The Truth Behind the Tears

Once upon a time, I had the most perfect childhood. I laughed, smiled, and played. Life was easy enough and I was a truly happy person. When I tell my friends about what my life was like, people often ask me if I realize how lucky I was. The answer is yes. I know that I am very fortunate. What I don't think people understand, though, is how much living this perfectly comfortable life has cost.

Recently, I started thinking about the person I was growing up and what exactly made that life possible for me. I think I was so happy because I didn't know that I had anxiety. (I was still over-the-top anxious all the time, but no one told me.) I thought it was normal to be scared to have sleepovers with a friend or to go on vacation with someone else's family. So, I just didn't do those things. I saw no reason to do the things that scared me. I only did the things that sounded fun, safe, and easy.

Looking back, I wish I would have challenged myself a bit. I wish I would have known that anxiety was causing me to be afraid, and I wish I would have stood up to that fear. Sometimes I wonder if life would be easier now if I would have done "scary things" then. I'm not afraid that I won't be able to do them. I know I will because quite honestly, I'm not about to settle. It's just that it would be nice to make a choice simply because I feel like doing something. I hate having to weigh the odds or question all the details. I hate the feelings of fear that swell up in me every time a "scary" opportunity presents itself. Sometimes I just want to be able to say, "yes, I'll go away with your family." It's hard to always feel different, to feel like no one understands, to feel that in some way I am a failure.

More than all of that, I feel guilty. Saying no or admitting I am scared seems as if I am telling my friend that I don't trust them or I don't want to spend time with them. None of that is true. I cannot control when the anxiety comes, but the second it shows up, it crushes me. My heart pounds, I have a hard time breathing, my body gets shaky and cold, and I feel a sense of incapacitating fear. My brain says that the feelings are completely illogical, but my body says the situation is a threat. Usually, I end up hurting someone I love, even though it is entirely unintentional.

I know that everyone has their problems and I know that I am very lucky in a lot of ways. Even still, I can't help but wonder what life would be like if this wasn't my problem. I hate that I miss out on so many fun things, but even more I hate that I hurt so many people in process of alleviating my anxiety.