teenage girl lying on grass with her eyes closed

Sometimes it’s so easy to stick your head in the sand, to pretend like everything is just fine, to smile at the world. People ask how you’re doing, but do they truly care for an answer or is it simply being polite or an automatic question? I’m not sure. But I do know it’s so much easier to just smile, nod, stick your fingers in your ears and sing loudly to quiet the voices in your head. Sometimes it works. Usually it doesn’t.

I’ve gotten so good at pretending these past two years. With distance it’s so much easier. It’s easy to move on from them asking about you to asking about them and what they’re doing and feeling and experiencing. Because if you talk about the other person, what’s there to say about yourself? Not much, which is the point. It’s exactly what you want and exactly what you do not want. You want them to notice you’re not OK, you want them to see that something’s wrong, but you don’t want to raise your hand and talk about it first.

That’s the problem, isn’t it? You want to be noticed but do everything to not be noticed. You’re ashamed — of the fear, the panic, the anxiety creeping through your entire body. It makes you lose control of your body. It’s like torture. More and more you notice how things scare you.

It starts with being unable to step into the train. Next you can’t go into the crowded library, and before you know it you hole up inside your bed and read book after book. Because books are safe, they take you outside of your own head and put you into a completely different world — one of wonders. Something bright you keep reaching for but your hands can never seem to grasp it. It could be about history, a time when things were different, or about supernatural beings, or a teenage girl struggling with herself and who she is. It could be absolutely anything but yourself and your own problems because if you have to face those…

What will happen? Will your “world” crumble? Will you lose what little control you have left? But is it really control if what you show the world is a mask of fake smiles? Are you truly so afraid of facing the truth that you’d rather live in books or sleep through all of it? Because the bed is safe. No one can reach you there. No one can hurt you. But the problem is, it’s not the outside world that’s hurting you. They’re not even trying to. It’s your own mind attacking you, almost like it’s trying to break what little self-control you have left. And once you let it, that’s when the “normal” anxiety you’re used to turns into full blown out-of-control panic attacks.

That’s when the scary turns into horror, the silent tears turn into almost unbearable sobs, breathing seems impossible and it feels like you might die. It feels like minutes turn into hours at a time. And those minutes turn into long, stretched-out seconds. You’ve lost all control. You can’t think straight; you can’t feel your body except the ragged breathing ripping apart your chest. Sometimes people say, “Just breath, it’ll be fine.” And you would want to give them just a tiny fraction of what you’re going through because if they could feel it… they would never tell you to just breath. They would never look at you as if you’re overreacting or worse… as if it’s all just in your head.

People who haven’t been through it don’t understand, and part of me is so happy they don’t get it. Why? Because it means they’ve never felt so helpless, so ashamed of having these problems, so incredibly small that you feel like a little girl instead of a grownup woman. But it also means they don’t understand that if you manage to make a big step or even a small step, you’re worn out for days afterwards. You’re both emotionally and psychically exhausted.

I’m happy they don’t understand, yet part of me wishes they would be able to understand. It’s both a burden and a relief but never in equal measures. It always depends on what kind of day I’m having.

If you or someone you know needs help, visit our suicide prevention resources page.
If you need support right now, call the Suicide Prevention Lifeline at 1-800-273-8255

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Another day in class, just a few more weeks till the end of the semester. I look outside around and see people talking. They make it seem so easy. I used to be like that once a long time ago. I enjoy social gatherings, but active participation is not the thing for me. Oh look, just 45 minutes till the end of the lecture.

Suddenly everything starts getting uncomfortable, an all-too-familiar feeling. My stomach feels unpleasant. My heart starts to beat fast. I can feel it. I can hear it! Can they hear it too? Now is really not the time or place. OK, I can handle this, it’s not that bad, calm down, just try to calm down… I’m thinking too much. If I keep this up it’ll only get worse. I need to stop thinking! Why can’t I stop thinking?

I am too afraid to look around and see if anyone is noticing me. Can they see through my smile? Can they hear what I am thinking? I wish the lights would go out and I could sit here and hide in the dark. I love the dark.

Why is this class so slow? I already know this. Why is the guy sitting next to me clicking his pen so loud? I really wish he’d stop doing that, why doesn’t he just cut it out? It’s really ticking me off! Why am I getting so upset over it? All the fear turns to annoyance in an instant. My heart beats faster and faster till I am screaming out in my head to cut it out. He doesn’t hear me! The impulse of telling him to cut it out is too overwhelming. Oh God, now the professor is asking questions. I almost say “speed it up!” Everyone is being so loud. I want to yell “keep it down.” I want to say a lot of things I don’t mean right now.

I try to take deep breaths, think of pleasant thoughts. I do everything I can to calm myself down without attracting any attention to myself. It feels like one part of me is trying to pin myself down while another more stronger part of me wants to do something I’ll regret. It’s not easy, but I eventually win the struggle. The annoyance turns into fear again. All the while I don’t change a single expression. I look perfectly “normal” on the outside, at least I hope I do.

I feel tired. My head hurts. I can’t remember the last time I went through the entire day without at least a single episode. I hear the pen again… Why can’t they cut me some slack? Just this once.

It’s been 30 seconds since my panic attack started… just 44 minutes and 30 seconds till the end of the lecture.

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I have struggled with anxiety and depression since I was very young, around 10 years old. I was in and out of therapy all through college and graduate school to try to help. There were some incredibly dark periods where I felt the need to harm myself, where I lost my faith and doubted everything I ever knew. Luckily, I have a great support system of friends and family who love me enough to pull me back into the lighter side.

But it’s hard.

I’m 27 years old now, and my anxiety is worse than it’s ever been. Which exacerbates my depression and my obsessive-compulsive disorder (OCD). Having anxiety can be difficult. Having depression can be difficult. Having OCD can be difficult. Having all three is excruciating and something that is truly trying to explain to people. My depression makes me exhausted, both mentally and physically. I am in constant pain. My back, my knees, intense migraines. I want to sleep all the time. One the other side, my anxiety amps me up. It makes it impossible to sleep.

So it’s 1 a.m., and I have to be awake in five hours. My eyelids droop closed, and a thought goes through my head. If you close your eyes, you won’t wake up! My eyes pop open, and it is another hour before sleep starts to descend over me. This time sleep wins, but the anxiety turns my thoughts into deeply disturbing nightmares about family dying or something at work happening that is irreversible. I wake up crying, and there is no way to back to sleep. I am mentally unprepared for the 14-hour day I have to work.

My anxiety likes me to be productive. I do a lot of freelance work, and I am writing my own novel, which is amazingly fun, and I’m in a graduate program. My anxiety fuels my desire to get things done as it spurns thoughts that if I don’t get work done, I will be a complete failure to everyone in my life, including myself. My depression doesn’t let me get anything done. It sucks all my motivation out of me like a little kid trying to drink every drop of the one soda they are allowed. I glance at my novel sitting on my desk, think about working on it, and then decide it will take too much energy to do it and enter my realm of nothingness.

There are times when they work together. My anxiety tells me that getting out of bed that day will be too hard and not worth it, and my depression chimes in saying my bed is where I need to be and is the safest place for me. On days like that, I cry, battling with my rational and irrational sides. I know missing work will be bad, but it sounds so good. The thought of getting on the bus sends me into a massive panic attack. I hyperventilate. Cry. My arms and legs freeze, and I feel like death is coming for me. As it passes, I get dressed and hope the day will be better.

This is a daily battle. My mind is at war with itself, and sometimes I feel as if nothing I do can stop it. The thought of trying to stop it is exhausting in itself.

Every day I wake up and start with a prayer. A prayer for peace. I have started journaling again to sort out these feelings and hopefully take control of them. I wrote this piece for myself but also for anyone else who experiences this. I know what you are going through. We can beat it. It will take time and a lot of effort that the anxiety and depression will tell you will not work and won’t be worth using. There will be worse days, but there will be better ones too. This community here can help. So can a mental health professional. The good news is… you are not alone. My anxiety and depression will not beat me down any longer. It won’t get in the way of my dreams, and it won’t stop me from being everything I am meant to be.

I will win this war.

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During the holidays, you watch television commercials of people getting ready for a family gathering: getting gifts ready, dressing the kids, everyone in the car, you see the family at the door knocking, and Grandma answers it. She gives everyone a hug and kiss and everyone goes inside to see all the other family members. That’s what people think really happens. What about those with anxiety or depression or both? It is not always like that.

My father lived with manic depression and anxiety. Family gatherings were not his favorite. There were a lot of relatives. Only a few family members knew my father lived with manic depression, but back in the ’70s, ’80s and ’90s, not a lot was known, so there was a lack of understanding. My father would become anxious about going, but we did go. We never knew if anyone would comment about his behavior, what he would do, what he would say; sometimes we did leave early after something was said and he would end up being hurt. After a while we did stop going. There would always be someone who didn’t want my father there because of something that happened in the past. Even just a small mention of a past event would grow into a huge ball of anxiety, frustration, anger, embarrassment and humility.

Family gatherings are meant to be fun and memorable and are for getting closer to one another. When a loved one lives with anxiety and depression, it can become a stressful event. Things are said and done and eventually the feeling of being trapped may occur, which can result in a panic attack.

When a loved one has anxiety or depression, the anticipation of the event can sometimes be worse than actually attending the event. Thoughts enter your head days, sometimes weeks before the event, wondering what is going to be said or done, how you would react to it, how the other person would react. Then you think of the consequences of it.

Sometimes just the preparation of the event can be stressful as well. If it’s Christmas, gifts have to be ready. If you have pets, they have to be taken care of before leaving. If there are children, they have to get ready. All the preparation has to be done within a certain timeframe and can cause the anxiety to heighten.

At times you won’t be able to control your surrounding during a gathering, but as a loved one you can help reduce the anxiety at any gathering…

Find an ally – if there is a relative who is positive and comforting, go with your loved one and begin a conversation.

Set limits – you cannot control what someone says or does, but you can help your loved one; reassure them it’s OK to say something but know when to walk away.

Bring a distraction – at times, it can become overwhelming. You can prepare a bag with comforting items for your loved one: a book, mp3 player, anything to help your loved one calm down.

Focus on the good – within the anxiety-provoked situation, you need to help your loved one see the good; there will be something positive that can be a calming distraction. You can suggest talking to a relative who has a positive, understanding energy, reading stories to children, playing with animals or assisting with the meal. Doing something positive will calm your mind and reduce the anxiety/depression

Understanding what is happening and having a plan to make it through can increase the sense of control and decrease your anxiety as well as your loved one’s.

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After every English literature test, there’s only one person the entire class expects to emerge at the top: me. Well, the entire class except me, that is.

The truth is, I have been consistently getting the highest grades in my class, and every time people ask me for any explanation or help in English, they always leave awestruck. “How do you think of all this stuff?” they ask me. But in my mind, it’s always a fluke. Every test I write, every essay I submit, they’re all just extremely lucky flukes. Because in reality, I don’t see myself as this genius everyone sees me as. I’m not good at the subject, I just get extremely lucky. Which is why, my most important rule is to never answer in class.

I see answering in class as a risk of exposing myself – what if I say something and people realize I’ve just been faking it and I’m not really that great at English? The anxiety of unravelling that shiny image and disclosing my “average” reality stops me from expressing my opinion in class. Because I always think my opinion is wrong, and I’m scared of people judging me for having the wrong opinion.

That’s what anxiety is to me – not even being able to accept my strengths and appreciate myself. In fact, I’m only looking at English literature as something I’m good at because of what my peers and my teachers have told me: personally, I hate every single thing I write. Anxiety is wanting everything to be perfect and then when nothing matches up to your standards, being anxious because well, nothing is good enough! Anxiety is being afraid to help other people when they ask you because you’re afraid if you help them, they might realize you’re not all that good after all. Anxiety is putting the pressure of living up to everyone’s expectations of you on yourself so people don’t see who you really are because you think you’re not good enough.

I want to answer in class; I want to be able to express my opinions and take part in debates, but I can’t, simply because I don’t believe in myself enough. But eventually, I will. And when I do believe in myself and my abilities enough, nobody will be able to stop me from answering in English class.

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I was robbed.

I lost so many things — things I cherish, things that made me who I am.

Dear robber, do you know you’ve done to me?

You took away the best things in my life. You away my happiness. You took away my peace of mind. You took away my rationality.

You left me in the darkest corner in my room, hiding from the world you exist in. You made me fear the slightest blow of air behind my ears. You made what seems so harmless, my darkest nightmare. You left me in disquietude.

You made me less than who I actually am. You turned my flowers into monsters. You turned my deepest fears into a reality. You constantly whisper into my ears the most cynical and misanthropic lies you can think of.

You drowned me in your pool of fears and worries. You left me gasping for air and struggling to stay afloat with only the slightest hope of surviving.

You tore me up into pieces — pieces so fine I can no longer patch back, pieces so fine I forgot what I was.

You pushed me down so hard, I struggle to stand again. You suffocated me so long, I no longer know what breathing feels like. You made me forgot what being “normal” feels like.

Dear anxiety, I will be back for you! And this time I will be stronger than I ever was. I will show you I have so much more than what you took from me. I will show you I will no longer bow to your self-proclaimed superiority and your bogus authoritarianism. I wish you all the best.

Follow this journey on Pada Pendapat Saya.

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