Since I last adjusted my anxiety medication, the physical symptoms of it have subsided to manageable levels. However, my anxiety is far from cured. It’s just become less evident to the people around me. Which is great and all, as I don’t want other people to bother me about it. But the anxiety is still there, lying just below the surface. 

I remain perpetually hyper-aware of everything going on around me. Even when my conscious mind fails to recognize things, my subconscious never misses. There is always something going on around me that has me high-strung to a point it’s unhealthy, and my body is physically reacting to the stress. My heart palpitations and shakiness may be mostly cured, but my body is suffering in other ways. I currently have a cold sore that is, by far, the worst one I’ve ever had. My face, back, and chest often break out with severe acne. And, it’s once again hard to gain and keep weight. 

This all feels awfully familiar. Logically, I know it isn’t. Everything I’m currently experiencing is simply a result of anxiety. None of what I’m currently experiencing is life-threatening or indicative of anything deadly. With the help of medication, a decent diet, physical exercise, and a few things to look forward to and enjoy, I will improve (more than I already am). I will be my old self again. 

Emotionally, however, it’s hard for me to accept the facts. While I may be just fine, and will soon be back to my usual self, my anxiety would have me believe that I’m not actually okay, and I’ll soon end up in the hospital sick with a lung infection or malnutrition. None of those worries are out-of-the-blue either. 

To my anxious mind, they’re perfectly rational, as I’ve ended up in the hospital sick like that before. And I remember how scary and miserable those stays were, and the struggles I endured the months leading up to my admission, as well as the months following it. That fear of the hospital is so deeply ingrained in my mind, that I get overly freaked out when I’m not feeling so awesome. That anxiety makes even the most trivial cold seem like a life-ending Pneumonia infection, no matter what I say, do, or know about my (now irrational) fears. 

But, the medical anxiety I have merely scratches the surface of a much larger and worse problem. When it comes to things like socializing, weather, college, the pandemic, and pretty much everything else out of my control, my anxiety is constantly through the roof. For years, I’ve done all that I could to avoid my anxieties (or, for a better term, phobias), much like how I’ve done all that I could to avoid ending up in the hospital. It’s perfectly healthy and acceptable for me to not want to go to the hospital unless I absolutely have to. It’s good that I’ve taken such great care of myself, even if the main reason has always been avoiding the hospital. 

But, I can’t avoid everything that makes me anxious. It’s not healthy to be so shut-in. I can’t simply avoid people and places my entire life. I can’t just stay home and call off my day if the weather isn’t great or covid cases begin to rise again. I can’t avoid basic things like doctor’s appointments and routine medical tests, as scary as they can be. I must push through that anxiety to be productive, healthy, and happy. 

But, it’s sometimes nearly impossible for me to go out and face my fears, especially since I’m so good at hiding it. People often mistake my outward calmness as confidence, fearlessness, and/or even happiness. But, more often than not, I’m absolutely terrified. I just don’t want to express my emotions out of fear of being vulnerable. Essentially, because I’m afraid of basically everything and everyone, I’m afraid of being, well, afraid, which actually seems to hamper my ability to get actual help and guidance from the people around me. 

After all, many of my fears and phobias are rather ridiculous, and for my whole life, I’ve been surrounded by exuberant, adventurous, bravehearted people who have, at best, pitied me for being so skittish and cautious. I mean, it’s logical for people to assume that I’m the toughest, strongest, most fearless person in the room, given all that I’ve been through. But, precisely the opposite is true. I’m not any less afraid or skittish of things and situations than I was when I had much less control over my outward emotions as a little girl. I’m just much less likely to show that fear.

Although, at times, people can see a flicker of fear in my eyes if they look closely enough. When they notice it, most people either ignore it, or point it out for the world to see. Neither action is helpful. 

I don’t need pity. I don’t need someone to just tell me to “suck it up” and shove me into the situation for me to face alone. I don’t need someone to laugh at me or sneer at me for being afraid to shake hands with strangers. I don’t need someone equally afraid as me to "ride it out". All of these things only make my anxiety worse, and make my fears (both rational and irrational) even greater obstacles for me to overcome. Sadly, far too many people both close and distant from me understand this. They fail to realize that, as silly as it may often be, my anxiety is very, very real to me. 

To me, being forced into a room with a bunch of strangers is like forcing someone with a fear of snakes to jump into a pit of pythons. Even then, stubborn extroverts with snake phobias still can’t see things from my perspective. No wonder I’m not willing to show my emotions and vulnerabilities to most people, including those I know and trust the most. Because, even my own parents have unintentionally ridiculed me and made my social fears worse. They just don’t know it, because I neither show my fear or even really mention it, unless I am absolutely stricken with terror. 

People seem to only pay any meaningful attention to my anxiety when I’m absolutely crippled by it, and the physical symptoms bring me to my knees. For instance, a few years ago, Dad and I went on one of our many mountain adventures, which took us up on Loveland Pass on a very cold and windy day. I forget when exactly this was, but I do know it was around a holiday because there were lots of people on the pass with us. 

At some point, Dad wanted us to stretch our legs and grab a bite to eat. So, we stopped at an exceptionally busy visitor’s center. People were fucking everywhere. The parking lot was overflowing with people and cars, and the trail to the peak of one nearby mountain (which up there was basically a hill) was completely lined with people who wanted to experience the miserably cold and windy tundra weather. 

If it had just been the altitude, cold, and the wind, I would’ve been able to cope with it just fine. If it had just been the people, I would’ve been able to cope with it for a time (though much less gracefully). But, the large crowd, the wind that made it harder for me to breathe, the thinner air, and the cold all at once was simply too much for me. My senses were completely maxed out. Worst of all, I felt like I wasn't getting enough air. 

To my dad, it looked like I was on the brink of passing out due to altitude sickness. In reality, I was suffering from an all-out panic attack. There was just too much going on for me to handle it, and in an attempt to protect me from it all, my body essentially tried to shut down. 

Thankfully, we weren’t far from the car, so Dad pulled me into a side hug and brought my limping body back to the car. While I sat cold, nauseous, shivering, and hyperventilating in the passenger seat with the heat on full-blast, Dad brought us to lower ground as fast as he could. In the shelter of the car below the treeline, I was able to make a full recovery without any more problems. And we ended our day with a late lunch at a comfortable, quiet restaurant in Littleton. 

However, before any of that happened, I had expressed concern about the weather, traffic, altitude, and especially the crowds around that visitor’s center. In response, my dad essentially made fun of me for being a whiny little bitch, and pressured me to join the crowd with him anyway. Besides, we’d been in the car for two straight hours, and he’d drank a ton of coffee on the way to the pass. Hell, we hadn’t even eaten breakfast yet. But, when I nearly passed out from anxiety on the miserable walk to the visitor’s center building, only then did Dad realize how dire the situation was. 

All I can ask from people is for them to not downplay my anxieties, or push me so far beyond my limits that my body decides to attempt a hard-reset in the worst possible places. That doesn’t mean people should simply enable me by allowing me to turn tail the second I get even slightly nervous. Indeed, I do need a good push from time-to-time. But, there’s a right way and a wrong way to push me beyond my comfort zone.