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Health Anxiety - An Invisible Demon

Just because you can't see it doesn't mean it's not there.

By The Anxious DiariesPublished 6 years ago 6 min read
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Photo by Ian Espinosa on Unsplash

If you speak to someone with Health Anxiety (HA) they will often be able to pinpoint where it all began. For some it will be, although deeply unpleasant, a mere episode triggered by trauma, one in which they overcome and return to life as it once was. For others, however, their anxiety becomes ingrained within the very foundations of your being. There is no escaping it, no quick fix or get out clause and all that is left is learning to make peace with who you now are. Some of us achieve this with relative ease, learning to acknowledge our triggers and nip those dark thoughts in the bud before we unravel completely.

Some of us, do not. Hi there, I'm *Elle. Nice to meet you.

On the surface, you wouldn't think I had a care in the world. Like many sufferers, it's the devil on our shoulder, the one you cannot see. My story began some years ago after losing my father to Cancer. Losing—a strange word that dusts off the severity and implies a sense of responsibility on your behalf. How funny we humans are, we live our lives with a compulsive need to sweep strife under the carpet, then wonder why our mental health abandons ship.

What followed on from this was a descent into what can only be described as—hell on earth. Don't believe me? Surely it can't be that bad? Good. If you don't believe me then that means you don't suffer in this way and for that, I am glad. Admittedly, I didn't realise what was coming at the time. You would think two years of watching the life being violently sucked out of someone you love would prepare you. It doesn't. I still believed up until the last second that things would get better, you never give up. Then, within a blink of an eye, he was gone and with him a part of my heart that has never returned.

Yet, despite this, it wasn't until a year later that I met the new me. A routine GP visit turned into a request for further tests. This resulted into a cursory glance on the web for more information. BOOM. This was my first mistake. Cancer, nothing but a collection of letters yet it somehow seemed to rise from the page like it was my turn now. Hello again old friend. Seconds later I was in fetal position on the floor, hyperventilating, blind from tears and crying so vigorously I wasn't sure if I was making a sound anymore. Spoiler alert—I didn't have Cancer of course. Nor have I had the 20+ types since this period that I've self-diagnosed. This was my first introduction to my new best friend HA. He and I have tried to part ways many times since this period, but to no avail. Boy he's clingy.

Suddenly my free time became our bonding sessions. There was no me time anymore. There was only him. Every symptom took me straight back to the web, to the compulsive checking and begging those closest to me to tell me I was ok. They did, every time. Until they couldn't anymore. How could they tell me I was ok? I wasn't. Yet it wasn't the symptoms or the diseases I imagined I had. Yes it was real and yes it was an illness—but the illness was me and the worst was still to come.

  • Feelings of impending doom so strong you can't see any light in the world because you are so convinced it is all about to be taken away from you.
  • Post traumatic stress and a fear of even thinking about a clinical environment, nevermind being in one.
  • The hopelessness, will things ever get better? How can it? I'm educated, I know I am ruining my life yet I can't stop. This is all my fault.

Then there are the physical signs, the panic attacks, the gastro upsets, the chest pains and inability to breath but to name a few. Survival becomes your only goal in life and maximum comfort your new daily goal. Passions? You must be joking. Eat, sleep, breathe repeat. Am I still here? Thank fuck for that. Yet the joy is gone. You exist but you don't live.

To attempt to truly explain how it feels to be part of this world is futile. The closest I could possibly come is to say to you - picture this. It's warm outside, the sun is shining, the birds are singing. You are by the lake and you want to take a dip.

Shit. That water looks deep. Could I drown? I mean, I can swim. There are people around too so if anything happened I would be ok. Okay let's do it. No, crap, wait. Maybe there is bacteria in the water and if it gets in my mouth I'll get sick. It might kill me. How often does that really happen though, it's such a popular destination I'd surely hear it in the news. Maybe a 1 in a million chance. Oh god. I'll be the 1 in a million. Maybe I'll quickly look it up just to be sure. Two hours later, it's cold now and raining plus I really should get back. Plus 1 out of all those pages you read said their cousin's girlfriend's best friend's uncle's neighbour died in a similar situation. He was 85 and hit his head. But you know, sticks and stones. Ah well, I didn't want to anyway.

I'd like to tell you my story improves. But a few years later I found myself back at square one. My Grandma had Cancer and it was terminal. I wish I could say I was prepared this time. In a lot of respects, I guess I was. Trying to make someone smile when their world was crumbling was now one of my better attributes. Finding one small positive in a triumphant shitstorm, my forte. Yet ending their pain—I could not. This is something you don't get over. Your brain develops ingenious ways of coping though. Not all hope is lost. You basically inherit a giant fuck it bucket where it chucks all of the memories until one day when it decides to open the lid for shits and giggles.

Just before she passed, me and my boyfriend lost our beloved dog to Cancer. It came out of nowhere and within a week he was gone. I know not everyone can understand this and that is ok. But to me, he was my best friend and a significant part of what got me through the day. I couldn't comprehend a life without him, I didn't want it. Yet as always, I got up, got on with life and was rewarded with the same fuck it bucket from once before.

Yet it did get easier. It always does. Please know that.

You could be easily forgiven for seeing no positives to my account and certainly, until this point I have failed to mention them. But that is about to change. This isn't a picture of woe or a request for pity. I don't feel sorry for myself, why should I? Life is a bitch but it isn't going to change for me. All I can do is change the way I deal with it (admittedly as of now I'm really fucking crap at this). The one positive I have taken from my experiences is the unrelenting strength and tenacity my family showed even when they had nothing left to give. I want to be more like them. I will be more like them.

So I give you this. My mission to myself and my offering to everyone out there who is a member of this unwanted club.

I will fight for my light to be turned back on.

I won't let my triggers take me down without a fight.

I refuse to be defined by this illness.

I am *Elle. I am mental health awareness. Who are you?

anxiety
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About the Creator

The Anxious Diaries

Blagging my way through life one nervous breakdown at a time.

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