Looking Down on Tall Walls of MyAnxiety

Anxiety and the fear of being seen

I'm sure their eyes are on me as we speak. I bet they are looking through me. Laughing at my insecurities, whispering about my failures.

It sends shivers down my back, but I know this scene is all in my mind. No one looks at me as they hurry along, minding their business. It's too cold to care for another this time of year. Jesus has already been born, but I hear he's dying again in a few months. Poor fella.

I pull my coat closer to me as I walk down the street. My mind begins to panic again, but before I break down on the sidewalk in a city where no one knows my name. I breathe.

Because I understand the difference between the perception of being seen and what it means, I want no one to see my flaws for my life to be used as a symbol for those who come after me. This statement is a contradiction of my nature.

I am a private person that needs to share to be seen. It is a paradoxical thought.

And here is where I reside, in the paradoxical nature of being seen to help others and hiding away from the world. My anxiety folds me into lumps of uncertainty.

Is this what it means to suffocate on a thought?

I see small signs of healing, better habits, and love songs.

What do you see?

To ground me, I imagine my therapist talking through her grounding techniques; I make a joke that she ignores, but a small smile appears on her lips. She asks me the question I wish to forget. What do you see?

She puts me in a position that makes me the viewer, the one who perceives. Perhaps this is how you gain back your power. I look at myself in the mirror.

What do I see?

I see a room filled with books that have yet to be read: an unmade bed and too many notebooks. I see minor signs of healing, better habits, and love songs. I see something I should have cherished more in the corner. I watch a broken person standing in front of the mirror with socks that no longer match. I see a crooked smile behind tear-filled eyes. I see me.

What do you hear?

You have your five senses to create and express yourself for a happy life. Why let mere thoughts alone overpower all of them? — Alden Tan

Our words hold so much power to build or destroy our minds.

My mother once had two strawberry plants. She spoke good things to one and the other; she talked negatively. Do you know what happened? The plant she spoke about only good things to produce fruit early; its leaves were shiner and more prominent than the plant she spoke negatively about in her experiment.

If our minds were to be compared to either of the plants, we understand that we flourish when we are praised and lifted up. If you look into the mirror each day and call yourself a monster, you will eventually become that which you dictate yourself to be. Take a moment to listen to those inner voices and see which way they lean.

My inner voices are mean bastards who find pleasure in the chaos that they can create. They tell me lies to exaggerate my failures and flaws. They whisper late at night how the world does not require my existence.

To speak positively to ourselves takes constant work, even if it came so natural to speak down to who we once were.

I place my hands over one of my current favorite books, "Best Known Works" by Henrik Isben, and tell myself good morning. I am grounding myself to take control of my day. I have learned the hard way to compartmentalize my life into things I can control and things I can not.

The books I want to read, I can control; the intensity of my chronic pain I can not control. But in those moments, it's still up to me how I react to the things that happen to me.

The process of incorporating positive speech in your life takes time, but it also means you have to be intentional about it.

You aren't unproductive; you are overwhelmed.

You aren't stupid; you are in the process of learning.

You aren't incapable; you are new to the situation.

When we take the time to be proactive against the mean things we say to ourselves, we end up learning how to be kind to ourselves.

Why does it matter?

Anxiety is a b*tch. There is no cute way of talking about how debilitating it can make you feel or how it is a constant loop of self-doubt and insecurity. But why does it matter, and why should you care?

Have you ever asked yourself the big questions?

Why?

If we take the time to break down why something makes us feel a certain way, we gain a deeper understanding of ourselves.

For the last few months, I could not write a coherent story. I turned down writing jobs from an excellent client and ran away from the words that made me feel whole.

When I sat down with myself and asked why I could not write, it turned out that I was too afraid of sharing my words and being rejected in my personal life. It's almost comical how our personal lives can influence our writing.

I write amazing stories and poems when I am depressed. But taking the time to write from a healthy mental space is a lot harder than I thought. I know it's unhealthy to depend on my depression for inspiration; instead, it's counterproductive.

My "why" of writing is heavily tied to how I feel about the world around me. And why does it matter? It matters because I want to become a better writer. One filled with stories and thought of who we are and why we share our lives.

It's all about growth.

When we make a conscious effort to write, paint, or create in any aspect, it's about choosing growth.

Stagnant water rots.

So does a stagnant mind. It's been proven that when we continue to push forward while looking back at how far we've come. Our lives are about growing. It is about learning who we are and who we will become.

Yes, we may have a mental illness, but who we are is more than that. We decide what defines us.

And while I can take the time to write about this, it's also about how I take the time to understand how I want to be defined. It's about creating my own identity.

Life is about growth, and sometimes, that means losing yourself to find out who you are.