By: Paige Gulliver

If I could get rid of my anxiety, I wouldn’t. Don’t get me wrong, there have been many times where I have wished my anxiety away with every morsel of my being. Times where I’ve wanted more than anything to silence the irrational voices in my head. Yearned for a mind that doesn’t overthink and overanalyze. A mind free from torture. A mind that was “normal”. There have been times where my anxiety has left me feeling hopeless, alone, and out of my mind. Imprisoned by crippling waves of stress. Losing sleep and sanity. Fighting a mental health battle is exhausting. I wouldn’t wish it upon anybody, and it breaks my heart to know many people everyday experience similar or worse mental struggles. But when I think about who I am fundamentally and all the complex and multifaceted elements of myself that I cherish so dearly, I am forced to ask myself the question: of all the things my anxiety takes from me, what does it give back?

All the sleep I’ve lost, tears I’ve shed, and minutes spent worrying must be worth something. Something more. Something special and beneficial. A troubled mind can create an extremely empathetic view of the world. Worrying, for me, leads to sympathy.

I’m always worrying. Worried about issues so small they don’t deserve a second thought and sweating over issues so big I could never possibly tackle them myself. I don’t like to be carried on piggy-back rides because I am worried about the discomfort of the carrier. I ask a friend if they’re upset if I get a weird feeling from a text that simply says “okay”. I stay up at night wondering if something I said was misinterpreted in a way that was rude. All these little worries come together to construct a highly in-tune perception of my reality. Obsessed with observing. Observing others and myself, with careful consideration to how my actions affect others. This specific symptom of my anxiety is something I love and hate. A fortunate and unfortunate output of an imbalance in my brain.

Staying up at night overthinking sucks but it also allows me to often be a better friend, daughter, and student. Sweating out of my palms, mind awry thinking of what I could do wrong in a scenario more often than not results in me making a decision that harms the least amount of people. If I am on the verge of taking a possibly detrimental risk the forceful voice of anxiety in my brain is often my saving grace. There’s a reason why my mind shuts down in certain situations. It’s because they aren’t going well. When I fight with a friend, my stomach cramps and I can’t rest until it is resolved. When someone speeds on the highway and swerves through traffic my body becomes sticky with sweat, I won’t achieve tranquility until I feel safe. If I lose my phone or wallet, I shut down completely until they are found. No exceptions.

One view of these manifestations of anxiety is that they are debilitating. That view is not incorrect. I often lust for a more carefree outlook on my life. But I wonder, if I lost my anxiety, what would I lose with it? Would I lose my hypersensitivity to the feelings of people around me? Because that is one of the things I love most about myself. Would I lose my ability to play out multiple scenarios and decipher which will yield the most ideal outcome? Because that is one of the most fruitful critical thinking skills I possess. Most importantly, would I lose my drive to be an immediate problem-solver and mediator? Because I can’t imagine a life where I don’t adamantly want to right my wrongs.

A life without anxiety sounds nice. But it is not what I want. I want to be happy and I want to find healthy coping mechanisms for the uncomfortable symptoms of my anxiety, but I do not want to lose the empath in me. The loyal friend side of me. The painstakingly analytical side of me. I’ve found that I will find solutions for my anxiety only for new struggles to arise. It is a constant eb and flow of highs and lows that have just become my way of life. Navigating through and fighting against it makes me stronger. And wiser. It is important to acknowledge this is not a love letter to anxiety. Instead, it is a deserved thank you, with a side of fuck you. I don’t want you, but to be the person I am - the person I love - I’m afraid I need you.