Maybe things could be different
Looking back, it’s easy to see that I’ve been struggling with anxiety for quite some time. I have a reputation as a horrible decision maker, I’m never sure how I want to proceed, and this internal dread often floods over me out of nowhere. As someone with a degree in psychology, perhaps I should have made the connection much sooner. In fact, perhaps I did know all along.
Whether I was consciously aware of my need for help or not, I realized very quickly that it was time to seek aid only after jumping headfirst into a new relationship. I’m normally more careful, knowing how easily I get attached. (I’ve been down this road before: more on that another day.) But, there’s something about this woman that really draws me in. Day after day I kept feeling better and better about her. Then suddenly, all I felt was fear. She’s going to get sick of you. You’re not good enough. Just leave her alone, dumbass. Despite never hearing an unkind word from such an incredible person, I found myself questioning everything she said.
The low point came quickly. One day I didn’t hear anything from her, which sent me down this long road of overthinking and self-deprecation. After begging for attention and demanding that she speak to me, I was informed that she had been attending the funeral service for her recently deceased father.
And our first nominee for douche of the year goes to…
At that moment I began to reflect. I looked back at all of our text messages, and thought about my past relationships. I noticed one common theme: I never felt secure. I never felt safe. I never felt comfortable. And it never made sense for me to feel that way. I scheduled an appointment with a counselor the next day.
I am here now to narrate my experiences with anxiety and the mental health system. Maybe I can help to guide some of you while I struggle though. And if nobody reads this, I’m told writing down your thoughts is therapeutic.