This Is Also What Anxiety Looks Like

It is never pleasant, the entirety of the event.

Exams are bad enough, but awaiting results? It’s like a slow death, you realize it’s eventuality but nothing ever prepares you to face it in actuality.

It's different every single time. It isn't quite so bad when I know I’ve done good. The anxious feeling is there but my mind can rationalize it. My thoughts can control my anxiety. But it’s a whole different thing when my performance is ambiguous. The extended time feels like torture. Torturous enough to make me want to run and never face it. Denial is such a bliss at times.

But there are times like today when I cannot avoid it. No matter how much I wish to, I have to gather every bit of courage I have left inside of me to command my feet to take me to my classroom where the dreadful thing awaits me.

I know I didn’t do too well in this particular subject, I know it, but the harder I try to make peace with the fact, the worse it comes back to me in the form of despair.

All the efforts put into the two hours of examination are going to be shoved in my face, making me feel so very unworthy, all the self-confidence I hold onto will suffer from a huge blow. I worked hard, but apparently that wasn’t enough, it never is here, in this particular degree, in this particular college.

The thought spiral is the worst, and I am determined not to let myself get swallowed up by that, not this time.

Nevertheless, as I climb the stairs and the classroom, I know something is off. All these thoughts clouding my mind also seem to be influencing my biological functioning. Standing at the bottom of the last flight of stairs, every single cell in my body is revolting against my decision, begging me to run away, to hide from the frightening situation. My determination is hanging off of a very delicate thread.

It becomes hard to breathe, not just because of the physical exertion of climbing the stairs, it’s different. I grip the railing harder, hoping that it would help in some sort of way, any sort of way. The dread is spreading through my body like a fast-acting poison making it a challenge to perform a basic task like walking.

What are you supposed to do when your body disagrees with your decisions and stubbornly refuses to listen?

Just a few more steps.

I remind myself. Just a few more steps, if I run away now, I’ll be running away from this event my entire life.

I have people around me, my friends most probably, but I can’t seem to realize their presence. We are all walking side by side but I feel worlds away from them. The entire world stops making sense to me, it is all muddled. There must be some sound, some noise, but I can’t listen to it, my thoughts are ringing too loud in my ear.

My chest shrivels up, it feels as if someone is squeezing my heart from the inside, the pain is so very real.

I force myself to get back to the real world. I’m walking, even though my steps are labored, my friends are next to me, as I knew they would be and I start hearing the combined noise of the multiple people swarming the corridor. The pain is very much there and breathing is still a task that if I stop paying attention to it, feels like it would potentially kill me.

All of it, the entirety of it, took place in what felt like an eternity to me but was a few minutes in the actual world.

I had the preconceived notion that anxiety and panic attacks look a particular way. That when it occurs, people would notice and the person can get help.

But, this is also what anxiety looks like.