Look around, You are safe, You are going to be okay. What are you scared of? I fear that I am human. I fear business meetings, school, and the reactions of strangers when I’m around or not near them at all. I fear talking to the doctor and the nurse, the dentist, the counselor. I worry about what is said that is not true, that is true, that might not be true but is taught as true. I worry for myself and for everyone else who does not understand being here. I worry that the people who I still love but no longer see, think poorly of me because of the way I hurt them to spare collective pain. I fear that it may be exactly what I deserve. I’m afraid of the choices I’ve made, I magnify what does not need to be bigger. I’m afraid that, because I will never be seen, I will never be known. I’m afraid that I will not succeed in anything at all if my fear continues to grow as I age at this slowest fast pace. What have I done, What am I doing, Where am I going? How will this all end for me? Why am I here? I have spent the last month putting off a series of important tasks – dropping some courses for school, contacting my service provider about my broken voicemail, and visiting the doctor to discuss my anxiety. My anxiety, yes, has been the very reaper of my soul for as long as I can remember, and is the reason I’m still sat in the security of my bedroom on the second floor of my father’s house at 1PM on a Wednesday, pajamas and all, instead of in the waiting room of the walk-in clinic. It’s the reason why I’m not in London, Ontario, completing my masters as planned, it’s why I haven’t applied for a position at the library that requires more responsibility yet pays more, it’s why I have to triple check that my dog is breathing as she sleeps, why I do too much for my parents, and why I worry that I’m not enough for my partner. I’m not sure what percentage of the population understands chronic anxiety, or how crippling it can be to one’s mind, which is why it becomes so easy to feel relatively useless as a human being every morning as the sun comes up and reminds us of another day. This anxiety feels like a dictator, doesn’t it? As though we don’t get to make our own choices, after all, out of fear. I pondered writing out exactly how challenging it is for me to push myself out of my home in order to complete common tasks - ones that most people I know around my age and older may do in the blink of an eye or with a shrug of their shoulders. But chances are, if you know you know – and I don’t need to paint another replica of the mural you see on your walls every morning when you wake up. Your life won't end if the secretary at the office treats you poorly Samantha, I told her. You will not die if a stranger is unkind or if one assignment is not your best Samantha. If you were to drop out of school and work in customer service for the rest of your life, you would still be alive, and you would still live Samantha. You would still be loved and you would still be complete. I told her and tell her, and repeat look around, you are safe, you are going to be okay. I told her to calm down, breathe, your parents are alive, your friends love you with or without your pain, trust is a good thing, not something that needs to be challenged without reason. I told you, I magnify things that do not need to be bigger – and they get so big that they far too often mute my vision, they skew the truth, they stir up my knowing until I can no longer decipher true from false, what I know from what I feel, what is reality from what I believe. At this age, I can’t help but continuously question my character as a result. I love who I am but trusting myself is so unimaginably difficult. I’m afraid of failing. And, well, trying and failing go hand in hand. So, for most of my life I’ve simply been scared to try. This sounds lazy, incompetent maybe, it sounds like a poor excuse for anything and everything. But if you know the chest pain and the impossible-to-silence repetition of what have I done, what am I doing, where am I going, how will this end, then you just know. So, how will this end for me? Will it end at all? No, its chronic, runs in the family, and I get it from my mother. Will it get worse, better, will it stay static and drive me crazy? Will I have a breakdown? At what age? Will I conquer it all? Get over my fear of having children who may feel the same pain? Overcome my relationship anxiety? Write a novel? Give in to fear and give up on what I dream? What will my success be if anything at all? I don’t think that this is being written with any purpose, I only know that having these conversations with myself has allowed me out of my head. I think that I’d like to share it in case you know and, if you do know, I want you to know that I know too. In fact, as of 2013, nearly 3 million other Canadians (11.6% of the population) over the age of 18 also know. Maybe I’m here to encourage you to have hope that it will be okay for as long as you keep trying in even the smallest of ways. Maybe I will remind you that in most cases, you’re trying even when you feel as though you aren’t. Or maybe this is for you and for me alike, as we are all reflections of one another. Not a single person on this planet knows where they are going, where they will end, or where new versions of themselves might begin. I do know that this moment is the only one that exists, and it’s the only one that we know. Maybe it’s a good moment, maybe it’s bad, maybe we feel useless or maybe we feel as if we could accomplish anything. Maybe we feel like chaos one moment and peace the next. Maybe we are confused. All I know is that, while the moment may not pass, it will change – and it will change with the guidance of the decisions we all make. Today I will make the decision to call my mum, at 22 years old, and ask her if she will help me with my To-Do list tomorrow. I will do this because she knows - and asking for help is something we should all feel safe in doing until the day we die. I will also make the decision to help those I have the power to help, and I will accept help as it is offered instead of pretending as though I could take this world on my own. If you know, you know, but please know that you are far from the only one.
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AuthorThese words are written by Sam. She is the author of Bloom, Poetry and Prose, and Until I Feel Like My Own Mother, enjoys sitting in the sun, eating fruits, and making people smile. Archives
May 2021
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