Guest Post: Does Anxiety Define Me?

Because mental illness is alienating, one of my favorite things to do is exchange perspectives and experiences with others who share some part of my struggles. One of my dear friends was willing to write his perspective down, and gave me permission to share it here. I was intrigued by his ideas, and I think you will be, too.

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Anybody with anxiety—any mental or physical illness—is often told that their illness doesn't define them. I disagree.

Growing up I was always somewhat anxious about things; I was careful about how I handled and used my toys, or who I let play with them; I was not interested in being an Astronaut when everybody else thought it would be exciting; I didn't seek out the thrill rides at amusement parks, instead favoring the down-to-earth attractions like bumper cars; I was not interested in the "dares" of other children… But it wasn't until my late teens that I started to become clinically, chronically anxious.

My first major stressor was applying for disability due to a chronic physical illness that already prevented me from working. The experience would be a drawn out, difficult, stressful one for anybody, but for someone like me it was hellish. Eventually I had a hearing—without a lawyer to represent me—that ended my hope of receiving disability. It was months before I recovered from that ordeal.

Over time, due to subsequent stressors that occurred in my life with regularity, my anxiety became more and more severe and constant. I turned to friend, family, and to God for support and relief, with varying but diminishing success until a couple of years ago when I was called for jury duty. This was a final straw, and I found myself—with the generous support of a family friend—seeing a professional asking for help. With some medication and a note excusing me from jury duty I decided that I was on the mend and things would get better, but I was wrong.

During the next year my anxiety kept gradually getting worse with or without stressors in my life, and I came to realize that I had been dealing with a constant level of background anxiety for almost two decades, but I was ignoring it, because I believed it was just part of life for everybody. That constant refusal to acknowledge it eventually came with a cost I could not pay, but with the help of increasing levels of medication, and two doctors, I have been able to reduce the constant anxiety from a background roar to a slight hum, and the situational, social, and other anxiety is now sometimes bearable.

Anxiety defines me because it affects everything in my life. It affects how I interact with myself, with technology, with my surroundings, with others, and with God. I make decisions based on whether my anxiety will be a factor. I don't make plans unless I know that I have a place to go if my anxiety gets too severe. If someone wants to understand me, they have to understand that I have anxiety.

It may not be the defining attribute of who I am, but it cannot be ignored or denied as a significant influence of my life. It defines me as much as my love of science-fiction, my faith, my upbringing, and where I live and what I do defines me. Nevertheless, I prefer to be thought of as a person with anxiety, rather than an anxious person. It may seem like it's only a semantic difference, but I think it's an important one.

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