Personal Essay: Suffocation

All it takes is a moment in time. A word. A look. A strange gut feeling. The remembrance of that awkward greeting you gave your boss three weeks ago. All it takes is a misdirected emotion and the world crumbles.

Society views anxiety as a millennial trend. It feels like riding a threatening roller coaster without a safety belt. Living with severe anxiety keeps you on the edge of your seat, waiting for the emotional waves to roll in and destroy your homeland.

Therapists say, “Anxiety is a positive reaction. It keeps you alive. It is the reaction that tells you, ‘whoa that was a close one Hillary. Back it on up.’

I try to explain: “It doesn’t feel positive. It feels suffocating.”

“I understand how you feel. I sometimes feel that I—”

“You don’t know how I feel. My mind is attacking me.”

“I know it can seem that way, but I promise you it can get better. Let’s practice our breathing techniques together today.”

In.        1, 2, 3.             Out.     3, 2,1.              In.        1, 2, 3.             Out.     3, 2, 1.

            “Now, see? Don’t you feel more relaxed. I can see it in your eyes.”

            “You’re right.”

            I have practiced my acting skills over the past four years. Breath in. 1, 2, 3. Smile and make sure they see that you are going to be okay. Breath out. 3, 2, 1. Hold back the tears and save your fear for later. Don’t let them see you sweat.

            This is the way.

            But even the best actors have bad days. Days when the façade wears off and people see their true colors, exposing their weaknesses.

The tears rapidly fill my eyes, threatening to expose all I have been hiding. I rehearse what I am going to tell you over and over in my mind, trying to perfect my approach. Once I feel confident and secure, I tell you we need to talk. A simple conversation. Nothing worth more than five minutes of our time. A quick mention, discussion, and wrap it up.

I open my mouth, and I instantly collapse. My mind crumbles and I see you fading away from me, moving quickly in the other direction.

I see you. I see you attempting to speak, trying to reach through the haze and grab me.

But I

            F

                        A

                                    L

                                                L.

I am in a black hole filled with fear, insecurity, rage, and abandonment.

“Calm down.”

I can hear it echoing around me as I feel the last bit of air ripping from my lungs, refusing to return. Almost as if those two words stole any chance I had at survival.

A         L          O         N         E.

I have faith that you are still there, but I can’t see you. My mind wants me to be alone and fragile. It wraps its undeniable hands around every crevasse of my being and destroys me. It cuts me off with a grim laugh teasing its way to the surface.

Strangling thoughts based in fear and rage occupy my line of sight. I see the worst-case scenarios burning down the life I have built, shredding hope and opportunity. Every wrong word spoken, every misplaced action, every horrid possibility threatening to destroy.

S

P

E

A

K.

But I can’t find the words. Hot tears stain my checks and I spiral deeper into the black hole.

L                      O                     S                      T.

Can you hear me?

No one can.

Suffocation.