On the Coast – Families Issue 102 I October/November 2019 | Page 22

Anxiety
The struggle is real
BY LINDIE NELL
M
aybe you are someone that
does not suffer from an
anxiety disorder and you
struggle to understand how it feels? You
might also struggle to understand how
someone can’t just “shrug it off”, “go on
with life” or “move on”. Today’s article
is not about reducing anxiety but about
getting a glimpse into of life of a teenage
girl that struggles with anxiety disorder.
Anxiety is a natural human response to
a threat or fearful situation that puts a
person on “alert” to help us prepare to deal
with the threat. The body responds in this
way to survive. However, for someone
with severe anxiety, there is no real threat
but their body responds in the same way
and can stay in the alert state. This can be
a daily struggle for some people.
Let us take a closer look: the following
poem has been written by a beautiful I
girl. She has the most beautiful heart, she
has a beautiful singing voice and is a high
performing student. She also struggles
with anxiety.
The anxiety struggle is real. According to
a nationwide study, Young Minds Matter,
anxiety disorders and major depressive
disorder are the second and third most
common mental health disorders in
Australia and mental health disorders such
as anxiety and depression are experienced
by approximately one in seven or 560,000
young people in Australia.
Help is available and early intervention
is important to support children to develop
strategies to manage their anxiety.
*The above are only snippets from the
poem. Permission has been obtained to
publish the poem.
Lindie is a mental health clinician at The Heart &
Mind Collective and specialises in working with
children who have experienced trauma and
attachment difficulties. Lindie also works with
children with anxiety and behavioural problems,
Contact Lindie on 0424 882 013 or visit the
website www.heartandmindcollective.com.au
22
ON T H E C OA S T – FA M ILIES
THE ANXIETY POEM
Good morning crippling anxiety! 
Nice to see you, again. 
Oh, I slept horribly too, again.
But I love waking up next to my cute
friend. My crippling anxiety. 
Who helps me view society in a
demented way. 
A way that’s riddled with phobia. 
A way that means I can’t watch
movies without getting panic attacks. 
Even movies like Zootopia. 
But it’s fine, because you sugar coat
slavery and call it safety. 
Plate it on a silver platter and
offer it to me.
You’re only making me do
what’s best for me.
You’re only making sure I’m not too
carefree. Or too happy.
You’re only turning me into a
control freak
You’re not that bad.
I also can’t sleep.
And if I get sleep
which I won’t which is neat,
but if I get sleep it’s controlled by
anxious dreams.
And when I sneeze it’s an anxious
sneeze, and when I breath it’s an
anxious breath.
I’m constantly scared of death.
Everything I do is riddled with anxiety
and stress.
All I ever do is hyper ventilate.
I can’t concentrate for more than two
seconds.
That’s no way to live I reckon.
This is no way to live. A life where
Good moments are just a blur.
Good poems are just a slur.
This is my life.
Where stepping in the shower feels
like drowning.
My heart beat drowns me.
My anxious heart beats loudly.
My therapist’s not that proud of me.
Because I can’t do anything unless it’s
done anxiously.
MY LIFE IS:
Good morning anxiety! 
Good night anxiety! 
I’ll see you mess my life up tomorrow
anxiety! 
Hate you too.
I’m a disappointment to all my friends
and family because of you.
I can’t come to your party.
And I’m so used to replies like
“Someone has it worse than you” 
Or “So and so is coming to my party
and they get stressed too!” 
or “Just stop being afraid” 
or “try yoga and you’ll be ok”
And I’m sure yoga’s great,
But you have no idea what it’s like to
be me for a day. 
But please invite me to things. 
Because if you don’t, I’ll hate myself.
I can’t eat with the door completely
shut because what if I got stuck.
What if the door just magically
decided not to open?
What then? 
You think I’m joking but ask my
friends
I can›t eat, or sleep or breath with the
door completely shut. 
No, I’m not sick. I’m just grieving.
I’m the freedom I’ve lost.
And the time I’ve wasted.
I can’t cry with the door completely
shut. Because I need someone to hear
me.*