not diminished just because someone else's seems worse." 

Now, I'm facing the facts. I need to figure this out before it gets worse. I want to get my life back, and enjoy things that I should be enjoying. Just know that if I don't hug you, if I don't look at you, if I seem shy or awkward or nervous, if I decline your invitation, it's not because I'm trying to be a jerk. It's because I'm an often anti-social, anxiety-ridden work in progress. 

Photo courtesy of yeahdave.com.