Anxiety feels like laying on your bed, and your neck hurts. And your hips hurt. And your rib cage hurts. And when you breathe in you can’t get enough air. And when you leave your room you hope you don’t run into your mom because she’s gonna be able to tell by just looking at you that you’re not okay, but you know if she says something, if she says anything at all, you’re going to EXPLODE, because you’re angry and you’re annoyed and you hurt all over and you don’t understand why.
You don’t understand why the air feels so heavy. Why you keep flexing your hands into fists just to feel your bones smashing into each other. Why all of your joints feel fucked up. Why your jawline hurts, and you want to just scream at the top of your lungs, but you can’t figure out what’s wrong with you.
Anxiety feels like something big is coming. Your chest closes in on itself, and everything feels tight. And you feel wound up, but you can’t explain it. You can’t explain the way your arms hang at your sides, and how much you’d like to just throw them at something. Just send your fists right through a window. Rip the door of its hinges. Pitch your desk into the wall. Break things. Bend things. Shatter things.
Anxiety is pain. It hurts all the time. Your back hurts. Your legs hurt. And you flex and unflex a million times because you feel like it’s just all this energy stuck and trying to get loose, but it can’t go anywhere, it’s all just stuck inside of you. And you wish you could just puncture your skin somewhere and let it all out, but you don’t want to hurt yourself, you just want to be normal. You just want to forget about the thing that’s bothering you.
But the cataclysm is this: you don’t know what that thing is. You don’t know what’s sitting on your chest, why it feels like your head is a bowling ball. Why it feels like your bones belong to someone in their seventies. Why it feels like you could take a deep breath and fill your lungs up far past their capacity and STILL not have enough air.
You don’t know where this thing came from, and you’re mad. You’re so mad. You’re so irreversibly mad at yourself and the world and everything around you and you can’t control the anger. You just have to sit back and let this thing take over your life while you watch it steamroll over everything you love.
Anxiety is a mystery. It’s unique. It’s unexplainable. It’s the past, the present, and the future tugging on you, pulling you into their enigmatic arms, shaking you until you’re benumbed in this state of total and complete unawareness. And you lay on your side in your bed, with your phone in your hands, trying to do something mindless while your body vibrates all over, while you shake and shudder feeling useless passing hours by practically comatose, while you feel everything building up to this grand finale, this hysterical explosion, and you hope nobody comes near you because you’re terrified they’ll blow up too.
It just is.
Guest Post by Charlee Remitz