The thing with anxiety is that It doesn’t knock when it arrives. It is smart; it is meticulous; It is by that empty corner you round on a bright Saturday morning when you’re out for a walk to clear your head, whispering your thoughts and questions to no one, or so you thought.
But anxiety listens to you. It studies you, it prepares answers to bring to you when you have no choice, and forces you to accept them. It is that nagging voice telling you something is wrong, or about to slip through your hands.
It is like glass that shatters into tiny pieces, on days when you think you have it all under control; days when you think you’re safe. With anxiety, you’re somewhere dark, somewhere safe. Nothing ever reaches you in this far corner of the room. Not light, not guilt, not your father’s mistakes, nothing.
Suddenly your sister screams. You remember your therapist telling you to always ignore these sounds, told you to continuously whisper, “This is not real”. But the mere thought of doing it makes you feel like you’re crazy. So you don’t, but you try to block out the sounds as much as you can. There’s a screech, there’s the sound of the fan whirring so loudly, spreading annoyance all over the room. You hear your sister’s scream again.
There’s gasping, someone’s breathe leaving them, and you remember your therapist again. How she spoke as though she really cared, but could not mask the little tone that indicated she couldn’t wait for the session to be over, Or so you thought.
Your sister screams again, and you’re out running before anything holds you back, going to save her. “She’ll be okay”, you think. I’m going to be there soon.
When you barge into the room, your sister is seated on a reading chair, legs crossed, with her cell phone in her hand. She turns towards you, annoyed. But she sees the bewildered look in your face, and she becomes a mirror, reflecting your confusion. You ask if she heard someone scream, and she says no, shakes her head, then goes back to what she was doing as you utter a confused “Oh, I thought I heard a sound.” You words hit the door as you close it gently, afraid another sound might set off the wailing in your head. You make a silent promise to ignore the sounds like your therapist said, but you remember- this isn’t the first or the second, or the fourth, or even the fifth time this has happened.
But most importantly, you wonder when it will happen again.