I’ve suffered from what I call ‘anxiety’ for a good portion of my life. It’s always been there and I don’t think I can remember a time when I was free from it . Even now as I sit here writing this, I can feel my anxiety rising and my self talk responding most unkindly.
It is when this happens that I like to write. For years I thought that my anxiety defined me, that it was a part of my personality. On my bad days I thought there was something wrong with me. I tended to worry so much about things that no one else worried about; I used to get so frustrated. It was only when I graduated that I found a name for it and writing in my journals has really helped me find a cure.
After graduating I did a major spring clean of my life. I basically isolated myself for a month; I stayed in a country town with my family without much contact from my friends or family. I cleaned up my diet and started exercising regularly. I wrote everyday. I wrote about my thoughts, my dreams, what I thought they all meant. I documented conversations I had with people. I talked myself through a lot of my own issues, I saw the people in my life that were doing me more harm than good and I made the changes necessary so that I could live a full and happy life. When I look back on that time, I wonder how I found the strength to do what I did.
It’s times like this when I can feel my heart racing for no reason, when my breathing is shallow and my mind is telling me that I’m doing everything wrong that I’m grateful to journal writing. At one point I didn’t even know the triggers and I actually believed what my anxiety was saying to me. At this point in my life I can safely say that I have control over it and I’m doing all I can to hopefully be rid of it for good.