I’ve been sick for the last four or five days. My body is slowly readjusting to life; standing up, walking, eating and holding coherent conversations. I’m starting to feel the glimmering hope that I will be able to get work done soon. That’s when the nausea hits me again. Waves of pain radiate from my stomach, doubling me over in pain. I can’t tell if this is a relapse of the flu I just thought I kicked or if I’m just anxious. Let’s face it. Stomach pains like this are a part of my daily life and they have been for my entire life.
When I was a toddler my mother started carrying homeopathic sugar pellets in her purse to sooth my little fits. In elementary school, I would get sick on every ride to and from school. In undergrad the stomach pains got so intense and constant that I underwent a battery of tests to see what was wrong. Ulcer? Parasite? The doctors said nothing was wrong with me. Something was.
Everywhere I went, I would get intense stomach aches. It seemed like a normal part of life, and I just assumed that everyone else was better at sucking it up.
One of the most difficult aspects of having an anxiety disorder is that you don’t look sick.
You don’t even seem sick to most people. But you are.
You can be perfectly fine one moment, and the next you are overcome with headaches, nausea and a strange sensation that I call “static brain” in which every perception seems to have been garbled and distorted before making it to your mind. You can’t think. You can’t act. And usually, you want to start crying. But let’s face it, you are in the middle of class, or trying to check out at the grocery store, or talking to someone you’d like to impress.
Suddenly, its decision time, and you need to make a choice about how to proceed. But alas, your decision making abilities left with the rest of your mind when the stream of adrenaline, cortisol and god knows what other chemicals started pouring into your brain. If only those same chemicals weren’t also urging you to action; something - now!
For me, its usually a quick excuse that I don’t feel well and the nearest exit, but its not always easy. Well, it’s usually not easy. People want to know what’s up. It’s not easy to explain. I am suddenly very sick. I am weak and compromised. My mind is cloudy and full of static. All I want to do is curl up into a ball. But there are social obligations to meet. I want to be sure that everyone else is comfortable with my situation. I want to
be happy for room. And I really don’t want to drag anyone else down because of my discomfort. I know it happens, and it weighs on me.
I feel like the man in Kafka’s “The Metamorphosis” who woke up one morning as a giant bug. His family continued to feed and house him, but he could not communicate and he knew they were disgusted and afraid. The tale is meant to capture the horrifying feeling of being, without intent or action, a drain on those you love; someone who cannot pull their own weight; someone who is simply broken. When I am in the depths of an anxiety attack, I feel as though I have transformed as well. It is not my fault that I am suddenly a strange worthless creature - but I am. My abilities leave me and my tongue is tied. I must rely on the kindness of those around me.
The salient possibilities of getting sick weigh on me. Every time a friend invites me out, or I need to spend the entire weekend at a conference where I will have no hope of escape, or when I need to teach and I worry that it will hit in the middle of lecture. Sometimes it does. And I have a room full of students staring at me, wondering why I suddenly started an awkward jolting speech pattern and dismissed class early. Sometimes, I just don’t go out to start with. There are so many looming possibilities. There is so much room for failure and embarrassment and a really painful bike ride home.
The beautiful part is that when I do need to rely on the kindness of others - that kindness is there. Vulnerability is a hard lesson to learn, but it brings so many gifts. Sometimes I hide in my room and imagine I am transformed into a strange, useless creature. But sometimes I tell someone I’m sick and they help me and I find that it is not an unpleasant thing at all. I find that they are delighted to offer help and it is a chance for our connection to deepen. Sometimes I make plans and I have to cancel because of a sudden wave exhaustion. But it's OK. There is always a way out. And things go on. Realizing that has made life a lot less stressful and a lot more beautiful. It's just not always easy to remember.
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