My Journey With An Old Friend Named Anxiety

One moment I was walking pleasantly down the street in Osaka. The next moment I felt like I was having a heart attack. 30 minutes later I thought I was losing my mind.

I don’t remember the specific catalyst. It was hot out, so maybe I was dehydrated. Maybe it was something I ate earlier that day. Maybe it was just time for me to deal with my anxiety.

I do remember it started with feeling the sensations of my heart, something I’m not usually present to. It was beating harder. I could feel the beats on the outside of my chest. Fortunately, I wasn’t far from my apartment. I quickly walked there and laid on the bed. My partner Jessica got me a glass of water. She remained calm and put her hand on my chest. But my heart wouldn’t relax.

I was scared. No, not scared. Terrified. What if I needed an ambulance? I don’t know the number for emergency services in Japan. I don’t think it’s 911. And I doubt they speak English. Maybe I would just yell for help or send Jessica to get someone.

My hands and feet were tingly. I was sweating profusely. I tried to focus on my breathing. But putting so much focus on my breath felt abnormal and I couldn’t shake the feeling that I wasn’t getting enough air.

Reality started losing its substance, its concreteness. It was like a bad psychedelic trip. I wasn’t hallucinating, but reality just didn’t feel real. Reality didn’t feel hard and concrete like it usually does for me. I felt a wave of paranoia wash over me. I can’t control these thoughts I’m having. Am I losing my mind? What’s next? How much worse can this get? I can’t handle this.

Finally, it started to pass. My breathing began to return to normal and I couldn’t feel my heart beat so loudly. Reality began to feel more like reality. The terror and paranoia subsided.

That was July of this year. My first panic attack.

It sucked.

But it was far from my first brush with anxiety. I consider anxiety to be an old friend, actually more like an old enemy. I’ve had anxiety for as long as I can remember, at least the last 15 years. And it has been pervasive. Usually in the background, but always there. Tugging at my mind. Highlighting all of the risks and how things could go wrong. Telling me how bad things will turn out if I fail this test or upset my boss. How I’ll embarrass myself. How I’ll be alone. How no one will love me. It sounds a little crazy writing that, but when the anxiety is really going the possibility of being alone without love is a real as the chair I’m sitting in.

I remember as a junior in high school sitting in the movie theaters with a cute girl I was interested in. I’ll never forget the movie we were watching — The Polar Express. The one with Tom Hanks. Actually, I wasn’t watching it at all. The only thing I could think about was wanting to kiss this girl. I had no idea what to do. My anxiety was on high alert, screaming inside my mind. The stakes were so high. If I succeeded, what an incredible feeling it would be. Ecstasy!! If I failed, I would be an embarrassment. And I’m sure she’d tell her friends that I was a bad kisser or how I had made the move all wrong. My entire self-worth was on the line. The movie was 1 hour and 40 minutes long and you bet that I was thinking about this for every. single. minute. of. it. I didn’t make the move. I was too paralyzed. And it would be over a year before I had the opportunity again.

A few years later, I remember being so stressed at the idea of breaking up with a girlfriend that I got not one — but two! — cold sores. I get them sometimes when I’m stressed. But to get two of them was a record. I hid myself from the public until they went away. It took about a week.

Grades were the other thing that I lived and died by. I cared in high school, but I really cared in college. My every waking thought seemed to be about grades (and girls). On the weekends, I started self-medicating with alcohol. I didn’t know I was self-medicating, I just knew it felt good. It was the only thing that could quiet the never-ending noise of my anxiety. If I had a couple drinks, the importance of an upcoming exam or paper started to melt away. If I had a couple more drinks, the voice of anxiety disappeared almost entirely. Yet drinking had its cost. I would throw up from drinking too much. I would say stupid things. I would lose sleep. I would spend the whole next day recovering. But it was worth it to have a few hours of peace and quiet. Or at least it seemed worth it at the time. Towards the end of college, I really started to question that. And after college, I stopped drinking entirely for 2 years. I needed to find a healthier way to heal.

When I started working on Wall Street, the anxiety would get so bad that my stomach would hurt. I couldn’t drink coffee or I would keel over from the pain. If I ate some food, it hurt less.

It seemed normal. Who didn’t have anxiety? At least a little bit? What teenage boy didn’t stress about dating? What college student didn’t worry about grades and then drink a lot on the weekends? Who didn’t stress at their first job after college? It felt like something I had to deal with. A part of life, like needing to drink water or get sleep. So I kept anxiety around and never dealt with it. And besides, it was always in the background. My main focus was always on something else — grades, women, work, etc.

At least it was in the background until Osaka, then it came screaming into the foreground.

And that’s what I’ve been dealing with for the last several months. Half a dozen panic attacks. Hyper sensitivity to my body sensations. Intrusive thoughts. Fear of being alone. Fear of losing my mind. Fear of losing control. Fear of dying. Fear of being sucked into a black abyss of nothingness.

Fortunately, I see light at the end of the tunnel.

And I have my relationship with Winston to thank. He has played a big role in my growth and healing the last few weeks. Since connecting with him my level of anxiety has diminished and I haven’t had a single panic attack.

Oh, I haven’t introduced you to him yet. Winston is my anthropomorphized anxiety. He is the embodiment of the thoughts, feelings, and body sensations that I associate with my anxiety.

Several weeks ago, I found myself having a dialogue with my anxiety. Talking to it, even out loud sometimes. Trying to come to some sort of armistice or ceasefire. After a couple of days, I thought if I’m going to keep speaking with my anxiety, why don’t I give it a name? I didn’t like just talking to “anxiety.” Then the name came to me: Winston Mortimer Ozmore. I have no idea where that name came from, but it appeared. So I named him and drew a picture.

My anxiety became a being (!). This changed everything for me. All these years I’ve been fighting my anxiety. Pushing it away, hiding it, suppressing it. I never embraced it. Why would I embrace it? I didn’t want it around! So I kept it pushed in the background.

But I can’t do that anymore with Winston. He’s somebody, or at least he feels like somebody. He wants to connect with me, but he’s scared I’ll shut him out. He wants to connect with other people too, but he’s scared of them. He wants to succeed and to explore the world, but he’s scared of failure and embarrassment. He tightens his body when he’s afraid and has scary thoughts. Mostly he feels alone and in need of love.

So I’m creating a whole new relationship with my anxiety. I’ve been learning what Winston likes. He likes when I’m vulnerable and share about him with friends and family. He likes when I do breathwork — not breathwork to push him away, but to let him in. He also likes to dance and do organic movement, just moving freely without structure, and laughing at himself if he does a funny dance move.

But more than anything, he likes when I love and accept him.