I Count to 10 and I Still Feel Anxiety


I feel like I can’t stop moving.

I feel like my insides are churning and my mind is working so fast I can’t even tell what I’m thinking. People ask me what’s on my mind and I have to say nothing, but it’s everything at the same time — like I’m about to burst or explode and my heart might stop, or something. I count to 10 and I still feel it. The movement. I find a way to channel it but it only lasts a short time. I organize my closet. I write a story. I clean the files on my computer, again. I start a journal. I stretch myself out. I text some friends.

I feel like a burden.

Everyone hates me. I cancel plans. I worry. I worry no one likes me. I worry my wife will leave me. I worry I upset someone. And when I do, it is the end of the world. It collapses on top of me and I am unable to breathe. Air doesn’t fill my lungs and I can’t get enough of it, not now. I count to 10 and I still feel it.

Is that a new freckle?

I learn everything the internet has to offer about skin cancer and everyone tells me that it looks normal, that I’m fine. I’m not fine, I’m never fine. My mind keeps spinning and I feel everything bubbling over. Five more text messages, I’m still a burden. My wife is at work and I blow up her phone, thinking maybe she’s mad at me. Isn’t everyone, always?

I am a failure.

I’m 25 and this isn’t what I wanted my life to look like. I like my job but it’s not what I’m passionate about. I live in my mom’s house while I wait for my wife to get permanent residency in Canada. I miss my friends. I miss my sanity. I miss myself. I miss the way I used to feel inspired every day to do something bigger and better. I miss thinking I could do anything. The world seemed bigger, once.

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I am exhausted.

I stay up late every night because panic fills my chest and I can’t bring myself to stop moving. I go to work like a zombie but I put on a happy face every day, like a mask I wear with my lipstick. I am a contradiction. I move constantly, needing to find the quickest way to distract myself at every moment, but I am so tired I can hardly see straight.

I am anxious.

This is what anxiety looks like. I am a ball of panic most of the time. There is always something new, nagging at my ever moving mind. Sometimes, I feel like my brain is filled with little buzzing flies, zipping around nonstop and I can’t silence them. I count to 10 and I still feel it.

I am hopeful.

It is worse now than it has been in a long time. But it’s also better. I believe in myself, because I know there is a light at the end of this frantic tunnel. I accept the days when I have trouble getting out of bed in the morning. I accept myself as someone who breaks down once in a while, because recovery isn’t always smooth sailing. I accept myself for my imperfections, because we all have them. No one is perfect.

I am working on accepting I am my best self.

In the moments when I don’t know if I’m good enough, I will remind myself that I am a good wife, a good daughter and a good friend. That when I make mistakes, I always try to correct them. That when I hurt someone, I will always apologize. That when I feel like I’m not living up to my perhaps impossibly high expectations for myself, I will set new goals, and tell myself that life means having small setbacks here and there. That when I don’t think anyone likes me, that I like me. And that when I don’t, I look for the good parts. Because they’ll always be there, even when I don’t see them.

I will breathe.

Because as my partner reminds me constantly, it all starts there.

Just breathe.

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