Anxiety can be caused by a variety of things, but the word itself is entirely insufficient to explain the disorder. One word cannot contain the breadth and depth of my personal experience. People like me, who suffer from anxiety, have a chemical imbalance in their adrenal gland. Adrenaline is the hormone released when a person feels threatened, the one that gives you the “fight or flight” instinct. That heart-pumping, fearful state can come over me at any time. It makes everyday living harder than it needs to be.

My anxiety disorder also alters the way I think. I worry all the time about bad things happening to me and the people I love. I am afflicted on a regular basis by headaches, heart palpitations, and muscle aches. Sometimes these symptoms make me feel like I must have psychosis, too. I could live with all of that, however, if it wasn’t for the panic attacks.

I used to believe that if I pushed myself just a little harder, I could do it all. I imagined that I could be a single mom, work fulltime, occasionally hang out with my friends, and also take online college courses. It was a heavy load, but I thought my anxiety medicine would enable me to handle it all. I soon learned, though, that my disorder limits me in ways that pills can’t always fix. After working myself too hard for months, I had a sudden and unexpected episode. It was no ordinary anxiety attack. It was the big one.
The attack happened one morning after I dropped my daughter off at school. I was driving to work, but I hadn’t had much sleep. My heart began to race, but that wasn’t all that unusual, so I didn’t take it as a serious warning sign. Then, as if someone had flipped a switch somewhere in my body, I was suddenly and inexplicably suffocating. My hands and face went numb, and my limbs felt heavy and sluggish. Even my vision started to fade.
I was sure I was dying. My heart beat desperately against my chest, as if it was trying to pump the life back into me. The rest of my body was simply shutting down.
By some merciful stroke of luck, I hadn’t yet merged onto the Interstate when the anxiety attack struck. I pulled over onto the shoulder and called 911. The operator was obviously experienced with situations like mine, because she gave me exactly the right advice. She told me to be calm and take deep breaths. At first I thought, “How is this going to help me? I’m dying!” As I followed her instructions, though, I started to get better. My limbs tingled as sensation returned. I was weak and my breathing was still labored when the paramedics arrived, but I knew I wasn’t at death’s door.
The drama of that incident inspired me to make big changes. I started taking a different medicine and I altered my lifestyle. I needed more personal time, and I desperately needed more sleep. My anxiety disorder can be exhausting.

Right now my biggest challenge is being around other people. I was confused for a long time about what happened to me when I was forced to socialize. Even as a very young child, I knew something wasn’t quite right. I found it hard to connect with anyone, and I withdrew from my family and kids my age. I stayed in my own world most of the time. Being around others made me feel so strange. It was as if I could sense the people around me, and their presences stifled and choked me.
I still get that feeling, and it’s the reason I don’t go out very frequently. I would rather stay home in my comfort zone. If I do have to leave home, I make sure I’m heavily medicated or inebriated. I’m such a mess if I don’t self-medicate that way.

I’m not sure if things will ever get better, but I am able to maintain a semblance of normalcy. The key is to forgive myself for these flaws, because I know it’s not something I can control. I have an illness, the same way someone with diabetes or asthma does. Hopefully our culture will recognize anxiety in those terms someday soon, too. Empathy and understanding from my peers makes the burden much easier to bear.