I wish that I could tell you what “normal” means, but in all honesty, I have no idea. I know that each and every day I pray that I can at least appear normal. Most days, I don’t feel I do, and on the “good” days, it’s a hard fought battle just to look like the rest of you.
Every day I struggle to remember a time when I wasn’t worried, stressed out or afraid. It occurred to me last night that I no longer remember.
I have anxiety. More specifically, I have an anxiety disorder. You can’t see it. It’s not like chicken pox or cancer. I don’t look sick. But I am. And unlike either of those things, there’s no cure (though I know from watching relatives suffer that there isn’t a cure for cancer either, but there’s hope).
I think I’ve finally realized that I will forever be the way I am.
I guess that I wanted to write it all down in the hope that someone out there, even if it’s just one of you, struggles the way I do. It’s so hard to feel so alone all of the time. You can’t see that I am sick and worry is abstract. You can’t feel my inner turmoil. Oh how I wish you could. Someone out there knows. Someone out there might read this and understand and shake their head violently, YES! YES! YES!
You are not alone. Here, you are normal. Even if it’s only for a few minutes.