young woman sat on bed hugging knees upset

My head is the loudest place on Earth. There’s not a moment when it’s quiet, when it’s calm, when it’s settled. I’ve got a thousand questions looping around, tormenting me day in and day out.

“Why would you do that?”

“Why would you think that?”

“Why did you just say that?”

“Are you stupid or something?”

“How is anyone going to like you now?”

“Why aren’t I good enough?”

“Why do you even bother?”

“Why do I feel like this?”

“Why can’t I stop it?”

They swirl around and around and as they do my heartbeat quickens, my mouth gets dry and my palms get sweaty. I can feel the world begin to spin and I become helpless, an observer lost in the cycle, forced to watch the whole scene play out while I can’t do a thing to stop it. I get lightheaded and my eyes begin to tear up — it’s happening again. It gets harder and harder to breathe as another small voice from deep within begins to speak.


The questions keep swirling getting louder and louder to match my heartbeat.


Now the questions are joined by insults.

“You really are ‘stupid.’”

“No wonder nobody wants to be your friend.”

“You really don’t deserve to be happy.”

“Nobody cares about you.”

“They are all just using you.”

“You really are ‘crazy.’”

They keep going and going. Suddenly every fear, every insecurity I’ve ever had in my life are brought to mind all at once, and it suffocates me like someone reached down my throat and yanked those fears up from my chest and now they are stuck.


But it doesn’t listen and there’s no stopping it now.

I find a place that feels comfortable — someplace quiet, away from everything else. In my bed with the blankets pulled up, or in the closet with my knees curled up, I reach for comfort — something that will help me to feel grounded.

It’s a full-blown panic attack now; I’m hyperventilating and it feels like I’m having a heart attack and that scares me even more. I’ve completely lost touch with anything happening around me. I’m stuck in this whirlwind and it’s spinning and spinning and I’m getting more and more out of control with every breath.

Everything that’s been stressing me out lately is all coming flooding back to me. My job, my relationships, my finances, my whole entire life — every single thing that made me nervous, every little mistake I ever made — I am overwhelmed by it all. Then I start thinking about all the times I’ve failed or about how I am just not good enough.

It doesn’t seem possible, but my heartbeat and my breathing are still getting faster. Now I’m shaking and the sweating won’t let up.

“Am I ‘crazy?’”

“If I’m doing this to myself, why can’t I just stop?”

I start to wonder if there is someone in my life who can stop this for me, so I start to think about all the most important people in my life, about that one person who I care for just a bit more than the others. For a brief second, I can take a regular breath. But this doesn’t last either because then I start to feel like maybe this person doesn’t really care about me and even worse maybe they are secretly trying to get back at me for something.

My head starts to swirl that around for a bit. Now I’m really freaking out.

“What if I lose this person?”

“What if I never really had this person?”

“What if they never cared for me at all?”

“What if this is all a joke to them?”

I try to remind myself that I’m not in a good place right now — that this is an anxiety attack and it’s going to go away. But anxiety doesn’t let me believe that, of course. So instead I think about how I’m alone and I’m drowning and there is no way out.

I know I should stay away from my phone. I tell myself not to send that message. It’s completely irrational and ridiculous and I know it’s going to push that person further away from me, the very last thing I want, the very last thing I need.

But I do it anyway. I start to type out that message and it releases something, it feels good. I take the blame away from me — it’s no longer my head that’s causing all this, it’s their fault! So, I push and I push, I accuse my person of being out to destroy me, to hurt me. They don’t understand it, where this is coming from — how on earth they could have possibly done the things I said. But I can’t believe them, no matter how many times they deny my accusations.

I can see it all happening like I’m outside my body — like it’s all a really bad dream. Unfortunately, I can’t wake up and I can’t stop it. All I can do is watch as I destroy everything that mattered. Sometimes this cycle will continue for days until that person I care so much for finally snaps, saying: “Are you fucking ‘crazy?’”

And it stops. Maybe I am.

My heart sinks because I did it again. I find my back inside my body once again and it feels so damn heavy. That heaviness sinks like a boulder to the pit of my stomach and I feel like I want to vomit — there’s no going back, there’s no undo button.

I feel the loss right away, even if that person sticks around for this to happen a few more times, each time I’m pushing them further and further away. Now I’m heartbroken and devastated because I’ve lost the one person I couldn’t bear to lose. It plays over and over in my mind and all I want is a chance to undo all that but it’s too late — the damage is done.

This happens again and again and again. Each time I see it, I know exactly what the result is going to be and there’s nothing I can do, no matter how much work I put in to try and get a handle on my anxiety.

It just keeps coming back.

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Thinkstock photo via markp73


Yesterday I hit a garbage truck. In New York City.

It was early in the morning, and I was on my way to an appointment with my therapist. Parking in the city is a pain, so I was relieved to spot an empty space that did not include a fire hydrant. Problem: it was blocked by a garbage truck. I managed to pull in front of the garbage truck and squeeze my way into the spot. Bad angle, but I was in. I figured I could fix myself when the truck moved on – if it would just move.

Next thing I know, there’s a knock on my window. Now what?

“Hey, you’re blocking the trash with your car.”

Omg, my day just started and I’m already pissed. I figured I was at a bad angle anyway so I would pull out so they can get the trash and then pull back in.

“OK,” I said (calmly). “I can pull out so you guys can get the trash.”

Out I go. Thing is, with two lanes on my side of the street, the garbage truck pulls beside me to retrieve the trash. Mission accomplished: trash retrieved. Put my car into reverse and began to pull back into my coveted spot. Unsuccessfully, of course. Here’s what happened next: crash. And then: crap, I hit the garbage truck. And then: omg omg omg omg. Anxiety skyrockets to 10 and I am gathering myself to fall apart.

Then came the garbage man. The garbage man without a name who literally restored my faith in all of humanity with his kind words and smile. He stayed with me and helped me park. He directed me into and out of the spot multiple times as I was so flustered and anxious I kept on overshooting my mark. He also fixed my car because I had apparently only unhooked the bumper, so he put it back for me. Then he gave me a pep talk about remaining calm and told me I should try not to get ruffled, so I won’t make mistakes. He told me that “slowly is quickly” and I shouldn’t feel pressured. He told me to focus on the task at hand and do it until I get it right. He told me I was going to be OK and that it was fine, I didn’t even need to fix my car because it wasn’t damaged. It was all I could do not to break down in front of him.

So, Mr. Garbage Man — though I do not know your name and you don’t know mine, know you have made a difference in my life. Know that on the streets of NYC, alongside the curb full of trash, you have imparted wisdom and lessons for life I will not soon forget. Know that in the midst of what could have been a complete catastrophe, you were my calm and support. Thank you with all my heart. You were a small window of my day, but you and your words have remained a part of my life. You have no idea what you did for me.

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Thinkstock photo via mrdoomits

We may think we know what anxiety looks like (shaking hands, shallow breaths) and what it sounds like (“I can’t do this. What if I can’t do it. What if?…What if?…), but what does anxiety feel like? Often, we focus so much on the racing thoughts and emotions that come with anxiety, we forget to recognize how physical anxiety can be. In fact, you can feel physical effects of anxiety without even realizing it’s anxiety that’s causing it.

To learn some of the ways anxiety not only affects your mind — but your body — we asked people in our mental health community to describe what physical symptoms of anxiety they deal with, and what they feel like.

Here’s what they shared with us:

1. “When I get into high anxiety, sometimes out of nowhere, I get GI [gastrointestinal] symptoms. Constantly going to the bathroom. I have cramps and abdominal pain. It’s tough because there is nothing I can do but just try to wait it out.” — Michele P.

2. “Does anyone else find themselves antsy after a big panic attack where you can barely sit still and then for the next couple days, you’re completely mentally/physically exhausted? I feel like everything is just too much and I can’t move.” — Kristen G.

3. “It starts with my heart racing… so fast I can hardly breathe. Then the nausea. It is unrelenting. The nausea makes my anxiety worse which makes my heart race, which makes me more nauseous. It’s all a vicious cycle, and it is so hard to escape.” — Rachael J.

4. “In the aftermath of a panic attack, I often feel bone-chillingly cold. It doesn’t matter what time of year it is, and no jacket or blanket helps. I just have to ride it out until it goes away.” — Monica M.

5. “My back is in tremendous pain, and every time I have attacks, I suddenly feel my back harden and new knots appear. I have been trying to go to massage therapy and other treatments, but nothing really seems to work.” — Alexandra C.

6. “Heart palpitations. Every night for over a year my heart wouldn’t let me sleep. As soon as I lay down and my body was relaxed, my heart would start pounding hard enough to shake my whole body. I was convinced I had a horrible fatal heart condition, but after a few tests, my doctor told me it was only a symptom of my anxiety disorder.” — Heather D.

7. “I start itching, picking at my scalp or under my finger nails. I sometimes look pale (more so than normal, that is) and seem slightly dazed. Of course nausea and sweating, as well. Sometimes it also feels like my tongue is swollen and I can barely speak.” — Alexa K.

8. “When my anxiety is triggered, my diaphragm turns to iron — I can’t relax it to take deep breaths, and sometimes I can’t even breathe at all. I end up taking shallow breaths and unconsciously holding them for as long as I can.” — Amber W.

9. “Sometimes, when under an extreme amount of stress/anxiety I get physically sick because my body is overdosing me with adrenaline. It’s happened in public a few times for me, and it’s humiliating. I heard someone call me a ‘hungover wreck’ before when actually I was just severely over-stressed.” — Conor L.

10. “I have constant heart palpitations. My resting heart rate is always in the 90s because I’m on constant high alert, even if I’m laying in bed. Then there’s the stomach aches, the headaches, constant muscle tension. Any wrong movement, I pull a muscle in my neck or back.” — Amber B.

11. “Chest pains that feel like I’m having a heart attack. My anxiety causes so much pain throughout my body, people think I constantly have the flu. I can’t believe how speechless I get and start mumbling. What surprises me is how much ice cream and a cold compress helps; it slows down my heart rate and calms me down.” — Christina P/

12. “Tense muscles in the back of my neck, stomach issues and feeling nauseous a lot, gritting my teeth subconsciously, feeling ‘heavy’ and tired, my heart beats fast and I partially dissociate when I’m extremely nervous. Also, I feel very shaky whenever I’m worked up, and I feel as if I can’t see straight (probably sensory overload).” — Elizabeth E.

13. “When I begin having an attack I get light headed and dizzy. I almost pass out. My breathing increases and my heart rate jumps up. It sucks. A lot. Especially when I’m in like the grocery store.” — Hannah Y.

14. “Depends on the type of anxiety for me. Usually starts with my body temperature rising, then I start to sweat. Heart starts beating faster and harder. It’s just racing,feels like it’s going to alien out of chest. My vision starts to get blurry. Turns into tunnel vision. Sounds all around me seem to be swallowing me up. I can’t focus on anything, especially my own thoughts. My hands start to shake and I want to scream at everyone.” — Kit K.

15. “Getting extremely hyper while having muscle spasms and joint pain. Then getting hit with a migraine and it’s hard to hear anything over my heartbeat, then finally getting cardiac symptoms(crushing feeling on my chest, inability to breath properly, arms going numb) that make everyone around me think I’m having a heart attack. Also major jaw pain due to clenching the majority of the time and grinding my teeth in my sleep.” — Cait L.

16. “Apart from the elevating heartbeat and the sick feeling in my stomach, I stammer. I am no longer in control of my speech pattern, I speak so fast I can’t catch my breath, my tongue somehow feels like it’s being twisted. What comes out of my mouth during anxiety is mostly a combination of gibberish and unintelligible sounds.” — Phượng N.


17. “My voice goes very raspy and strained… It’s a very odd symptom but happens nearly every single time I leave the house or talk to people on the phone, etc.” — Sarah G.

18. “Horrible and very vivid nightmares. Once my anxiety was under control I finally stopped having them. Plus nail biting, scalp picking, twitches, shaking, not being able to breathe, etc. It’s hell.” — Emily B.

19. “Dizziness, nausea, headaches, racing heart, upset stomach but recently I’ve noticed when I’m in full blown panic mode my gums bleed…very recent new symptom to add to the really crappy list…” — Claire A.

20.My boyfriend and I both have anxiety (him newly diagnosed and I’ve had it for my whole life), and when I get really anxious and hot my whole body breaks out in a red and incredibly itchy/painful rash that can only be remedied by trying to cool myself down and wait it out. He on the other hand gets these patches of what looks like dragon skin when he has high anxiety that he says is very itchy.” — Malia R.

21. “Full-body rage. High blood pressure followed by a sense of being completely drained. The feeling that your body is going to explode from inside out. And the feeling of hopelessness from not being able to ‘check’ myself/yourself.” — Courtney B.

22.Back pain, I tense my back without realizing I’m doing it and I can’t stop it when I start cause I don’t know how I do it in the first place. The pains there ’til the anxiety has subsided.” — Samantha S.

23. “I shut down. I can’t think. I forget where I’m going or what I’m doing. I just fall asleep. I had myself tested for narcolepsy simply because I wasn’t putting anxiety and my sudden urge to sleep together.” — Candice L.

24. “Nausea, uncontrollable shaking, rapid heartbeat, sweaty palms, hot/cold flashes, muscle tension, jaw clenching, and I startle very easy. These symptoms, combined with an onslaught of detrimental thoughts, create a perpetual cycle of uselessness, fear and panic. It’s exhausting.” — Persephone A.

The signs have always been there.  Though not as eye catching as a neon sign or obvious as a billboard, I suppose there have always been signs.

The signs are usually only noticeable to those who know me well — really well. It may be as innocent as a click, click of my nails as they flick against each other, or the way I hold my hands and slowly wring them — oh so slowly, so as not to be obvious. Internally though, my heart is beating anything but slowly and sometimes, it feels as though it skips a beat and causes me to lose my breath. Internally, I begin sweating so profusely I could and will soak my shirt. I try and take deep breaths because it feels like I have none left.

Outside, I smile and laugh it off. The perfect poker face. As long as I smile, no one knows what is going on inside. Make eye contact, nod reassuringly and everyone believes I am fine.

Behind my smile my mind races down every possible worst scenario in any given situation. I push these thoughts by keeping busy. I never say no. Keeping busy means I won’t be left alone to think.

Outside, others see a perfectionist. An overachiever. A person who seems so put together. I smile again, remembering it’s the the perfect poker face, and their words serve to persuade me, they are in fact, true.

When I’m alone though, it all creeps back in. Like a shadow crawling up my back, I start to feel fear, uncertainty and that’s when I know….

I struggle with anxiety.

I’ve never said those four words before. “I struggle with anxiety.” I don’t like them, and yet I feel relief from writing it down. Maybe those four words will set me free.

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Unsplash photo via Allef Vinicius.

It was one of those days where the anxiety takes control — the days when I can barely breathe at all; where I feel dizzy and nauseous; where every muscle is tensed to almost breaking point, and I’m fighting all of them to prevent visible shaking. But it’s not just physical. I’m fighting my own mind, simultaneously telling myself I can’t do this, I’m not worthy, nobody likes me, I’m in everybody’s way, and that I have to do this, I have to make it through the day, do my job. I can’t let everyone down.

Ordinarily, I keep these days to myself. I hate the idea of burdening someone with the insignificant struggles in my life. People have more important things going on in their lives, more pressing issues, their own challenges. But this day, I really needed you. I needed to reach out. I needed someone to know what was going on, just in case I couldn’t make it through the day. So, I did something I’d never done before. I sent you a text and told you how I was feeling and where I’d be if I wasn’t where I was supposed to be. I also asked you not to read the message unless something like that did happen. You ignored that and, honestly, I’m glad you did.

I paced around the room in every class I taught that day. I rocked myself in every meeting and took copious notes as a way of channeling the anxiety. When I wasn’t typing, I fidgeted with the hairband on my wrist or a pen. I could hardly think; hardly breathe; hardly be.

But, you were there and you helped me through it. More than you realize, you got me through this day, and you help me through countless others. You quietly checked in with me, asked if I was OK, and asked again when I said that I was, but you could tell I wasn’t. You looked at me with support and belief, never pity or disdain. Later, you messaged me to check I was OK.

The way you respond to my anxiety simultaneously confuses me and has me in awe. Every time I’m breaking down, you tell me it’s OK — that I don’t need to apologize for being human, for having struggles. You tell me you’re here, that you care, that my anxiety isn’t all that I am — that I’m making a difference for others in the work we do. You call out my anxiety in exactly the right way when I’m giving in to its darkness and mentally attacking myself.

You’ve said a million things which I try to cling to in my most difficult moments, even though my anxiety tries to tell me you can’t possibly mean them. But this day, in particular, you sent me a message that I really needed to hear.

You told me you think I’m strong.

The constant mental battles, fighting the physical symptoms, the lack of sleep and resultant exhaustion, spending every day scared of everything, the always present and uncomfortably fast heart rate pounding in my ears … It makes me feel weak. And I’ve heard it from other people, too. They think I’m being weak or pathetic or overdramatic, or a million other things I’m not trying to be.

But not you. And, as grateful as I was, I couldn’t understand how you weren’t making me feel that way, too. Then you said you thought I was strong, and I don’t think you’d lie to me. I don’t always feel strong, but it matters to me that you think I am, especially when I’m sharing my weakest moments with you. So, in my darkest moments, I’m learning to cling to your voice, to the things you say to me, to the way you see me. I’m using your messages to try to battle the voice in my mind that tells me I’m weak, that I’m irritating everyone, that nobody cares.

Thank you for helping me find a way to light the darkness in this daily battle.

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Thinkstock photo via DragonImages

I’ve been anxious my entire life. But I’ve been a wife for almost a year. Even before I got married, I had this feeling of not being enough. Because in my mind, anxiety told me he would only stay by my side if I were more beautiful, smarter and sexier, and that above all, I should be happier or at least pretend to be. Because no one likes sad and insecure people, right? But I recognize my luck, more than before, for still having him loving and caring and supporting me all the time. So why do I still hear what my anxiety says and all the bad things it makes me feel?

The answer is simple but tough to accept. Because deep down I know I am not like my anxiety and the lies it tells me. I know this, mainly, because this anxiety is not mine. All that is mine is this perception, this consciousness of truth. It is important to be able to separate what is mine and what generates from anxiety.

Even when I know what matters, I keep hearing those voices and believing them sometimes. There are several nights when I wake up thinking I am not a good wife and do not have what it takes to keep my marriage stable — also that I am not enough to satisfy my husband. So, I feel weak, nervous and powerless to do anything, thus leaving a void in our relationship. I end up fulfilling all my fears, and in this way, I fail not only as a woman to him but as a person to me. All I do at these times is apologize and cry.

But I am a human being, like everyone. I have many faults, and I am far from perfect. I’m a good wife and friend. I worry about what he needs, what he feels, what he wants, and I try to provide everything necessary for him to feel happy. I hear his fears and longings even when I am distressed and my soul is hurt. I often put him on top of everything when I need to be the priority. If this is not being a good wife, then I do not know what is necessary for me to be one. Everything in relationships needs to remain in reciprocal values. When things are in constant balance we get a taste of perfection.

At this point, I try to believe in myself, even though it seems impossible sometimes. I pray every day that this mental disorder won’t be my ruin and that I can always try to overcome myself day after day. May the tears disappear, and if it is not so simple, may I may be strong enough to accept my condition and let the tears fall without guilt. That “I’m sorry” won’t be the only thing I can say. My husband accepts me as I am, and he always says it’s OK not to be OK. So, there is no reason for me to think differently and prefer to isolate myself from the world when I have someone who values me and wants to help me. The secret is to look within ourselves, listen to our hearts and know that what is in our mind is not always the absolute truth.

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Thinkstock photo by ravald

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