lately, anxiety/depression has been the topic that I’ve gravitated toward most when writing. This isn’t because I want pity for my experiences or because I enjoy talking about sad things. I talk about it because more recently it either controls me as a person or it controls those close to me who I empathize with to the point of [personal] hurt (or more anxiety within myself, if you will).
Living in your own head with your own anxieties is frightening. However, knowing the depths of it and watching someone close to you battle stress due to a chemical imbalance in their brain from past trauma, present worries or future fears is f*cking painful. Especially when their ways of taking care of themselves aren’t objectively “healthy.” It’s also just sad.
The image of a best friend, a parent, a family member, etc. laying on the edge of their bed almost paralyzed by their mind leaves me with a negative feeling inside that I honestly can’t put into words, having been there myself, and knowing the tornado that’s probably ripping through every worry and insecurity. It’s hard to carry the weight of that. But, how do I not? How do you not? In those terrifying moments of being curled up with your bones shaking and your head racing all you want is comfort. Comfort of literally any sort. (My go-to is watching corny sitcoms to release my mind from the bad thoughts) A hug is always nice. But, sometimes in that sensitive of a state, there’s something about affection that sometimes triggers me more- if that makes sense? Almost as if I and that person are both accepting my pain and choosing to live with it?
When someone is in that state, I try my best to communicate my care for them in ways beyond words. In a state of anxiety or experiencing a panic attack, there’s enough words rushing through the mind like cars on a NASCAR test track, therefore, non-verbal communication and just physically being present are [sometimes] just enough to help someone get through the moment.
Now, let’s add in the factor of living with said person. And gosh, if you’re as sensitive to the energy you’re surrounded by as I am, then you already know where this paragraph is going. Home begins to feel less like home. The floor resembles egg shells and the air inside sometimes feels suffocating. (and for the record this isn’t because of said person directly, but because of the energy that’s released from them when in these states of anxiety. It takes over the space you live in and makes you worry about being a trigger yourself- looping back to your own anxiety) Anyways, it’s just another layer. It makes it hard to be home. It makes it hard to feel safe. Love isn’t very present, instead, it’s replaced with constant worry and transactional interactions, sometimes ones that just happen out of formality like, “have a great day, love you!” or “thanks for doing the dishes,” however rarely receiving a response. It’s like when a stranger says “hello” and you reply with “how are you?” which is socially known (in new york at least) to be a rhetorical question. No one actually wants you to respond to that. Which I still don't get, to be honest. Just say “hi” back because, if you ask me how I am, I’m going to tell you…
Right now, as I continue to navigate this type of environment myself (and begin searching for a new therapist) all I can say is- be kind and listen to your gut. Do you part when you can and not because you feel like you have to but because you genuinely want to. You’re not expected to have the “right” thing to say or to heal all wounds. But, when you can just be there and shed some light into this person’s mind and help them escape their pain, even if it’s for just 25 minutes with a cheesy sitcom, do it. That’s what will fill the house back up with love and hopefully become a catalyst for growth and resilience.