Anxiety disorder affects 40 million people in the U.S. alone.

For some, it manifests as a constant barrage of fear-drenched questions and taunts that hum in your ear like a case of tinnitus. But it’s hard to explain a sound that only you hear. A sound that’s there but isn’t…but is…all the time. All the freaking time.

Try this. You know that feeling you get when you’re driving home from a dinner date? It’s late. The roads are dark and wet. And you’ve had a glass of wine…maybe two. You’re not drunk, but then you hear the chirp of a police siren and your car’s cabin fills with the cruiser’s alternating blue and red lights. Imagine that feeling being the backdrop of your existence. Doubt, dread, doubt, dread – a constant strobe of “what if” disaster scenarios that loop around your brain and only get faster in social settings.  

That’s “general” anxiety. 

For others, anxiety comes in waves of pure terror. It’s as if you’re suddenly plucked from wherever you are and dropped on a tiny island inhabited only by ravenous lions. You look to the sea for escape, but you can’t swim, and even if you could, the waters are filled with great white sharks, and they have lasers strapped to their heads!

True story…or at least that’s what a panic attack feels like.

That’s the problem with anxiety disorder. You can’t see what I feel. You can’t hear the voice of my narrator. That rat bastard of a bully who feeds my affliction with an endless diet of self-defeating questions and self-destructive insults.

But perhaps I can show you. It just happened. A wealth of torment compressed into the five-second walk to the front of the room.

“Please welcome Mr. Big Time Speaker to the stage.”

Why did I do this? I’m no doctor, no shrink, no scientist. What do I know? 40 million afflicted and I’m standing here. What a joke.

Wow. The place is packed. What if I go blank? I should have brought notes. Can I use notes? Is that a thing? Slides maybe. I should have had slides.

Okay, just walk already. Walk. But don’t trip.

I should have peed. What if I have to pee? Can you take a pee break?

Seriously stupid, stop saying pee or you’ll really have to pee.

Great there goes my stomach. DO NOT barf. 

And don’t faint. If I faint, I’ll fall. Then I’ll definitely pee. But at least I won’t barf. 

Is my fly open? Don’t check. Don’t check. I mean, check, of course, check, but don’t look like you’re checking. Whew! Good.

That’s it. Don’t barf. Don’t faint. Don’t trip. Don’t barf. Don’t faint. Don’t trip.

Just breathe and say the first line. You got this (fraud). You know this (fraud). One line at a time. Just begin. (Don’t trip, genius).  

“Anxiety disorder affects 40 million people in the U.S. alone.”

And that’s what it sounds like. That’s what it feels like.

But maybe you already know this. Maybe you have a narrator of your own.

So, what can you do about it?

First, realize that you’re not alone. You’re not crazy or defective or less than…. anyone. You can say “broken” if you need to put a label on it. But realize that the broken is fixable.

Medication works for some. Therapy for others. That’s between you and your doctor. Either option is better than denial, addiction, or…checking out.

For me, healing came from knowing my narrator. Once I began to recognize his voice, I learned to differentiate it from mine. I learned the truth…my truth. 

“They’re not buying this, buddy. The solution is too simple…too flaky. Who are you to suggest it? Who are you to go against me? 

“Oh, I can see it now. They’ll boo. They’ll walk out. They’ll blast you on social media. It’s over. Your reputation, your career…gone! You should have stayed silent. Here come the tomatoes. What are you gonna do when they start throwing them?”

It’s okay. I’m Italian. I’ll make sauce. 

“What was that?”

The sauce thing?

“No. the other?”

It’s okay?

“No. No, it’s not. You’ll trip and fall right on your face.” 

It’s okay. 

“You’ll go blank, and they’ll blast you.”

Look. It’s okay. Everything is okay. And even when it isn’t…it still kinda is. So beat it.

Folks, I’m no doctor, no shrink, and no scientist. I’m just one of the 40 million. One story. One truth. And one possible solution.

Anxiety is as real as it is invisible. And while there may not be a cure, it is controllable.

How?

Get to know your narrator. Call his bluff. Then turn down his volume and amp up your own voice.

There are much better sounds than the hum of fear.

Tim Toterhi is a husband and dad based in North Carolina. He writes write philosophical fiction and snarky humor. Read more at www.TimToterhi.com

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