2. ANXIETY IN MY MIRROR

A song to fill your ears whilst reading - Kolaymi - Omar Faruk Tekbilek

My whole life, I have been living with anxiety and depression.  Not my own.  But my mother’s.  Her story in itself could be a series of books and I will probably write a more detailed post about her at some point.  She is in my unbiased opinion one of the most special people I have and will ever have in my life.  In my eyes, she is the epitome of strength.  She married so young and fled her mother country, Lebanon, to escape war and build a new life here.  She left school even though she had great prospects ahead of her, being the smartest in her year. She left her family and everything she knew.  From then on, she sacrificed her life for her family, forgetting about herself.  That was her nature but it was eventually detrimental to her and those around her.  Because neglecting yourself can have its consequences. 

My mum didn’t get out of bed for the majority of my school life.  I saw her at her worst.  Panic attack, after panic attack.  They would take over her whole body and her conscience. Some days she would cry for no reason. Other days, she couldn’t find the energy for life itself. Every so often I’d find her in the study listening to an old cassette tape recording of her own mother singing, while she cried her eyes out. Her biggest regret and the thought that made her suffer most. Remembering that moment when she was here in Australia as she got a call that her mother had died suddenly from a heart attack in Lebanon. It ate at her.

In my previous post, I spoke about my aunty. My dad’s sister. Well my mum was the one who stayed in the hospital room when she died. She held her hand through it and watched her breath slowly soften until it became still. My mother would never trade that memory or complain about it but this was definitely a moment that escalated her anxiety and depression.

Years on, I saw her various lows. I remember being home alone with her once as she suddenly fell off the couch, onto the floor, shaking.  Being the youngest of 5 girls, I was always protected from this and never had to confront it this way.  But here I was watching my mum, the strongest person I knew, shaking and crying on our white tiled floor, uncontrollably. And I didn’t know how to help her. I wanted so much to help her. When I was younger, sometimes I’d sleep next to her and pretend I had immense powers. Such powers that when I placed my hand on her, it would vacuum the depression from her body. Then as I grew older, my empathy grew into moments of frustration. I hated inviting friends over because she could be set off at any moment. I felt terribly guilty for some of the thoughts I had about her. I hated myself for ever thinking that I just wanted a normal mother. But growing up and knowing her story, it exemplifies just how strong she is. My eyes water as I write this because she has affected so many people’s lives in a positive way while she suffered her demons immensely and I am privileged to have this saint be a part of my life. My first experience with her anxiety had terrified me though.  But then it started to become second nature.  And sometimes I worried I was turning into her.

My mind is a backlog of thoughts, worries and concerns.  I always concluded the worst outcome in a lot of situations. I was always anticipating something.  A lot of my friends don’t know this about me because externally, I project very calm and positive vibes. My friends came to me for advice, for help, for a listening ear. And these are all genuine parts of my nature but in a solo atmosphere, sometimes I endured various emotions, a layer I didn’t want people to see. I would dwell on various thoughts, I could become uneasy for no reason and emotions could overcome me followed by tears. Maybe I became ignorant to these feelings. Because later, they would resurface again with a vengeance. And I would eventually let my guard down. 

In some ways, I mirrored my mother’s habits and inherited parts of her anxiety. But it was her that inspired various experiences, risks and lessons throughout my life. I write now because somewhere out there, I hope people can be comforted by the fact that it is our imperfections that complete us. That it’s perfectly normal to experience the undermentioned thoughts within your own path. I also hope people reading this can relate.  They can relate to feeling complete but broken, in limbo, as if the world passes by in a blur sometimes.  As if you’re a blur. Trying to find your place whilst attempting to look for it. The it. That something that will make your life feel special again. That something which erupts your soul into volcanic fire. Looking for it externally but eventually coming to realise it was in you all along. But here in this now, you crave something more from life. Stability bored you. Routine made you feel like you succumbed to this robotic life you didn’t want for yourself. You didn’t see yourself thriving with your two feet glued to the ground beneath you. Instead you envisioned your soul flourishing as it floated through life. Maybe the vaccine was moving from country to country, or from job to job, or even from relationship to relationship… 
That last one.  Moving from relationship to relationship, meaning never being able to commit, or them never wanting to. Mostly the latter.  Always being that one who filled other’s inbetween.  Well, this brings me to my first series of writings. I’ll start with that time I met the guy who made me fall in love for the first time. I call it: FLOAT LIKE A BUTTERFLY.