It’s taken me almost three decades, but I’ve finally found a way to express my anxiety. I can describe the sensation of my skin crawling, the tightness in my chest, and the overwhelming urge to control every little thing around me.
I’m not trying to be overly dramatic or obsessive; I know this is a mental health issue. I understand that my thoughts can be irrational and impractical, and I realize that many of the feelings I experience are quite absurd. But they’re still very real to me — even if they seem silly, they are my feelings, and I often feel them intensely.
I’m the type to make lists, then make more lists, and even plan for events that will never happen. I juggle at least eight budgets to ensure all the bills are paid and we can afford groceries before the next paycheck arrives. I often rearrange my mental furniture, hoping that a different perspective will help me feel at ease in my own mind.
I’ve even mentally prepared for the worst-case scenario, like the death of my partner. I map out where my kids and I would live and how we’d cope without him. No, he’s not sick — not at all. I just can’t help but worry, constantly strategizing. It’s not just about him; it extends to my parents, my sister, and even my two kids.
These are the things I can articulate well. However, when it comes to asking for help, I struggle even though I’m silently begging for someone to step in and rescue me.
“I’m so tired. I was up all night again.” I toss and turn until the early morning, my legs ache and my body is drenched in sweat. I try everything — changing clothes, cranking the ceiling fan, deep breathing exercises — but nothing seems to work. The moment I lay down, my mind races, and I wish I could sleep away my relentless fears and guilt.
“I’ve been feeling nauseous again.” My anxiety has gotten so heavy that my stomach is in a constant state of turmoil.
“I just need a night out with the girls.” Please, give me a reason to vent about my ridiculous worries over some diet sodas and snacks.
Then comes the dreaded “Let me know if you need anything,” and I squeeze my eyes shut, tears rolling down my cheeks. “I am,” I scream in my head. “This is my way of asking — no, begging! I need help, and I don’t even know what that looks like.”
“Thanks, I will,” is all I can muster to text back. After all, you have your own responsibilities, kids, and life to manage. Honestly, I probably couldn’t handle the guilt of burdening you. I know I can be a lot to deal with, and it doesn’t always make sense.
But here’s the truth: I do need assistance; I just struggle to express it.
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In summary, it’s completely normal to feel overwhelmed, and reaching out for help can be a challenge. Just remember, you’re not alone in this, and there are resources available to support you.
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