This article is written by a student writer from the Her Campus at KU chapter.
It’s just past midnight and I’m sitting in bed in my flat in central London. Everything is quiet. It’s a Sunday night, and even the usual honking of cars and screeching of ambulances down High Kilburn Road has stopped, maybe for the first time since I arrived five days ago. Waking up every morning and remembering that I’m in England for the next two months is such a strange and incredible feeling, but it’s even more impressive when I think about who I was and how I felt a year ago and how traveling thousands of miles to a different country by myself was something I’d never thought I’d be able to do in my entire life.
This time last year, I should have been on top of the world. I had just finished my sophomore year of college, my grades were good, I had a wonderful boyfriend and I was surrounded by the most amazing friends and family a girl could ask for. But I wasn’t happy. I was struggling, and I couldn’t understand what was going on. I felt scared all the time. I worried about everything, from my health to death to my friends to school; I even worried about how much I was worrying.
I didn’t know what was happening to me. I had felt this way for a few months, but I had just ignored it and hoped it would go away. But it wasn’t going away, it was getting worse. It was the beginning of June, my roommates had both gone back home for the summer and my boyfriend had just left for vacation for three weeks. My friends were all either working or gone, and I had no one. I was stuck in an empty apartment in the middle of Kansas, two states away from my family. I woke up alone, ate breakfast alone, went to summer classes alone, came home alone, made dinner alone and fell asleep alone. Anyone who lives by themselves might think, “what’s the big deal? I do that all the time,” but this was different. Normally, I could do this. I used to love being alone, but I couldn’t get this nagging feeling of worry out of my head.
It took over everything I did. I started over thinking every single move I made until it felt like I was constantly stuck in this state of dreaming. I felt concerned about the most trivial tasks, like taking a shower or leaving my apartment. I would think “am I going to feel this scared when I do this thing?” until I would actually have to do it, and then it would reaffirm that yes, I felt that scared, until I had to do something else.
If you don’t already know, because I sure didn’t, I was living with severe undiagnosed anxiety. It was the darkest period of my life, and I would never wish it upon anyone. If you’ve ever dealt with anxiety, you know how crippling it can be. It’s a struggle just to talk to your friends or family about anything at all. It’s a battle to leave your room or your home and go get groceries. I remember using television as a distraction and constantly thinking “don’t they feel this way? How are they acting so normal?” about the characters on the screen.
Eventually, I found ways to cope, even though I was still unsure why I felt so terrible. I put myself on a strict schedule, getting up early and going to bed before midnight. I would work out and cook all my meals to try to keep my mind off of it. I watched a ridiculous amount of TV and movies. I would force myself to get out and run simple errands, or just drive around. I made plans to hang out with the few friends who were in town, even if it gave me anxiety just to think about it.
I began to form my own recovery plan. I would do all the things that worked for me until they stopped working, and then I would try something new. I would find little mantras to keep me going. I spent hours researching online forums, reading what worked for others and trying to apply them to my own life. And most importantly, I refused to let the fear control me. I took deep breaths when I felt overwhelmed and pressed on with my day.
While everyone else was having a great summer, spending time at home or traveling, I was working to conquer my own mental health issues, just trying to figure out how to lead a normal life again. It got better once the summer ended, but it still wasn’t great. The anxiety continued into the next semester and I just had to cope with it because I was still afraid of letting people know that I wasn’t this happy, put-together girl that they thought I was.
Eventually, I broke down and decided that I needed help. I felt so much better, but I also felt stuck, like I couldn’t progress any further on my own. I explained what was happening to my parents and they helped me find a counselor at CAPS, the counseling service offered at Watkins Health Center. It was like a ton of bricks had been lifted off my chest. Finally, I could talk to someone.
Therapy was the best thing I’ve ever done for myself. I made improvements weekly and was feeling like myself in a matter of months. It was progress I could never have made if I had continued to keep everything in. I was never put on medication, but having someone there who understands your fears and is open to talk about exactly how you’re feeling is the most incredible thing in the world.
So here I am: more than a year later and I no longer feel scared, at least about ridiculous things I have no control over. Just a few days ago I flew to London by myself, which I never thought I could do. I no longer live in fear that anxiety will control my life. Everything feels brighter and happier, and those are two things I’m so glad to experience again. I don’t know if my anxiety is gone, or if it will ever be completely gone, but that’s not really the point. Right now, I am worry-free, and I can’t wait to see what tomorrow brings.