I can track most of my 20s by different anxiety disorders that I was diagnosed during that time in my life.
20 - 23: Social Anxiety
24 - 27: Panic Disorder
28 - 29: Generalized Anxiety Disorder
Each new layer of anxiety has brought different physical and emotional hurdles. Weight gain, weight loss, adult acne, food intolerances, starting new jobs and then immediately quitting because I would pass out before my shift, laziness, social media addiction, being pissed off at literally every thing that Steven does—like Oh my God, is he BREATHING? Why can I hear him breathe right now? As I am typing this I can hear him eating a bowl of rice in the other room and I am starting to sweat.
I wish I could say that I wasn’t always like this, but anxiety has been my oldest friend. If I woke up tomorrow completely free of anxiety, I would probably call my therapist and she would tell me that I’m suffering from abandonment issues due to my utter dependence on my anxiety. I’m not sure what my life would look like without my crippling fear that I’m the worst person who was ever given a human body. What would I even do at a party if I wasn’t standing in the doorway the whole time in case I needed a quick exit? Air travel would instantly become mundane and boring because I wouldn’t need to be wheeled on a stretcher through the Las Vegas airport after I passed out because the line was taking too long.
When I was in 6th grade, I started missing a lot of classes because I would get really bad chest pains. It got so bad that they ran an EKG for my heart and at one point an MRI on my brain. All I remember is that the technician told me that they were going to inject me with something that would make me feel like I just peed my pants. I thought, “yeah, right” and then almost immediately felt I just peed all over the table and started apologizing profusely. I’m sorry, I know you said it would feel like it, but I didn’t believe you. I think I actually did pee. I’m so sorry. All of those tests came back with zero information and after years of trying to figure out what was wrong, my doctor gave me a prescription for heartburn. I’m not kidding. HEARTBURN. Thankfully, my Mom has always had a healthy skepticism when it comes to prescribing 6th grade girls who just barely started their period with heartburn. She called the school office and gave them a bottle of multivitamins. She told me my “medicine” was there so if I ever started to feel a chest pain, then I could walk to the office and take it. She knew that getting me to walk out of whatever space was triggering my anxiety and talk with Mrs. Brown in the office while taking a secret multivitamin was probably more helpful than those damn heartburn pills.
I wasn’t officially diagnosed with anxiety until my early 20s. I still didn’t have great access to medication or therapy so I spent most of my teen and early adult years just wreaking havoc on my emotional health. I went on a Paleo diet which helped my general well-being a little, but also gave me some bad ideas for health. It also didn’t last long. One time I overheard a close friend tell someone that they hated when people had to make special food requests or could only eat at certain places. The next day I quit the Paleo diet and literally ate any food that caused my body pain because I hated the idea of being a burden more than I hated my skin breaking out or constant stomach aches and nausea. Instead of confronting my friend and telling them that those comments were hard for me to hear—why would I ever advocate for myself—I just did my best to blend in and carry on being a terrible friend. The idea of being alone terrified me, but it was also incredibly easy for me to push people away. I would bail on people, change plans last minute, or just ghost before we had the term for it in 2013. I figured no one would notice, but everyone always noticed which is the worst thing you could ever tell someone with social anxiety. One time a boy found out that I liked him and I apologized because I felt embarrassed for him that he would have to live with the knowledge that someone like me had a crush on him. God, your early 20s really are just the worst.
The first time I took medication I cried in my bed and fell asleep. It was a nap that felt like it was years in the making. It helped for awhile. I graduated, starting dating—which is honestly still shocking to me, got married, moved out of California, went to grad school, hated Denver and my life, moved back to California, and stopped going to therapy and taking medication along the way. Steven and I had marriage problems even before we got married. Most likely because I stopped treating my anxiety disorders and he refused to acknowledge his alcohol addiction. After nearly ready to call it quits on our marriage, I found a new therapist and she noted that I have “events” that trigger pretty severe reactions. Events include and are not limited to: airports, concerts, large events, small interpersonal events where I only know a few people, busy grocery stores, spending time with my in-laws, job interviews, working almost any job, vacations with no itinerary, or being stuck just about anywhere with no plan. She introduced me to Xanax which has prevented me from passing out in so many embarrassing places that I can’t even count. It was for emergencies only, but after a few years, I started to notice that every day was just a lot to get through. Steven and I can both acknowledge that I seem really difficult to deal with, but it’s mostly because I’m anxious about everything on a daily basis—like which room he is in when he is cutting his toe nails or racial injustice in America. I told my therapist and she was like, “Oh yeah, babe, that’s anxiety.” Note: My therapist does not call me babe, but I think it would be fun if she did. There is nothing cool about living with anxiety, despite what internet meme culture has made seem mysterious and edgy. I would love to be able to drink a little too much without the fear that I’ll be murdered because I got drunk one time or say yes to vacation without needing to type out a day to day plan of where we are going and how we will get there. Currently, I have notes in my phone for Scotland, Maui, and London in case we ever get the chance to travel again and my Mom calls me and tells me she’s using her timeshare, which like her paying for all my useless tests in 6th grade is a huge privilege. I can’t imagine a world just going into a grocery store for one item and not browsing the entire store in case you forgot something you needed or being able to ignore the guy in the movie theater who came in alone with a large backpack. Maybe this last one is everyone now? I’ll get back to you.
The thing that late 20s Becky has that early 20s Becky didn’t have—or at least didn’t recognize because she was a puddle of untreated mental illness—is friends who have gotten the help that they needed along the way and the camaraderie of feeling less alone in your own thoughts. My phone lit up a few weeks ago with a text from one of my closest friends,
“Was prescribed Ritalin this morning and LOL the pharmacy is trying to give me the generic for $250…Omg that prescription site you sent me saved me $150 - but LOL they don’t have in stock till next week.”
We texted about how shitty our healthcare system is and then made a plan for a night of wine where we all just talk about antidepressants now. It feels like we are finally opening packages that have been sitting under the Christmas tree for years. We peel back the layer of why we do something and learn how to change it while praising how much better we feel when we try a new prescription or therapist. Maybe I would be more calm and less sweaty without my anxiety, but at least with it, I know I’m not alone.