I havebeenlikethisforthepast
threehours– unableevento
move;mybodycompressedby
aninvisibleweight.Myhands
are numb. My legs shake with
weakness. As for my mind ... it
has emptied, blank apart from the
tormenting fear that this nothingness
is how it will remain forever.
Every now and then this
happens: my life gets derailed
by a tsunami of various mental-
health problems: depression, OCD,
anxiety – all of the baddies are in
there. There is no single villain. And
that’s what makes it so hard, for
it is impossible to fight a foe who
shape-shifts so relentlessly. And
so I do the only thing I know:
I submit to it. I let it knock me off
my feet. Flatten me. Take everything
I’ve got.
I forget now what set it off that
afternoon, but I know it will have
been something small, something
insignificant. It always was.
A cold shower, a rude bus driver,
an overcast morning. No matter
what, the result was always the
same. I could be incapacitated
for what felt like minutes but was
in fact hours, occasionally days.
Time disappears into the black hole
that mental-health issues create:
swallowing all logic, motivation
and hope.
There is a picture of me that
sits on a bookshelf in my parents’
hallway. I’m at a water park in
Florida with my sister. We are both
laughing: the kind of uncontrolled
laughterthatmakesyourlipsgo
thin.I musthavebeen 12 years
oldwhenit wastaken.I looklike
anyotherchild:gap-toothedand
carefree.You’dthinkthesameif
yousawthatphoto.But,in reality,
theturmoilin myminddipped
andweavedasviolentlyasthe
logflumesin thebackgroundof
thatpicture.
Thesignsof mycripplinganxiety
werethereearlyon.Fromaround
theageof two,I wasdesperately
frightenedof theunknown– school
trips,birthdayparties,after-school
clubs.At thesheermentionof
something
mostother
kidsfound
exciting,I
wouldbecome
uncontrollably
distraught.As
a schooltripto
Franceloomed
whenI was
11,I remember
lookingonin jealousyastheother
childrengotincreasinglyexcited.
Meanwhile,I wasconsumedby
fear.I evenhatcheda planto jump
offtheladderto mybunkbed,
thinkingthatif I leaptfromit at just
therightheightI couldbreakmy
armandnothaveto go.
Myparentswereawareof how
I felt– mymumwas(andstillis)
a special-needsteacheranddealt
withchildrenwithdebilitating
mentalissuesona dailybasis.
Theydecidedthatnomatterhowmuch I cried and protested, what
I wanted and what I needed were
two very different things; that
exposing myself to the very things
that frightened me the most was
what would ‘help me lead
a normal life’.
But leading a normal life –
whatever that was supposed to
mean – was hard. By 17 years
old, the amalgamation of my
obsessive thoughts and anxiety
had manifested itself in a crippling
fear of getting old or becoming ill
and dying. It consumed my every
waking moment (and often my
sleeping ones, too). I would stay up
for hours at night Googling ‘young-
onset dementia’ or ‘cancer’, and
there were several occasions where
I called my sister in hysterical tears
because I was convinced
I had lymphoma or throat cancer.
I would clean and floss my teeth
obsessively, often until my gums
bled. I was a regular at my
doctors, asking for blood tests,
urine tests, swabs and any other
test that might worm out whatever
insidious disease I was convinced
was eating away at me.
When I moved away to
university in Liverpool, things got
worse. Alone in a new city, and
with only six hours of teaching
time per week, my mental turmoil
raged. I convinced myself that
I was more productive at home
than on campus and retreated
behind my locked bedroom door.
In my room – in my bubble – I was
safe. Outside, everything was out
of my control, even the smallest
interaction would open the door
to a world of social anxiety.
Finally, I had had enough.
I couldn’t bear to live the rest
of my life like this. I told myself,
‘If your boiler breaks, you
get someone in.’ If your brain
breaks, then why should you
do anything different? nce again,I amlyinginthefoetalposition
undermybed.Theleftsideofmyfaceis
pressedintothebeigecarpet,thesmellof
damp seepingintomylungs.Myphonelies
similarlyprostratebesideme– a rambling,
o the Samaritansopenonthescreen– whilearoundmeSpotify’s‘Feel GoodFriday’playlistblastsout.
MILLENNIAL49
COSMOPOLITAN.CO.ZA | SEPTEMBER 2019