Dear Friend,
As you probably very well know, I bail on plans at the last minute, make excuses to stay in bed, attempt to plan everything down to the last second and experience sudden and overwhelming emotions. I always want to know everything about everything, I mumble and sometimes stutter when I speak and sometimes I talk faster than I can think. I’m restless, have a constant need for caffeine and find myself stress eating. In the height of my anxious periods, I have an inability to make decisions and fear of anything new. I say “nothing” when you ask me if something is wrong, I have an inability to go anywhere without panic, and I wear sweats for days. I try hard to hide the fact I’m scared.
Very few things calm the anxious spirals I get into — you know, the bad ones where I ramble about my future, the choices I made years ago and whether or not we’d survive an apocalypse. Being around people helps. Hugs help. Talking helps. Crying helps. Adventures help, walks and watching silly movies help. Sometimes I just need to be reminded I am a real human and not an anxious ball of anxiety. I am writing this in an attempt to be fair to you, because on the outside my behaviors may look “insane,” tightly wound, frustrating and annoying — to say the least. I know you can’t always see why I do what I do, but I appreciate you trying to. I want to explain the reasoning behind the way I act to give you some background.
When you give me advice, it isn’t always me ignoring you. Sometimes it is because I am stubborn, but not always. I know my emotions are hard to deal with sometimes. I know I can go from cracking jokes one minute to being a monsoon of depressed feelings in a blink of an eye. I know I intensely focus on things — much longer than is best for my mental health — but especially than is better for yours. I know our relationship isn’t easy for you and being friends with me can be very challenging. For that, I feel like I owe you this letter.
Anxiety is hard to put into words but here goes nothing:
Anxiety feels like a raging ocean. It hits over and over and over, and I frequently struggle to keep my head above water, just grasping for an ounce or two of air to make it through for a little bit longer. I often feel overwhelmed, like I am one second, one movement away from falling into the deep, dark abyss and never coming out. And sometimes I do fall in. The ocean is bigger, deeper and darker than I can see. And when I struggle, the higher and heavier the water gets.
Anxiety is a constant battle within my own head. Every worst-case scenario spins around — especially at night — toying with my mind and often wrecking my sanity. It never shuts off — even when I sleep. I remember dumb things I said today, fights I had years ago. I worry about my future and what people think of me. I have anxious thoughts during the day. I have anxious nightmares. If I go to sleep anxious, I wake up anxious. It is the most overwhelming, frustrating and at times, scary, thing in the world.
It is not something I chose for myself and not something I would ever wish on my worst enemy, yet it is a part of me. I can’t turn it off — not now, not tomorrow, not ever. I can only learn to cope better. I can only learn to process better. I can learn ways to help me manage and go to therapy. These emotions, worries, fears, panic attacks and stress are not something I welcomed into my life — they just barged in uninvited. I am not a victim, I have an illness. It is not something I can have full control over, but I will never stop trying to.
I have spent a large portion of my life learning to cope with my anxiety. To be a productive human, wife, mother, and friend. Most days I am okay. Most days I can take deep breaths, drink some iced coffee and Dr. Pepper, hug my husband, and get through it. However, there are some days where I can’t quite cope as well as I wish I could.
On those days I am sorry for the “hot mess” I am. I am sorry for the constant apologizing, the talking a mile a minute, the shaking, the lack of eye contact. I’m sorry for pushing you away when I feel especially confused and anxious. On days like these, let me know you see my anxiety is pulling me under, give me a hug and tell me I can do it. It is days like these when friends like you — ones who believe in me when I don’t or can’t — are so important to me. On my hardest days, remind me you are here and aren’t disappointed or mad. On my hardest days, just remind me you are holding space and I will get through it. Call out the negative self talk, but know it is very much how I feel. You may have to remind me on the hardest days it’s okay to share what’s going on and you don’t think differently of me.
I’m sorry I’m so intense sometimes. I’m sorry for the countless times I have had confusing or conflicting emotions, or called you in tears or texted you incessantly. I am sorry for the hours I whined to you about the same problem when you had a hundred other things to do. I know I am not always the most fun to be around. I am sorry I worry about stupid and silly things sometimes and have trouble letting things go. I am sorry for dumping my problems on you as if you were my therapist when I know you are not. You are my friend and it’s not your job to fix me.
Thank you for hanging with me, no matter how hard it is — trust me, I know it is hard. I appreciate everything you have done for me and I appreciate you being my friend, especially when I don’t deserve it. Thanks for showing me that I am a person with an anxiety problem, not just a mistake or broken. Thank you for telling me I’m a damn good mom and a great advocate for my kids. All the times you offer grace and love mean the world to me. I’m eternally grateful. Know that I’m thankful for you even when I can’t verbalize that. Thanks for telling me what you see in me that I don’t. I promise I’ll be a good friend back—-when I am above water.
Love,
Your Anxious Friend Koko
