I spent the next two hours having a massive anxiety attack.

My body was shaking so hard I couldn’t hold on to anything. Walking was difficult.

I didn’t feel safe in my apartment.

I didn’t feel safe leaving my apartment.

I didn’t want to take my shoes off in case I needed to run [and I NEVER wear shoes in my house].

My usual coping mechanism of taking a hot shower in the dark wasn’t an option because I didn’t feel safe getting undressed.

I jumped at every noise.

My head was spinning. I wanted to lay down, but that made me antsy.

I tried cleaning…but that didn’t work either.

I talked on the phone with my partner. That helped a bit. So did pacing while we were talking.

After a couple of hours, I felt a little better, but still wasn’t feeling safe being alone in the apartment, so I decided to go downstairs to the pub for trivia with my friends. Got almost to the table, and BOOM.  MASSIVE ANXIETY FLARE UP.  The pub was crowded. Our table was in the corner. Just in that split second, I went from feeling better to feeling totally trapped, penned in, unable to find an escape route if I got into that corner.

I literally turned tail and ran out of the pub and back into my hallway next door.

I didn’t feel safe in the pub with all the people.

I didn’t feel safe in my apartment alone.

So I sat on the stairs in between and cried.

[me. Sitting on the stairs. totally paralyzed by anxiety]

Hi. I’m Chris. And I live with Chronic, High Functioning Anxiety.

It’s frustrating as hell. It’s embarrassing. And it’s terrifying to talk about.

Last night, I desperately needed someone to be with me while I had that anxiety attack, but anxiety is a bitch, and it kept me from reaching out when I needed it the most.

I don’t talk about it very often, but anxiety is a massive part of my life: I am chronically early, always worried, tense, unable to relax, and I never know when a button is going to be pushed that will send me over the edge.

I have vomited in public restrooms and pulled over on the side of the road from panic attacks, and hours later, arrived somewhere still feeling on edge, but covering up any indication that something is wrong.

When I get overwhelmed (which can happen in an instant when a button is pushed), my body’s immediate defense mechanism is to escape, which can be confusing and frustrating, as well as embarrassing.

Even more frustrating is the fact that, when I am in the middle of it, I can’t find the words to explain what’s going on in my brain.

I struggle with the fear of not being good enough for other people to want around.

I overanalyze every single text message, conversation, and email, and continuously assume that people dislike me, that I’m bothering people, and that all the projects and events and writings, etc., I have done are mediocre and inadequate.

Sometimes, I feel like there are two sides to my life.

There is the me that most people know: the extrovert who loves hanging out with friends, who can do a whole host of different jobs and gigs with proficiency, who writes plays and hosts a sweary cooking show, who stands up for others…

I mean, I like to think that I am decently normal, and for all intents and purposes, I seem like a reasonably functional, mostly happy human being.

And then there’s the other part of me. The part that is always worried, stressed out, overthinks every situation like it’s my job, and struggles to reach out when I’m having an issue for fear of bothering or burdening my friends.

And I wonder…how can I simultaneously have my shit so together, and yet, so totally not have my fucking shit together?

The answer I try to remind myself of is that anxiety is only a tiny part of the whole of who I am. That it doesn’t define me or make me weak.

Most days, that’s the right answer. Last night…not so much.

I did, eventually, reach out to a friend who was wonderfully loving and compassionate, and spent the better part of an hour talking with me as I tried to calm down. I finally got to a point where I could take a shower and go to sleep, but it was a rough evening, and a long road to get to that point.

Why am I sharing all this? I don’t know entirely. Partly to help myself process what happened yesterday, I suppose. But I also think it’s essential for those of us who struggle to speak up about it when we can so that other people can pop their heads out of the shadows and say “THIS. Me too.” The gift of going second. That’s what Brene Brown calls it.

So today, I’ll go first. I’m Chris. And I live with chronic, High Functioning Anxiety.