What It’s Like to Be in Love When You Have Anxiety

This piece was written by Jazz Crosby, a Thought Catalog contributor.

“Chill out.” “There’s nothing to worry about!” “Nothing bad is going to happen.” “You worry too much!”

We’ve all heard one of the above statements at least once throughout our lifetime. But, for someone with anxiety, the smallest things can conquer our thoughts and lead us to panic. As terrifying as it is, about 40 million people are affected by anxiety. After being disregarded many times by my own friends and family, I was almost certain I was just going “insane” and that nobody would or could deal with what I deal(t) with for many years. But then, in November of 2013, a handsome man fell deeply in love with me and changed my belief.

As long as I can remember, I have dealt with anxiety. I’ve been going to therapy for over two years now, and recently started taking medication, but it’s still there and alive in my brain. I can feel its presence every day, a wave of discomfort that causes me to question everything I’ve done at the most inconvenient of times.

My anxiety doesn’t care that I’m happy, or that I’m in a very, very, happy, healthy relationship with someone who truly cares about my mental state and well-being and makes sure to tell me how grateful he is for me numerous times a day. I am very appreciative of the nights he stays up until 2 a.m. listening to me list off dozens of reasons why I’m worried about something as silly as why someone didn’t respond back to me. I am immensely thankful for all the steps he has and continues to take to discover how to better understand what I go through every day. He fills me with hope and drowns me with endless love and support when I torture myself questioning every past and future action of mine. He never fails to take care of me, and never asks for explanations. Still, I question how I got so lucky to have someone that goes miles to better understand something that many do not.

This fierce sensation of love is terrifying, because every day, I repeatedly worry that one more late night of reassurance or one more “are you sure I have nothing to worry about?” will drive him to his breaking point. I know my unreasonable, compulsive thoughts upset him, but with time, and lots of tears, I reassure him that none of this is in anyway his fault, but a result of my own catastrophe of my thoughts. Though he isn’t always convinced easily, I still try with every ounce of energy I have left. And, some nights, I’m left with a “Get some sleep. Goodnight, I love you.” text. Overall, I’m just so grateful that he’s happy to continue the long journey of my recovery with me.

Each day is a struggle of its own. I am constantly on the edge of my seat, questioning past actions and future happenings, hopping from not caring what others think, to caring too much about what others think, to wondering when he’ll decide he’s had enough. He’s very quick to remind me how far I have come in the last two years, and how proud he is, but I am just as quick to be drowned in my own thoughts. We both know that my anxiety is beyond my control to a certain point, and I need to realize; if he hasn’t given up yet, he’s in for life.

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