Mental Health: Generalized, A Superpower?

I thought everyone made up scenarios in their heads of everything that could go wrong so that they were prepared, that everyone experienced breathlessness and palpitations, and that everyone couldn't handle bright lights and loud noises. I thought everyone was worried about everything like I was. It's strange to think that the same feelings that made me feel so out of control created the illusion of me being in control.

For as long as I can remember, I've always felt on edge. I never felt present in my body. It felt like I was this extraterrestrial being relectuantly dumped into this human form. I couldn't see myself clearly because I had no idea who I was; I was too preoccupied, too worried, and too out of sync to fully understand myself. When my therapist told me that I had generalized anxiety disorder, it felt like I could finally breathe — I didn't have to lie to myself anymore.

I refuse to completely dissolve into my anxiety because there's so more to me than my anxiety, but there was something so liberating about finally being seen for what I was, which was a mess. Perhaps it was my ego that falsely believed it needed to be superhuman, or it was the fact that I was the first-born daughter to immigrants who were subjected to the mysteries and unknowns of a world they knew nothing about. In an effort to make everyone's lives easier, I became anxious as a coping mechanism. Being anxious meant that I was always one step ahead- nothing could hurt me, right? Spoiler alert: there's nothing rewarding about being one step ahead when you could be enjoying what's right in front of you instead.

In many ways, I feel like I'm (mostly) on the other side of that tunnel. I'm not sure how far I've come, but I cry a lot less, which I think is a huge achievement. All of us deal with battles; there isn't a single soul on this planet who isn't dealing with something. Some of us are given invisible battles where we are fighting against ourselves inside of our heads, and there's nothing wrong with that. As a society, we've exasperated the narrative of mental illness. I don't think it's a new phenomenon. I just think that we're better at expressing our feelings, and that we live in a time where feelings are met with kindness instead of judgement. 

It might sound counterintuitive, but maybe I needed my anxiety. It might have been the best way for me to deal with the hand that was given to me. Sure, it was probably maladaptive and led to a whole slew of bad habits and cycles, but at least there was something deep inside of me that wanted to be here. I was desperate to survive and to make something of myself - who was going to make sure that I was going to succeed? For a long time, anxiety was the only hand that I felt comfortable holding. It gave me the restlessness I needed to be ambitious. It gave me the push that I needed to take risks. It gave me the emotional maturity to self-actualize and follow my intuition. Anxiety is the reason I got a full-tuition scholarship, it's the reason I write, and the reason behind my unhealthy obsession with wanting to make a difference.

It's become second nature, like a lingering shadow that doesn't get too close but is always there behind me. I'm not sure how my anxiety will manifest as I get older, or what sorts of challenges it will bring me, but I don't care because I'm tired of pretending like it isn't there. It's there, and it deserves to exist. I am a wave of contradictions; I don't have to make sense to anyone. I can be anxious and everything, everywhere, all at once.