Anxiety: a Testimony
How anxiety attacks can happen anywhere to anyone.
It’s Mother’s Day. Our family has been quarantined for almost two months now, so we choose to watch a movie in the afternoon. I suggest we should watch Jojo Rabbit on our Apple TV because I saw the movie when it came out at the theater, so I think it would be a sweet movie to watch. I remember the reasons why I liked the movie so much; it is a satire that mocks blind fanatism and hate speeches, it depicts a kid that opens his heart up to tolerance over hatred throughout the movie, and it features Scarlett Johansson, which makes it an ideal movie.
However, as the movie wraps up, the whole family is upset: “that is the worst movie you could have possibly picked for Mother’s Day”. And, though I remembered the movie as a sweet, warming movie, there are some details that I didn’t notice when I first saw it: the satirical nature of a serious topic such as hatred, German fascism, and racism in World War II, the explicit depiction of war crimes and, of course, (SPOILER ALERT: stop reading if you have not seen Jojo Rabbit and you intend to) the hanging of Jojo’s mother, which eliminated any tenderness the movie had for the rest of my family. And, though I want to defend the movie against my family’s backlash, my mind freezes. How on Earth did I suggest watching a movie where the main character’s mother is killed on Mother’s Day? How could I be so naive and insensitive? My mind begins to spiral out of control and my body paralyzes. I don’t seem able to respond to my family’s backlash, and as they tell me that I shouldn’t find the movie funny because of the themes it makes fun of, I stay quiet.
I apologize briefly, and the family switches to Netflix’s new Michelle Obama documentary. Yet, my mind keeps spiraling as I’m not able to move anymore. I’m only able to nervously pinch the mustache I could grow during the two-month quarantine as the thoughts I carry leave me speechless. I ruined Mother’s Day; I offended my mom on her day, and I caused her disgust on the day that’s supposed to be perfect. I managed to ruin yet another day, and I can’t just laugh it off and make fun of my family, saying they are overreacting. My mind is now locked in guilt and regret and my mind goes back to think how I’m not the normal, happy kid that my parents have worked so hard for me to be, and, in a scarier note, I would probably never be.
Because I know for certain this has happened before. Throughout my first year of college, I have felt this sense of failure and fear that shuts away my mind and paralyzes me, making me unable to react properly to different situations. Whenever I get cold-called in Law school, I’m the student in the classroom that always reacts the worst. I stutter, I say stuff that doesn’t align to the answer I’m being asked for, and I look like an idiot compared to those that already seem to be practicing for presidential rallies whenever they speak inside the classroom. And I’m left up to feel like the dorky student in the classroom that will never beat his nervousness and will never get to where he wants to get. Because, no matter how hard I try, I feel like I will never overcome my mental spiral and my speech paralysis whenever I face a situation where I’ve screwed up. My soul feels heavy and sinks into a deep, dark hole that is hard to climb out of. Oh, because I have screwed up several times. And, when I feel the most guilty, I relive every mistake I’ve ever made in my mind: that time I got too drunk at a party; that time I talked badly about a close friend; that time I caused an argument that rocked my whole family; that time where I made someone feel bad 4 years ago. I convince myself that I am a bad person, that I’ve screwed up so badly, and that I do not deserve to apologize for being the mess-up that I perceive myself to be. Downwards, in circles; downwards, in circles: my mind shuts down into turmoil, until I’m left with nothing but a heavy heart and a long night to cry myself to sleep. The worst part? No one is to blame…, but me and my habit to turn myself back to a dark place.
My mom stares at me. She realizes that I’m no longer paying attention to how Michelle Obama encourages American youth. She apologizes though she never had a drop of guilt, and she hugs me, thanking me for being with her for Mother’s Day. I pull myself out of the mental hole my mind’s into to stay sane for her. I smile through the rest of the documentary until it’s over and the whole family goes to sleep. I know I get through this because of love; I know my family’s the reason why I keep up, doing it all. Yet, as I go to sleep too, I know the spiral will come back to haunt me. I know, as happy as I might get in the future, I’ll never truly escape. Downwards, in circles; downwards, in circles. Though I know love keeps me alive, I also know there is a loathe for my guts I will struggle with for the rest of my life. However, I go through it knowing there are way worse battles to play. Downwards, in circles; downwards, in circles.