"The More I think, the less I see"

“The more I think, the less I see.”

Living with an anxiety disorder, all I do is think. My mind is composed of thousands of fragmented sentences, countless worries. I can never rely on myself for peace and quiet; I never could. When left to my own devices, I obsess and mull over tiny little things. I have always managed to turn minuscule situations into mountain-sized obstacles. When I am alone, it is increasingly hard for me to distinguish my fears from the truth. My world becomes irrational and distorted.

“I don’t let myself down, I don’t let myself down.”

As I have grown older, I have been able to seek help—but I still manage, every now and then, to end up in this same place where I internalize my thoughts to the point of imprisonment. I know I can’t do this on my own, so I can’t help but wonder why I continue to try. It’s easy to resort to handling my emotions this way because I know what happens when I do this. The results are unpleasant, but they are familiar, predictable. On the other hand, the moment I share how I’m feeling with someone, I have to allow myself to become vulnerable. It seems like I am relinquishing the little to no control I have over myself to someone else.

But that’s not really the case.

“I feel closer to the clouds, I’m touching all the highest leaves.”

There have been crucial moments in all of my worthwhile friendships where the terrifying opportunity to divulge a part of myself arises—to jump in head-first or flee. But when I let go of my mind and take a risk, I am able to connect, and there is great freedom in connection.

There are a few people in my life who have genuinely listened to me, who have chosen to put down everything to learn about me and my life, for whom I have been able to do the same. I can count them all on ten fingers, but these are the relationships that fulfill my heart and make me alive. These are the friends who make me happy, who help ease my anxiety with their existence and willingness to listen. They encourage me to keep going.

“So we let it rain on our skin. You’re holding my hand, I’m holding your life.”

I know, as an individual who struggles with perpetual anxiety, I have an awful tendency to attempt to bear my burdens on my own. It is much easier to do (albeit, more difficult to maintain) than reaching out for help. So much thought, so much worry, goes into a simple phrase: “I need someone to talk to.” Even more terrifying is to ask someone specifically, “Can I talk to you?” Hidden between these questions are millions of other questions left unsaid: Can I trust you? Will you listen? Will you accept me for all that I am?

The truth is we deserve to have someone walk into our pain with us. I deserve this; you deserve this. And once we allow this to happen, once we allow ourselves to depend on one another, our lives are intertwined. We have an emotional bond—with much at stake, yes. But with risk comes reward. With tears comes laughter.

“I show you my dreams to make them our dreams.”

We are not built to support the entirety of one person alone. We are created to function as a community, to love as a community, to realize what we are not capable of and seek help for each other. The people who have made a mark on my life the most have actively listened to me, as well as led me to other methods of help. Because of this, we can rejoice in our victories, never alone.

“Together with the rain and the sun.”

Thank you, Rachael, Melissa, Shalana, Ashley, Julie, and the others who have impacted me. You have shown me the beauty of life, the love I deserve through community. Thank you for walking with me through my pain, thank you for leading me to help. Thank you for allowing me into your lives and never giving up on me.

To whomever is reading this, there are people in your life, waiting for you, wanting to hear your story. It may take time to find them, but you will, and you will receive the love you deserve. You are loved. You are never alone. 

—Alicia, TWLOHA Fall 2013 Intern