Anxiety is a Thief

Anxiety is a thief. A thief of joy. A thief of sleep and fun nights out. A thief of promotions and jobs and errands. A thief of trips and friendships and relationships. Worst of all, it is a thief of self. I have lost my ability to trust myself, to take that gut feeling I have so depended on, and believe in it, to follow it. To know myself and who I am at any given moment. If I had ever felt this terror in my body before, I'd have left that place, person, situation immediately, no questions asked. If I had ever had these thoughts occupy my mind before I might have thought I’d gone insane. Now my anxious mind tells me the grocery store is the very scariest of places, a horror waiting to happen and I absolutely cannot go or something horrendous will occur.

I have never been someone who hides, who's afraid, who won't go into a coffee shop, a halloween party or drive my car. Who won't go to a concert I really want to see because the parking situation is overwhelming and being alone is suddenly beyond terrifying, beyond my ability. My body acts in strange and unusual ways foreign to the before us. My stomach aches and chest tightens, my breathing quickens, too fast to keep up. Gas escapes and muscles cramp and twitch. Anxiety snatches my hunger, my dreams. My brain decides to imagine and suggest the very worst possibilities as absolute truths. It lies, and anxiety steals any semblance of 'normal'.

I guess a global pandemic, an economic flip, car accident, tyrants and fascists, wars, global warming, riots, murders, divorces, anti-abortion laws and 'historic times' leave an imprint, have lasting affects, who knew. I just didn't expect to be constantly robbed by my own self. Then again, anxiety often feels like an outside force not of myself at all. Something inflicted upon me. Like an attacker. It feels like an army, we're at war anxiety and I, and sometimes I lose the battle, sometimes I win. I fight and it does not get to take one more thing from me, I stand my ground, and stamp my foot and charge ahead anyway. Then I'm exhausted and give in, you can have this one today, I give in. Or it feels like a man, yes a man, that manipulates and distorts, that whispers untruths and gaslights. That convinces me I can't, I shouldn't, I won't.

It is one of those things you do not understand until you are in it. I never really knew this part of my friends and family until I had it too. Then I felt so very sorry that they’ve been living with this. It’s terrible, I get it. Those that don’t say things like, ‘oh you’re stressed out’, ‘why is this a big deal?’ ‘It’ll be fine’ ‘I get stressed out too, you know’. They don’t know. It’s so much more than that. Sure, stress is a killer, some people have intrusive thoughts, worries, and as we all know, life is really hard. But anxiety is debilitating on a bad day. Takes your breath, energy, your will to do anything at all. It’s been less than three years and it still feels new, not entirely manageable.

Anxiety is a thief in the night, in the morning, in the afternoon. It runs off with hours, days, weeks. Anxiety doesn't care for why's or how's or any logic, just takes and doesn't give back or return. The house is empty, I'm broke, you can leave now. Or maybe we'll learn to live together and I'll just take another bath, another nap, another skipped day.