Hello, anxiety.

I’ve been trying not to write about stuff I’m going through because I don’t want to be a downer and no one wants to read about someone’s bout with anxiety. But things have been so fracked up with this pandemic you can read about something unsettling somewhere else every day anyway. (Don’t believe me? Read the local news and the absurdity of the people working for the government and you’ll get what I mean.)

Besides, I thought, if I am fortunate enough to survive this, I might as well document both the good and bad.

The past few days were tough for me. I have not been sleeping at night (sometimes I don’t sleep at all) and feel very tired and lethargic by the day. I have sudden, unexplained chest pains, stomachache, and headache. I don’t feel like doing anything; I didn’t have the desire to eat or write—two of my favorite things to do. I’m so stressed that I get irritable and sensitive at the slightest stir. While I haven’t cried myself to sleep or sobbed for no reason, I feel empty and numb. To simply put, there’s that overall feeling of not feeling well. A depressive episode, if you will.

At first, I chalked it up to hormones. But when it didn’t go away for days, I knew I had to stop and acknowledge that anxiety is real.

What may have triggered it? I can only point out to one: the confinement.

We are in this new norm for almost five months now. Since they’ve asked everyone to stay home and practice social distancing to avoid the spread of the virus, there have been significant limitations I imposed on myself. Even when they declared GCQ and most establishments like malls and parks have opened, I took it upon myself to sacrifice my little freedoms and stay home just to make sure I don’t catch anything. Not when our confirmed cases are now about to breach 100,000 in a few more days.

Then there are the even smaller triggers. Our kitchen downstairs is being renovated so for a week now, I am forced to work in my room, on my bed, with my screaming nephews horsing around. I kept threatening how I’d fling my slippers at them if they get too noisy. I’d chide them for asking too many questions, or for bothering me while I’m working. Then almost instantly, I’d feel guilty for doing so because when I think about it, they are only feeling as choked as I was for being inside a very small space for long periods.

I also have not been kind to myself. Apart from the poor sleep quality and unhealthy diet, I hardly stop to look at myself in the mirror these days and I’m not exaggerating. A day goes by when after bathing (which is something I regularly do, don’t worry) I’d just get dressed and not even check how I look the rest of the day. I didn’t even notice I have a red zit right smack at my nose until I had to fix myself before going out to the grocery last Friday. My hair is in its worst state in years, greying and frizzy. For the love of Pete, I just stopped caring.

Worrying is another thing that I was not predisposed to but now I find myself doing all the time. A few days ago, my uncle was rushed to the hospital after suffering from stroke, and once again I have witnessed the sad, dismal state of our health care. As most hospitals are in full capacity, it took them more than 24 hours to get him a room that he had to wait in the ER (and the only room available is in the ICU which is so expensive). This made me worry constantly about my mom especially after she complained of severe lower back pains some days ago.  

A few days after my uncle was discharged, I overheard my aunt complaining of loss of taste and then having a fever. We were so panicked that we didn’t allow mommy and the kids to go downstairs. And while my aunt remains inside their house for days now, we don’t even know if she even bothered to get swab tested considering she’s manifesting some of the symptoms. Such blatant disregard of what may happen to the people around her gave way to my unease, frustration and paranoia.

***

I’ve always been that person, even in my teenage years, who can appear unbothered even if I’m already on the verge of some mental or emotional breakdown. I know that can’t be healthy, but that’s how we were raised and that’s how I intend to deal with things like this. Outward smiles and inward screams, I heard somebody say.

But I admit that my IG stories and Twitter posts the past few days are somewhat a cry for help already. Especially when I realize that sometimes, all I need to calm me down is a good talk with someone. With anyone. Being able to admit to someone that “I’m not okay” does help a lot. They really don’t need to tell me anything else, just listening to me is good enough. I don’t expect solutions will come easy, but having another soul on the other side checking up on me or asking how I was, snaps me out of the funk even for a while.

Funny thing is that the people who took the time to message me to ask how I was weren’t the ones I expected. One even had to ignore our twelve-hour time difference just to check up on me (thanks, Mr. Beantown!) and there are those who I don’t get to talk with are the ones reaching out.

I do understand how my closest friends, those who really knew me, think that it’s best I’d be left alone to recover on my own. Some people may also just want to avoid the drama that they would rather distance themselves from me rather than deal with me. Then again, it’s hard when you feel you are avoided for such reason. While I get it, it still stings a little.

I wish they also knew that I still needed some nudge. I wish that they can recognize a cry for help too. Even the best fall down sometimes—as that song goes.

I hope I feel better soon.