Anxious

I'm so grateful for all of my readers out there.

I am grateful for everyone who has reached out and told me that they are reading,

that they are learning, 

that they are sharing these posts with those who may need them.

I have had several great conversations over the past few weeks with different people regarding anxiety.

Namely my own but also conversations about what anxiety disorder is.

So I thought I would break down what anxiety disorder is and how it affects me.

Did you know approximately 18% of people will struggle with an anxiety disorder this year?

Get a group of 100 people and 18 of them will have anxiety disorder.

That is a lot more than just me.

As you read this I want you to remember that while I am sharing experiences relevant to me and my own journey there are people you interact with everyday, people you love and care about, who have similar struggles to the ones I am describing. 

And while I have chosen to share parts of my journey with you, matters of the mind are personal and you never know the daily challenges one may face.

So be kind.

:)

First off let me break down anxiety disorder for you:

There are the four main types of anxiety disorder,

1. General Anxiety Disorder

2. Obsessive Compulsive Disorder

3. Phobias and Panic Disorders

4. Post Traumatic Stress Disorder

For me, I fit under the category of general anxiety disorder. 

That means that I have excessive, unrealistic worry about everyday problems, and it has lasted over a period of six months. 

(For me it has basically been the last 20 years of my life)

Symptoms of anxiety disorder include:

Feelings of panic, fear or unease

Shortness of breath

Heart palpitations

Dry mouth

Numbness or tingling in the hands or feet

Cold or sweaty hands or feet

Trouble sleeping

Nausea

Muscle tension

Dizziness

It is weird for me writing out all these symptoms because anxiety is just a part of who I am. 

There are people for whom their anxiety doesn't begin until something traumatic happens, or maybe it is a side effect of a medication or whatnot.

For those who don't have anxiety I want you to think of that moment when you are walking down the stairs and you miss the step. You know when your heart drops straight down into your chest in a moment of pure terror? That is how people with anxiety react to the smallest things. It sucks.

(It is this level of freakout for everything essentially)

For me it is just a part of what makes Emma, Emma.

To start at the very beginning I was a nervous child. 

 I have always had anxiety disorder.

I was afraid of everything. 

As a toddler I was terrified of being locked in a room. 

TERRIFIED.

To the point where I would never shut a door behind me.

For years.

(I was probably crying on the inside)

I had to know where every member of my family was always.

I had to have a specific plan every day so I would know where everyone would be and where I was supposed to be.

I had to be in control of my surroundings.

Or else I would burst into tears.

Cry. 

Be in the fetal position.

My fear of the unknown was so great it consumed my little young life.

(And yet I was the cutest kid ever)

In school I had to be the best.

I HAD to be the best.

I held myself to higher standards than anyone else did because of consequences that only existed in my mind. 

I constantly flipped between speaking up and being a leader in the classroom and untying my tangled tongue that wouldn't allow me to ever raise my voice above a whisper. 

If something would go wrong in my day I would have to run to the bathroom to hyperventilate until I felt I could return to class.

I always felt awkward. 

When I was 14 I had my first panic attack.

It was over something stupid that has no real significance in my life, except for the fact that after I made a comment in class that made me feel embarrassed, but in no ways a life-threatening or social life-ruining comment, I began hyperventilating.

 My heart raced a million miles a minute, I couldn't get out of my own head and away from my thoughts, and tears threatened to pour down my cheeks.

I called my mom and said she needed to pick me up immediately and ran out of the classroom.

Only to go home and cry my eyes out for a good hour with no good reason to do so. 

At 14 I was diagnosed with anxiety disorder.

(There are literally no cute pictures of me at 14... So I'll have to settle for this one where I thought I was so cute)

I was taught coping strategies, many of which I had already implemented in my life.

Playing the piano.

Going for walks.

Listening to music.

Deep breathing.

Saying a prayer.

Singing.

I also had unhealthy coping strategies like running my long nails down my arms that left marks, but allowed me to breathe clearly for a few seconds, a relief that made it feel worth doing whenever I became too overwhelmed. 

(This is actually a great idea to use)

As I babysat my siblings more often and later at night I became paranoid.

Every window and door was triple-checked.

I couldn't look out a window after dark in case I saw something terrifying.

(Even though I have never seen a scary movie that would cause that to be a fear, nor have I ever looked out a window after dark and seen something that would cause this to be a legitimate fear)

I had to sleep, or more often sit awake up by my sleeping siblings rooms in case anything happened.

This continued until my parents installed a security system, bought mainly to prevent my nightly paranoid walks and panic attacks that accompanied my paralyzing fear of whatever happened past dark.

In my senior year of high school I had several eye surgeries to fix a blocked tear duct.

(One of many doctor appts)

Each surgery failed and following one of the surgeries I ended up having an anoxic seizure, something I am terrified of repeating to this day. 

(Post surgery hanging out with Elle, and really drugged)

All of the failed surgeries, as well as applying for universities, missing lots of school and trying to graduate caused panic attacks to be a bi-weekly occurrence for a few months. 

(Somehow I did end up graduating)

Leading up to leaving for university I had panic attacks almost every day. 

To the point where I was unable to pack or get done what I needed to because I was so immobilized by my fear.

At university things were better.

Living on my own was something I found enjoyable and peaceful.

I made friends quickly. 

I overall did well in classes.

And I loved my soccer program.

(Me with my best friends at university)

Panic attacks became more rare. 

My anxiety prevented me from going out with friends too often, but didn't prevent me from living my life. 

I can count on one hand how many panic attacks I've had over the past year.

And all of them were justified, in an anxious brain kind of way. 

(Except for that one Kadee, you know which one I am talking about... )

(But really though, this girl gets me. She is so beyond good)

To someone on the outside looking in I am amazing. 

My life is fantastic and I am happy all the time.

Which isn't false.

I love my life and I am happy.

But I also deal with anxiety about situations others wouldn't even consider threatening. 

I appreciate everyone saying I'm not even that bad, I'm not a shut-in from my anxiety so why would the mission department consider me potentially unfit for missionary service?

Because I was honest with them.

More honest than I've ever been with the majority of my readers about my anxiety.

My anxiety disorder is a problem. 

It is a disorder.

There is medically something wrong with my brain that causes me to be this way. 

(My personal diagnosis is that my body produces too much epinephrine, which causes me to reach the fight or flight response faster than other people when faced with a normal situation.)

Meeting with counselors over the years have been interesting as I present in basic facts my life with anxiety.

I don't think any of what I described above as weird or abnormal.

It is my life and is just as much a part of me as my blue eyes are or being left-handed or liking to read.

But every counselor has a different explanation and different ways to make me "better."

But I am just me.

And Heavenly Father knows me and loves me exactly the way I am. 

Who knows how many times my anxiety has protected me from dangerous situations that I was unaware of but still afraid of?

And who knows why God allowed me to be this way?

I don't know but I like me.

And next time I refuse to walk down a certain street or have to check my purse 30 times before I leave the house for my phone I know is in there and I remember putting in there, just humor me.

Anxiety is real.

Mental Illness is real.

But Mental Awesomeness is real too.

And my anxiety won't prevent me from being a great missionary.

So thank Heaven for that.