We Run. We Fall. We Get Back Up.

Anxiety is something that is really hard to talk about. It's also very hard to write about.

I tend to write better than I speak. When I speak, sometimes all the wrong things come out. I can't remember the names of things. I mix my words up. I fumble over what I'm trying to say.

That doesn't happen when I write.

But it happens when I write about anxiety. Sometimes there just aren't words for how anxiety makes you feel. But today I'm going to try to write about how anxiety makes me feel, because quite frankly, these past four days have been horrible and I need to get this out somehow. And people need to know about it. They need to stop saying things like, "Stop worrying" and "It will be fine".

People need to understand that this is real and that words will not fix it.

On Tuesday morning I wrote about how I felt like I was running headfirst to England, diving straight into graduate school applications to British schools that have the programme that I want to pursue. Everything was absolutely perfect and I was only worrying about small things; who I was going to eat dinner with so I didn't have to eat alone, if I remembered to feed Hamlet, when I was going to read Crime and Punishment for my senior English class, what I was going to write my 20 page paper on, if I had time to work on my thesis.

To combat my anxiety and to keep in control, I make plans. There's already a flaw in this tactic because if my plan fails, I have nowhere to go, nowhere to run to. Sometimes I make plans upon plans upon plans, which is always very stressful for me. But it's always nice to have a backup plan in case something goes wrong. I am always overly prepared. And if I'm not, I internally drown.

On Tuesday, after I posted my latest post in here, my entire day plan shattered and it changed very drastically. Rather than doing my homework, eating dinner with my friends and watching Netflix in my apartment, I spent the day with one of my best friends, Barbara, and we drove to Grand Rapids to pick up her mother at the airport.

There was nothing that I would rather have done with my day than be there for Barbara when she needed me and to drive her to the airport to pick up her mother, who flew in from North Dakota at a moment's notice.

But it was very emotionally taxing and I did not have time to process it.

I always need time to process things. When things that I deal with are not processed or not processed properly, they turn into giant anxieties. When they become giant anxieties, they become harder to process back down to what they were originally. I usually can't do it by myself.

Tuesday was such a large thing that I didn't process that I became emotionally flatlined.

My junior year in college I was on antidepressants for my anxiety. (I'm currently not.) On a cold, rainy day in November, I forgot to take my pill before I went to bed.

The next day was one of the worst days of my life.

I laid in bed for five hours and stared at the same blank stretch of wall. I did not have the energy to talk to anyone. My boyfriend at the time came to check on me and it took him an hour to coax me out of my room, where he carried me to his room. I then sat on his bed and didn't speak to him for two hours while he ordered a pizza and made me eat.

The past four days for me have been like this, and I have been battling it with all of my might.

On Wednesday I felt the emotional blankness, but I pushed it aside. I had three classes to attend, I had the English Honourary induction of new members to attend. I didn't have time for this gigantic feeling of emptiness.

Thursday it came in full swing. I had the intention of working on my thesis in the library for four hours after class but was unable to do so. I ended up going to my friend Adam's room and laying on his bed and watching mindless television. We ate dinner together and he made sure that I went to my chapel band rehearsal. Normally singing in the chapel band is one of the greatest parts of my week. I felt nothing the entire time I was there and I felt nothing when I left.

I was on RA duty on Thursday night. I spent my three hours that I had to be awake lying on my bed with Adam, who held my hand. When I went to go on my last round at midnight, I became so frightened of leaving my apartment that I broke down in tears and refused to leave. Adam held me while I sobbed.

On Friday I forced myself to attend my eight thirty class. Afterwards I normally nap, but I knew that if I crawled back in bed that I would stay there. I wouldn't eat, I wouldn't see anyone, I wouldn't shower, I wouldn't come out. I forced myself to get in the shower, pack up my things, and go to the library. It was exhausting. After lunch I went to choir and I went to class. My last class of the day was the longest fifty minutes of my life and while I sat there and listened about contrast and proximity in web designs, I felt like I was internally drowning. Everything was suffocating and I couldn't sit still. It took so much effort not to cry.

When class was over I immediately ran to my therapist's office. She had fifteen minutes before her next appointment and I sat in her overstuffed chair and broke down.

I am so used to feeling. Anxiety makes me feel everything. All of my emotions are always intense, over the top. I am never just excited. I am never just upset. I am never just generically anxious.

Not being able to feel was very terrifying for me and I didn't know what to do about it.

Last night I spent all night in my apartment watching movies and colouring with Adam. When he left I spent some quality time by myself in my bed watching Inception. My friend Marie came over around eleven and we made pumpkin cookies and I talked to her about how I was feeling. When we had to step into the hallway outside of my apartment, she held my hand and I managed to cross the threshold.

This morning I had enough energy to get out of bed and go to the cafeteria without it being a serious struggle. I'm beginning to feel again. I don't know what I'm feeling, but I'm getting back.

Sometimes we run. But we cannot run forever. It's very cynical, but sometimes good things cannot last and bad things follow. But good things always follow bad things and I try to remember that.

Sometimes we fall. I fell very hard this week. It's taking me days to pick myself back up.

But I am picking myself back up, and when I am back on my feet, I will begin to inch again.