The silent killer

I’m dwindling; deteriorating in front of my own eyes and I can’t stop. I’m spinning out of control; trying to hold myself together and live up to this consistent expectation that I’m always okay. But I’m not okay. Not at the moment. My soul feels like it’s being crushed in a sandwich press, only there’s no beautiful, oozing tasty cheese escaping from the confines of my brain bread, just my sadness and pain being pushed on so tightly that I can’t help but let it concern my every waking minute. I am struggling and I don’t want to be. I tell myself that I’ll be okay because, ultimately, I know that I will be. This is just a passing thing, a fleeting inundation of horrible emotion. But it will pass…I just need to know when. 

I try my breathing exercises, I use cognitive therapy, I latch onto the happiness and laughter that makes itself known as often as it can. But still, I go to bed with that overwhelming tightness in my chest—that one that feels like I might be on the verge of having a heart attack. Why is my heart in so much pain? Why is my stomach churning? Why does the most insignificant thing make my eyes well up? Why do I feel so on edge all the time? My heart is hurting. It’s really, really hurting. My head aches from my ocean of tears. I wake up exhausted after a great deal of sleep. It’s all a bit too much at the moment, and that’s okay.

There’s a pride in being the one that’s “always good”. But there’s also a struggle. People expect you to always have it together because, for the most part, you do—or at least you did. Not at the moment. And even though deep down you know that you’ll be okay, you’re not okay. At least not now. You want life to continue as it was, you want to remain successful in every pursuit, you want to be the best version of yourself always. But that’s not currently happening and it scares you. What if this is who I am now? What if I’m not that bubbly, bright person anymore? What if life, as I knew it, has changed?

My anxiety is playing tricks on me. Making me feel unnerved, hopeless. But I’m here to tell myself that it will be okay; that I will be okay. Because it’s okay to not be okay, and this will not break me.