Welcome to the second instalment of my Mental Health Series. If you didn't catch the first one, you can read it here.
This one has been written by Tom;
Anxiety is shit. It's also become a dirty word to me, I hate it. No matter how much I talk about it or discuss it with people, a bad taste is always left in my mouth. Treating my anxiety like this has helped me get over it. I don't want to hurt myself anymore, or make decisions based off of just one feeling (even if the feeling takes me over for weeks on end) and I certainly don't wish death upon myself like I used to. But it's been a long road.
The past year has been somewhat of a, well a rollercoaster, as cliche as that sounds. I've had awful downs and amazing ups and throughout it all I've had anxiety as a companion. A devil on my shoulder telling me everything isn't what it seems or that I'm not having fun. That I'm faking my happiness and as soon as I get into bed the depressive thoughts will creep in and plague my mind.
The only thing that has changed now is I've started listening to myself. However hard it may have been for me to block out depressive thoughts or feelings of panic when really there was never anything to panic about - I've managed to do it. That's a good word to describe the process - managing. You have to learn to give in to the demons before they consume you. Listen to them, acknowledge them and then fight them. They are not you and the most definitely aren't the making of you.
One of the biggest things I found hard when coping with anxiety is just how hard it is to tell someone I had it. Stigma against mental illness is still very real and I don't think people really believed me unless they saw me have a full on panic attack. And because I really only seemed to panic when I was somewhere safe, around friends - hardly anyone would see it.
Other than the former, my symptoms would be few and far between. When I'd experience worry I would experience it like an intense illness for weeks. Rather than coughing I would worry about everything. Then that illness seemed to go and I'd start feeling paranoia. Everyone for sure hated me and people only really spent time with me because they felt pity for me (this is admittedly something I still struggle with now) and I found it hard to believe that anyone would want to have anything to do with me. My body became a vessel of negativity and I couldn't seem to scratch off any positivity whatsoever. This process repeated in a bitter cycle for ages.
Then something clicked last Christmas. My mind seemed to stop, and I realised I hadn't had one feeling of anxiety or depression in about a week. A WEEK! It was magnificent. The week turned into a month, and here I am in March still feeling like the Thomas before anxiety. Don't get me wrong, I have had a few panic attacks (and they have been a few of the worst I've ever had) but they've been random. It's as though my body is confused because I'm not really anxious anymore so it feels like it needs to panic.
I can't give advice on how to get through the constant uphill battle that anxiety is, I'm sorry. The experience is so different for anyone going through it, even if the symptoms are very similar. The only thing to strive towards is knowing that one day you will feel better. You might wake up and laugh at something before you begin to think of anything worth worrying about. You might muster up the confidence to go to a cashier in a shop instead of asking your friend. You might even just realise you aren't biting your nails as often as you used to. It's all about the little steps - they might seem small to other people but to you they're quite the opposite.
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