Scarred, not Broken; Victorious, not a Victim

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My dark passenger.  That ever present voice, quiet and gentle as a whisper at first, 'til it spins dread and fear like spider webs throughout every happy moment.  Then it crouches in the shadows, in the wake of its deception, waiting to pounce and sink its claws in for the kill.  My heart rate increases, my breath falters, my body shakes and sweat pours from my palms.  I'm now in fight or flight mode, in response to whatever situation, place or environment I've found myself in.  My body wants to run and my brain is preparing it for just that, pumping adrenaline through my veins.  

 I've lost count of the amount of times people have made ignorant comments, all to more or less the same effect- anxiety can be conquered with something as simple as mind over matter..... but when half of me wants only to run and hide, while the other half  is gearing up to stay and fight the generally non-existent threat, to battle for rational calm amidst the fictional chaos, tell me please, how mind over matter is possible when it is the mind that is at war with itself?

 In the past, I resented people who didn't understand anxiety or what a crippling condition it is to live with.  I now think, you know what?  Would I really wish this on anybody?  Because it's the people who don't understand it, who have not had the misfortune of experiencing it, never felt it's bone crushing weight upon their shoulders, forcing them to question everything they do, say and think, over and over, in an endless cycle.

 As much as I wish I could be rid of mine for good, I have come to simply accept it as a part of who I am now.  Believe me, I have tried everything to move forward from it- various medications, CBT (cognitive behaviour therapy), DBT (dialectical behaviour therapy), counselling, meditation, relaxation etc.  While some of those things have had a major positive impact in other areas of my life, my anxiety has always remained.
  
It was my current psychiatrist who played a big part in my coming to accept it and be at peace with it..... well, as at peace with something as an anxious person can be, put it that way!  My past has altered my personality and that's not something that can be medicated or talked away.  The memories will always be there.  I have survived some of the most horrific things a person can in this world and stood in the face of some of the darkest shades of evil imaginable and it has left a profound imprint on my soul.  That's natural.  If these things had no impact on me at all, that in itself would speak volumes about my own humanity, or lack there of.
  
It's not all bad though.  Those same past experiences are also the reason my compassion and empathy for others' suffering and pain runs so deeply.  I'll always have the mental scars of what I have endured but scar tissue differs from normal flesh.  It is shinier and tougher.  Think about that.

There are many, many things that make me anxious nowadays but undoubtedly, what I struggle the most with is social anxiety.  Unfamiliar people and places or large groups absolutely terrify me.  It's difficult to know why exactly that is but I attribute it largely to the fact that I was exposed to hatred and violence from such a young age.  I can clearly remember my father, in the midst of a severe manic episode, buying a boat and naming it Payback.  He even had shirts embroidered with the logo and name for my brother and I.  During a supervised visit at a contact centre, he explained in great detail how he intended to take our mother out on that boat and murder her, dumping her body at sea where he believed it would never be found.  He told us he would then "win" custody of us, that we could all live happily, together forever with her out of the way.  I would have only been 8 or 9 years old.  
I recall an earlier time when I was in year 1, during which my father came to our school and attempted to abduct my brother and I.  He found my classroom first.  My teacher, who knew our family situation and was aware of the domestic violence order in place, tried to stall him for as long as she could by pretending she needed to put extra notes and homework into my bag.  Her small, yet heroic actions quite possibly prevented the abduction from being successful, providing enough time for the police to arrive at the school before he was able to leave with us.  When Dad realised what she was doing, he became hostile and abusive, threatening her in front of an entire class of tiny, innocent children before hoisting me roughly onto his shoulders and snatching my bag from her.  My teacher had a nervous breakdown after that day and what she was exposed to and left mid-year but I have never forgotten her or her brave efforts to protect me. 
 
After we left my classroom, I had to show Dad where my brother's room was.  When he had us both, he headed for the gates.  I was so terrified of what was happening as he exited the school grounds that I wet my pants while still on his shoulders, soaking the back of his shirt.  Thankfully he didn't have time to react- a police car squealed to a stop, sirens and lights blazing and he was arrested.  These were just two incidents.  There were so, so many more....

I personally believe anxiety is a lot like PTSD (post traumatic stress disorder).  Certain things trigger memories in our minds of times when we felt unsafe and we react in the here and now in a similar manner.  Our survival and self preservation instincts kick in.  Deep down we know the threat is long gone but those memories and fears are always with us; sometimes dormant, sometimes drawn up to the surface again.  Often those unsafe feelings are drawn up by seemingly completely unrelated and irrelevant things.  It's usually not even clear to us why something, outwardly appearing so trivial, can send our minds and bodies into such a frenzied panic attack or meltdown.
  
I know I have a lot of "holes" in my childhood memories though and this could possibly explain some of the times when I don't understand why it's happening to me.  For example, I can remember when I was in kindergarten vividly but my entire year of preschool is blank.  I don't have even a single memory of it.  My psychiatrist explained to me that this is a defence mechanism built into our brains that is very common in abused children.  The mind puts up "walls" to block out the most painful times.  It is intended to help us cope but it can be very destructive to development.  What can sometimes happen is that we still get all of the bad emotions from all or some of the blocked out events such as anger, fear, sadness, guilt, shame, frustration etc. but we don't know exactly why we are feeling it, which makes it really difficult to fully heal from.  Knowing how bad some of the things I remember are, it scares me almost to death to even think about how bad what my mind has blocked out must be....

 The world calls us victims.  I don't like that word.  We are survivors.  Being left with anxiety or depression or PTSD or whatever else our traumas may have saddled us with, doesn't change that.  It doesn't make us weak.  It takes incredible strength to live with any mental illness.  It's something to be proud of, not ashamed of.  It took me far too long to realise that.

If you're one of the lucky people unaffected by anxiety, chances are you know somebody who is.  You probably even love someone who is, whether it be a family member or friend.  Please be patient and gentle with them.  Believe it or not, they are probably doing the best they can.  Nobody would ever willingly choose to live with this condition.  Every day is battle with it.

 Being a parent with anxiety is tremendously hard.  On the one hand, I want to shelter my babies from all of the wickedness and danger in this world we live in.  On the other, the last thing I want to do is clip their unique wings or burden them with their own heavy load of this illness.  It is my cross to bear but I'll be damned if I will ever let it stop me from being there to cheer every one of them on and clap the loudest for every one of their successes and special moments, big or small.  My hands may shake as they hold my iPhone snapping photos or taking videos, my heart may race and my breath may catch and quicken but you can bet your ass I'll still be there for them, every step of the way.

 Anxiety is a powerful force in its own right, it's true.... but it has nothing and I mean nothing, on a mother's love. ❤
 
             

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