It’s a question I ask myself often.
Even when I’m doing well, it hangs out at the back of my mind, waiting for me to slip up, secretly wondering when the illusion of my wellness will shatter and the truth of my “brokenness” will become evident.
Finally, when everything becomes too much, whenever I have a spat or disagreement with someone, when I make a mistake at work or at home, or have an awkward social interaction, it comes to the forefront and screams at the top of its lungs.
“Why do I have to be like this?”
“Why can’t I be normal?”
“When will I stop hurting myself and others with my anxious behavior?”
I don’t know why I’m like this. I don’t know why I get plagued with anxious thoughts in situations which others navigate with ease. I don’t know why I get into spats with my fiance or my family over things that simply don’t matter to other people.
All I know is that this is who I am. I freak out at random and very inconvenient intervals, yet my freak outs do not result in the end of the world. At times, I exhaust the people who love me most, and they continue to love me. I am pissed off that this is part of my DNA, part of how I’m “wired,” yet most days, I am thankful to be me and to encounter the world the way I do, even when it’s “inconvenient,” “exhausting,” or just plain annoying.
I am a person with anxiety. I have anxiety like every other human being, but I also have the luxury of getting mine jacked up a few doses by some forces of genetics and/or environmental circumstances.
But I am still Lindsay. I am still made in a holy, divine image.
And so are you. At your darkest and at your most joyful, always remember this.