The Rambling Thoughts of a Broken Brain

My heart beats too quickly, or feels like it's not beating at all. It feels like all of the fat and the fire in the world have taken up residence in my chest, weighing me down. I feel like I'm drowning in an invisible ocean, trapped inside an invisible box. My sides ache with each shallow breath. My entire body feels cold, except my face. My face is burning up. I get a cool washcloth and lay it on my face, wrap it around my neck, dab it on my chest, trying to cool down the heat emanating from my brain. My head is pounding, my shoulders tense. But the worst part, the absolute worst part, is the whirlwind inside my stomach. I have no appetite. The thought of eating only increases the nausea. I spend all morning nibbling on popsicles and peaches, hoping it'll all blow over. My daughter sees me in pain. She sees me dry heaving seven times before noon, asking me what's wrong, reassuring me, "Mommy, I got you," reaching out her hand to escort me back to the couch. She naps. I nap. I wake up with a to-do list a mile long. Two nights ago, I was telling my husband how good I have felt lately, how my anxiety had been so minimal. "Maybe it's getting better," I thought. The very next morning, an epic episode. For two days, I've been cowered on the couch, unable to eat, unable to function, right off the heels of horrible morning sickness and just in time for me to take a ten-day trip. Lucky me.

The thing I hate the most about having a mental disorder is that it makes me feel helpless. When I get physically ill, I know it will pass. I take medicine, I get better. I know it won't be like that forever. When I get mentally ill, I don't know when it will pass. I have no control over it. The medicine isn't a cure all. I feel like I should be able to control it, be able to overcome it. It's all in my head, right? Do I just not have the will power to overcome this feeling?

People think anxiety is worrying. The two are not synonymous. Sure, worry can lead to anxiety, but anxiety can exist completely independent of worry. I'm not worried about anything. In my conscious mind, I've got this. I can handle anything that comes my way. I'm even excited about events coming up. But in my subconscious mind, something has been triggered that has told my body to engage its fight or flight response. I can't turn it off because I don't know what's causing it.

People also tend to think that anxiety means you're a total hermit who is afraid of performing or socializing. For those with social anxiety, this is true, but for those of us with generalized anxiety, performing or socializing can be at times crippling, and at other times, a welcome relief from our own personal prison. I enjoy teaching because it gives me an outlet for my positive energy. I love performing, I miss singing and playing music on stage. Sure, it made me nervous, and at times my anxiety got the better of me. But sometimes being in front of people is just as much of a coping mechanism as it is a trigger. Many actors, actresses, and musicians suffer from anxiety and you would never know.

I once read that anxiety is being afraid of monsters under the bed when the bed doesn't exist. That's a pretty accurate statement. My anxiety is so much more in my body than it is in my brain. It takes control of everything. It weakens my immune system.

I've had some form of anxiety for almost as long as I can remember. I've always been anxious about riding in cars as a passenger, always been anxious about calling people on the telephone. As an adult, it has only gotten worse. I've seen a therapist. I'm not ashamed of it. I'd rather be up front about it and deal with it than try to hide it and battle it alone.  For a long time,  I tried to convince myself that it was just stress or irrational worry, that I could control it. Finally admitting that I have a disorder was the first step on a long road. There is no recovery, there is no cure, but there is management and relief.

Writing this is part of my relief, and who knows? Maybe somebody else needed to read something I had to say. Sometimes, having an invisible illness makes you feel like you have to prove the illness exists. That attitude, that expectation is crap. Don't believe it, and if anybody makes you feel like to have to prove anything, ignore it, move on, cut them out of your life. You don't need that kind of negativity around you. If you need help, get it now. If you had a broken leg, you wouldn't delay a trip to the hospital. If you have a broken brain, get the help you need. As bad as it seems, it can get better. Society likes to portray those who struggle as the weak ones, but I know better. When you face weight and resistance as often as I do, you learn that you are actually the strongest, because you ALWAYS KEEP FIGHTING.

Image sourced from Charles Schulz and comicartfans.com.