It’s a curse. A slow, poisonous venom that creeps through your brain and body, increasing its dosage until, one day, you’re hit with a full-blown panic attack.
These days, everyone throws around the word anxiety like it’s a fashion trend. But few truly understand what it is. Only those who have lived through it — the real thing, the kind that turns into a disorder — know what kind of beast it really is.
And the worst part? It can take months, years, even decades before you realize what’s happening.
Anxiety is cunning. It doesn’t arrive with a warning. It whispers. It makes you feel like you don’t belong, like something is off about you. And from that seed, it grows.
First, it convinces you that you have no place in this world. Then it poisons your thoughts with fear — fear of people, of buildings, of animals, trees. Everything.
You wake up one day and realize: you’re trapped in a cage made not of steel, but of imagined threats and endless worries.
How Anxiety Rooted Itself in Me
Once I went through it, my body never really came back to baseline. It acted like the threat was still out there — even in silence, even in safety. And honestly, for a while — it was.
I didn’t have a name for it for a long time. I thought I was broken — or an alien. That there was something deeply wrong with me — some incurable disease like heart failure, maybe something rare and undetectable.
I kept searching for answers, going from one doctor to another, hoping someone would finally see me.
“Everything is fine. You just need to lose weight.”
No one listened. No one explained. No one cared. It made me question my own reality — maybe I was imagining things. Maybe I was too sensitive, too dramatic.
But I wasn’t.
What It Did to Me
Anxiety poisoned everything. My sense of safety. My trust in others. My trust in myself.
It turned food into a threat.
Silence into danger.
People into walking triggers.
I lost sleep. I lost my sense of safety. I started to gain weight.
And worst of all — I felt like my life was shredding into pieces and I had no control over it.
As if the whole world was against me. As if someone — everyone — wanted to take me down at any cost.
I kept smiling. Working. Functioning. Surviving. Until I couldn’t anymore.
The Turning Point
I’ve reached a turning point — the best in my life, I would say. It didn’t come gently. It came when everything fell apart. I was on the edge — emotionally, physically, spiritually — and I had no choice but to stop pretending I was fine.
No pressure. No noise. Just letters from a woman learning to breathe again.
Subscribe if that’s the kind of truth you need too.