Never feeling safe.
Not being able to move off of the sofa in case your fears come true.
Crying, hugging a pillow, desperate.
Feeling so so alone, despite being surrounded by people that care.
Not being able to open up to your loved ones in case they don't understand.
Fear of being misunderstood, but coupled with fear of being understood, because that means another poor soul feels what you feel.
Not being able to leave the house in case someone sees you.
Fear that when you do see someone you know, they think you're fine.
Fear that actually, they'll see past you're 'I'm fine' too.
Waves of stomach lurching, the kind you get on a rollercoaster, every wave telling your body to run from the thing that's chasing you.
Knowing there is nothing chasing you, but also knowing that doesn't change the way you feel.
Having awful nightmares when you do finally sleep, there is no escape.
Waking up to find that you are stuck in that nightmare, only you're no longer asleep.
Desperately needing your loved ones, but not being able to tell them in case they think you're just attention seeking.
Being petrified of attention. So ironic.
Spending hours, sitting with the thoughts in your head, arguing about why you shouldn't message your loved ones.
Finally having the courage to message your loved ones, but through no fault of their own, they don't know what to say, so don't reply.
Your brain then agonizing over every reason that they must hate you - "see, I told you you were a piece of crap."
Isolation. Pure isolation.
Questioning everything, and I mean everything - even things you 'know' to be true.
Being unable to make even simple decisions.
A loved one telling you they're worried you're slipping into a hole again. Not knowing you already have.
Feeling like a failure, back here again.
Your brain playing tricks on you.
Feeling like a burden.
Wanting it to stop, through whatever means that may be.
Crying. Again. Please just stop.
Needing a hug so badly, but feeling like you don't deserve one because that makes you needy.
Relief, a hug, finally. But fear that they'll stop. Please don't stop.
Wanting to run, and run, and run, and run. (Unfortunately, chronic pain does not allow me to run.)
Feeling like you want to rip your skin off.
Trying to shut the world out by sleeping, but because your body is constantly stuck in 'flight' mode, you wake every hour to wee and then can't sleep again.
Noise being amplified so much that it hurts.
Not being able to sleep, all you can hear is your brain.
Trying medication - hope, at last - only to find it doesn't work for you.
Crying. Again. Please, please just stop.
Knowing that at some point this will pass. But also knowing you have no idea when. Hours, days, weeks, months? Who knows.
Time slowing down. Every day feels like a month at least.
Realising you haven't been able to even drink today, getting a can of caffeine-free coke from the fridge, but still not being able to drink for hours, when you realise that you are now dehydrated.
Knowing you need to eat, but you gag on every mouthful.
Going over and over the last time you saw/spoke to your loved ones, trying to work out what it was you did wrong. Maybe it was the time before that? Maybe it was your last message? Or something you did/said months ago?
Knowing nothing anyone says will make these worries any less.
Looking at your beautiful children, and your brain telling you you don't deserve them.
Feeling like you're a second rate person. Failing again.
Feeling like you SHOULD be able to just snap out of it.
Being told to think positively. But you don't even hear the words because your fears are drowning them out.
Getting stuck in your head to the degree that you can't answer the person talking to you, even if they get angry.
Acting irrationally, because you need reassurance and can't ask for it.
Breaking down.
Exhaustion in every sense.
Realising anxiety has made you do or say something you wouldn't normally have done.
Realising your anxiety has unintentionally hurt a loved one.
Knowing deep down in your heart that you'd never hurt anyone intentionally.
Forgetting to breathe. To the point you that someone has to point it out to you, because you haven't realised.
Not being able to read.
Not being able to listen to music.
Not being able to answer the phone.
Not being able to make a phone call.
Watching TV but not being able to 'watch' any of it.
Picking the skin around your fingers until they bleed.
Noticing your fingers are now bleeding, and hating yourself for it.
Cancelling plans you'd looked forward to for weeks.
Knowing that therapy helps, but spending days before worrying about going.
Scrolling through Facebook, Instagram and Pinterest to distract yourself. Then starting all over again only to discover you've already seen it all.
Logic going out of the window, or even, if you're lucky, joining in.
Losing all belief in yourself and what you thought you knew.
Knowing you've unintenionally pushed your loved ones away due to fear, but are then petrified they'll never come back.
Feeling ashamed, totally and utterly ashamed.
Saying sorry...
So.
Many.
Times.
What anxiety is NOT...
Anxiety is NOT me. It may form a big part of my life, but it is an illness. I would do anything for it to go away.
Anxiety is NOT attention seeking. Gaining attention actually makes my anxiety worse.
Anxiety is NOT imaginary - I always go back to the Dumbledore quote - "Of course it is happening inside your head, Harry, but why on earth should that mean that it is not real?" And to me, it is real. All of those fears are so real that it hurts.