What the Pandemic has Reminded Me about Anxiety
By Isabelle Briggs
Generalized anxiety disorder (GAD) is more than just worrying about whether your shoes are in fashion, or about the big presentation you have to give in class this week. It’s fear, hardwired, and for the most part, uncontrollable. It’s a sympathetic nervous system sensitive to ideas; wild possibilities of what ifs, not just danger. It can affect memory and attention. It can make someone irritable and jumpy. For me, it’s knowing everything will be fine, taking my medicine, doing breathing exercises, talking myself down, yet still shaking uncontrollably and feeling nauseous. It’s not an endearing shyness or even a quiet disposition, because I am anything but. No. It’s feeling as if every person in every room I walk into knows something I don’t and looking like a fool because of it. Anxiety is all these things and many more.
The pandemic has made a lot of people anxious, but it was more helpful for my disorder than you might imagine. The transition from high school to college is stressful for everyone, at least to some degree. It’s something so new and different, no matter how far from home you go, or how close you stay. I consider myself lucky that Salem State went almost entirely online for my first year of college. Sitting in my room, hearing my puppy playing in the living room, and having my mom just a shout away made everything a million times easier. I was able to focus and do well in my classes. I realize that for many people, this is not the case, and people with anxiety may have experiences that conflict with mine. Anxiety is not uniform, and neither are the people who live with it. We are individuals with different tastes and preferences for learning. That being said, online classes were more of a blessing to me than a curse.
It wasn’t and still isn’t all sunshine and rainbows. Having to stare at my own face and knowing that everyone else in the room, with their camera on or not, can see me is nerve wracking. In a classroom it’s easy to take a seat towards the back or against a wall; that way, I’m not as distracted by so many people being able to see me and what they may think of that. But online learning does not present that opportunity—although, depending on the professor, you may be able to turn your camera off or participate via chat, and that is always a relief.
Last semester was my first one on campus, and it went much better than I thought it would. Again, the pandemic and online classes set me up to succeed. One of my closest friends goes to Salem State, and he had spent a semester on campus our freshman year. Having someone I am so close to, who knew what they were doing, lifted a huge weight off my shoulders. I still felt sick the day before moving in, and my mom could tell you how irritable and jumpy I was on the ride up.
That’s the thing about anxiety, and in my experience, other mental illnesses: they don’t go away. I don’t get to wake up one day and magically have a brain that produces all the right chemicals at the right times. But things do get easier. They really do. All it takes is practice.
When I was younger, I used to get so frustrated with medical professionals that wanted me to do what amounted to exposure therapy. I’ve learned it’s a practice for a reason. As much as I loathe to admit it, my dad forcing me to call our favorite pizza place whenever we order from there has made talking on the phone easier. Already as I prepare to go back on campus this semester I am reminded of that fact. Sure, I still packed four days early and consequently had to unpack things to use them, but I am not sick to my stomach about going back. In fact, I’m looking forward to it, not that I am jumping for joy about in-person classes while the pandemic still rages. But I’m looking forward to being able to see my friends every day, and the build-your-own ice cream bar in the Marsh Dining Hall. As long as they have chocolate chips, vanilla ice cream, and chocolate syrup that is.
What I mean to express to those who don’t know and to reaffirm for those who do, is that anxiety is not the same every day. There are things I can’t do, that I’m just not ready or don’t have the tools to do. There are also things that I can do most days, but sometimes I just can’t. And there are things I am certain I can’t do that on other days are as easy as breathing. Anxiety is kind of like chronic pain, in that it’s always there, somedays worse than better, and environmental circumstances can worsen it significantly. Not that anxiety sharpens with the rain, but that it tightens its grip when your schedule is full.
Anxiety can be extremely isolating, it does that all on its own without a pandemic. The biggest piece of advice I can give to anyone struggling is to find people to be there for you. It may not be as hard as you think to find someone. Humans are wonderful and so many are compassionate. I’m not saying to find yourself an unpaid personal nurse or anything, just find a friend. Find someone who will stand next to you when you have to pick up your prescription at the pharmacy for the first time. Someone who will order for you every once in a while, especially when you have a bad day. Someone who will encourage but not pressure you. Someone who, when you finally work up the courage to ask “could you maybe come with me for—” cuts you off to tell you that they will. Of course, they will. Whatever it is. Find that person, or people.
And if you can’t, remember the buildup is the worst part; you are more capable than you think; and you don’t always have to be able to do it the first, second, or third time. Life isn’t a race. It’s hard. It’s scary. And, no, the world isn’t built to help you—often it seems like it’s working against you—but I’ve found that there is always time for you to catch your breath.