TW: This post references anxiety/mental health and eating disorders [specifically not eating] 

On November 5, 2017, I took my last bow on the CRPAC stage and hung up my acting career. I cited several reasons for this retirement – burnout being the biggest, along with age, health concerns, and my desire for a private, personal life.

What I didn’t share publicly was the single biggest issue that drove me out of the theatre.

Anxiety.

What I didn’t share was that, during ‘woods,’ I almost had a breakdown.

That I had uncontrollable stage fright for the first time in 30 years.

That I felt my fat body had no right to be on a stage.

That I no longer felt like the theatre was my home.

My mental health was at a point that I either had to stop doing theatre, or it was going to stop me itself.

I shared this with no one.

The show was already a shambolic disaster of disorganization and incompetence, so I couldn’t add to the chaos, even though their dysfunction was making my mental health even worse.

My normal ‘will my costume fit’ anxiety spiraled out of control when I overheard two actors talking about me backstage, comparing me to the cow prop, after my costume didn’t fit yet again.

I stopped eating for almost 6 weeks.

I couldn’t step one foot on the stage without thinking about their words.

“What if I’m deluding myself? What if they’re right and I am too fat, too ugly, too out of the norm to do this any more?”

Every. Single. Time. I. Got. On. Stage.

It was overwhelming.

So I quit theatre.

But the anxiety didn’t completely go away.

In March, when I was supposed to go to NYC to meet my friend Diane and see Come From Away with her, and meet a bunch of people from the show– I almost bailed and didn’t do it. I had those same racing thoughts of “I’m too fat, too ugly, too awkward to be hanging out with these people.” I stressed for WEEKS, and it took every ounce of courage to actually show up.

This summer, the preacher at my church has been on sabbatical, so I’ve filled in a few times – and there were times I wanted to bolt right off of the chancel and out the door, especially during one particularly vulnerable-feeling sermon.

Why?

Because the anxiety told me that I wasn’t good enough to be preaching that sermon, that I was somehow a fraud, that I was ugly, that they wouldn’t listen.

Even with my job – the one I started last December —  anxiety still fills my head with thoughts of unworthiness almost every single day. “You just got this position because they were desperate for people. You aren’t good enough. You only got it because everyone else they offered it to turned it down. You were the consolation prize.”

Anxiety loves to tell me that I am in over my head. That I’m a fraud, and that I only succeed when I do because I get lucky.

This is the worst.

Anxiety yells in my head that I am not good enough to be included. That I am not talented enough to be cast. That I have no right to think that I am equal to anyone else.

It tells me that I am not worthy, and, unfortunately, I end up trapped in this particular shame-inducing lie a lot.

Anxiety is also the thing that keeps me from reaching out when I am struggling with it.

My brain is an asshole sometimes.

It thinks, “People only want you around because of what you can do for them. This event has to be perfect or it will be all your fault.”

Or, it stops me when I am struggling, even though I may be desperately needing a hug and some reassurance, because I think I’ll be bothering people with my problem.”

I deal with anxiety every second of every day.

AND. IT. SUCKS. 

Some days, it is only minimal, and I feel almost normal.

Other days, it sits on my shoulder and screams all of my insecurities and failures right into my ear.

Leaving the stage was an important part of getting a grip on my mental health before it got out of control.  And it helped. To a point.

But it didn’t magically erase the fact that I live with PTSD and HFGAD every single day.

I’ve spent the winter/spring getting re-established with a doctor [yay new insurance!] and recently, we’ve worked together to create a combo of medicines that are helping a lot. I’m also looking into seeing a therapist again.

And I’ve, quietly and nervously, returned to the stage.

That’s been the hardest part – stepping back out into the ‘thing’ that triggered the cascade last fall.

But I was asked to do a show, by a person I trust, with a group of production staff I also trust, in a new space, with different cast members than my old company….so after a lot of thinking, analyzing, and worrying, I said yes.

I know that for this to work, I have to be honest with them about my mental health, and the anxiety that plagues me. And that’s slightly terrifying. But it must be done, or I will be right back in the same place I was last November.

Anxiety is a bitch.

It’s so hard to live with it, and even harder to share that it’s an issue.

But here it is. Here I am.

Still standing.

My name is Chris, and I live with PTSD and  High-Functioning Generalized Anxiety Disorder.

And I’m fighting every day to live fully, in spite of it.