What It’s Like

I have always struggled with explaining what my anxiety symptoms feel like. Given that I didn’t even know anxiety was a diagnosis—let alone one that I had been living with—until I was sixteen years old, my vocabulary is still very much a work in progress. I was beginning to put the puzzle pieces together on what was going on with me. As I’ve written about in a previous post, the first symptom that really concerned me was what I would later find out was derealization, and I still struggle to put that feeling into words.

Knowing the name of this symptom helped a bit, as did knowing that it is something documented—I’m not the only one who has this, it’s real. However, it did not give me any more words to describe what it actually felt like. All I could say was it felt like I was in a dream, like I was watching the world through glass. Recently I have seen more mental health-related pages on social media posting about this, and it makes me feel seen.

Anxiety—and most other mental illnesses—is something that you truly can’t understand unless you experience it yourself. I enjoy talking about it with other people who get it, like my older brother, or friends who also struggle with it. Understanding that you’re not alone, knowing that other people have been in your shoes, it’s a strange sense of comfort.

I have also written posts about my anxiety being triggered by driving or being in cars over the last year. It has, with the help of medication, subsided, but the old habits are still there. I still look for an exit when I come to a red light. I still focus too much on my breathing, how there’s a nagging feeling in the back of my mind that if I have to sit at this intersection any long I am definitely going to have a panic attack. It’s strange, knowing that your thoughts are irrational yet not being able to fully believe that.

When it came to explaining my car anxiety to other people, I was again unable to find the words. I think part of the reason behind that was that I didn’t know what was triggering it. My therapist would ask me tons of questions and bring up countless scenarios that could possibly be an answer. Had I ever been in a car accident? Had I ever lost a loved one in an accident? Had I witnessed one? Did other people on the road stress me out? The answer was always no (except for the last one, other drivers stress me out a lot, but not on the level of this anxiety). She was very understanding and patient with me, and I tried to keep an open mind even when one of her suggestions was completely of. If I couldn’t explain my feelings to a trained professional, how could I explain them to my parents, or my brother?

Being in a car when my anxiety was at that level was terrifying. I felt like I was suffocating. I was sure that if I spoke or took my focus off my breath I would either pass out or have a panic attack, or both. Any movement sent a shock wave through my entire body, resulting in one of the most unpleasant feelings I have ever experienced. It took everything in me to express to my mom how I was feeling when we were going somewhere together. I would say Mom, it’s so bad, and she immediately knew what that meant. I would hold on to her hand as if my life depended on it. According to my brain, it did.

Maybe I will never be able to put my specific set of mental health symptoms into the exact right words. Maybe that doesn’t matter—I mean, as long as I understand them and can explain what I’m going through to my therapist, that’s all that matters, right? But I also want to continue sharing things with all of you. I want to show you that you aren’t alone. Maybe you also struggle with putting words to your feelings. Join the club! We should have monthly meetings, someone can bring snacks.

In all seriousness, thank you for sticking with me, even when my words don’t totally make sense.

I really, really appreciate it.

—Abbie