I Love You and I'm Sorry

Anxiety

Trigger Warning: mental illness

Jake felt the familiar nerves settling down inside his stomach. Amy was driving him to therapy, he'd been going for a few weeks now. It wasn't Dr. Walker, she was great. Jake liked her a lot. She was easy- well, easier than most people (the bar was very low)- to talk to. He just hated having to talk about his problems. It was like standing in front of someone naked, but like, for your soul. He was pretty sure he would rather have to actually be naked.

"Woah, Jake. Are you okay?" Jake had gone pale, and his head was spinning. He realized that he'd contorted his face into an expression that looked something like the Nauseated Face Emoji. He felt himself lose control of his breathing.

"Jake, do you need me to pull over?"

Jake scrambled for the words. "No, I'm all good. I just got a little dizzy for a hot sec there. I'm fine, everything's fine," Jake said, even as his breaths came shorter and his knuckles were white from gripping the armrest. Amy stared pointedly at him but didn't press any further. 

Now, as Jake sat in the waiting room, he wished more than anything that he had told her yes, maybe made up some story about how he felt sick and should probably go home. His leg bounced rapidly, trying to expel the nervous energy. 

"Hello Jake, come on in," said Dr. Walker. 

"Hi, Valerie." Jake sat down on the couch. 

"How are you doing?" Jake cringed. He hated how when Valerie asked, he couldn't just say "good" and move on. He hated how he had to really think about how he was. He hated how he had to decide what to tell her, how much to reveal, and how he couldn't shake the fear that he was being judged. He hated everything about this. He wanted to stay silent, to never answer her, but the longer he waited, the more she would think that he wasn't okay. 

"I'm good."

"What do you want to talk about today?" Dammit. Jake squirmed under Valerie's gaze. He didn't even know why. He knew, logically, that she wouldn't care what he said, she wouldn't think he was weird or creepy or out of his mind. Wow, my nerves are real bad today.

"Jake?" He looked up. "You just seemed a little out of it. So, what do you want to talk about today?" Most days, Jake would just tell her he didn't know, or he would start a random, insignificant conversation just to stall. Today, he panicked. For the second time in the past half hour, Jake's breathing spiraled out of control. 

"What are you feeling right now?"

I can't do it anymore, I can't just tell her I'm fine. I don't know what to do. 

"I'm scared." Jake didn't know what he was doing, telling her that. He was a grown man, he shouldn't be losing it over having to talk to someone. 

"Do you know why?"

"It's stupid."

"Your feelings aren't stupid." 

"I..." Jake stopped. He couldn't find the words, "I don't like talking to people."

"Why?"

Internally, Jake screamed. Of course, it was her job, but if Valerie asked him one more question, he thought he might die. 

"Because."

Valerie looked at him, clearly not satisfied with his answer. Scarcely loud enough to be heard, Jake admitted, "What if they judge me?"Jake really thought he was going to die now. I never should have said anything, why did I do that? God, why am I still allowed to talk?

"Who's they? Is it medical professionals, figures of authority, just me?"

"No, it's everyone."

"Can you give me an example?"

"Well, this is super embarrassing, but... The other night, I was out for dinner with Amy. I freaked out about ordering. I had to ask her to order for me." Jake looked down, avoiding eye contact. 

Valerie continued to ask questions, and Jake continued to try and answer them. Jake told her that he felt awkward about how his voice sounded, the price of the menu item that he'd chosen, if he tripped on a word or mispronounced something, how much food he was ordering, and what the waiter thought of it. He told her about other encounters too, from phone calls to doctor's appointments. He told her how he would sweat, and stutter, and how he wouldn't be able to breathe.

"That sounds like anxiety."

"Is that normal?"

"To some degree it is, too much of it can become a problem. Either way, I can help you manage it. I can teach you some techniques to help you live with it."

"Live with it, you mean I'm going to be like this my whole life?"

"Anxiety is a feeling that everybody struggles with. I can't make it go away, but it will get easier."

Jake and Valerie spent the rest of the session discussing some basic techniques, with Jake talking as little as possible. He couldn't help wondering how everybody else dealt with this just fine, but he couldn't do it on his own. 

When Jake got home, he holed himself up in his room with his laptop and did some research of his own. A quick google search led to hundreds of results about anxiety disorders. Scrolling through list after list of symptoms, he found a few notables: nausea, trouble breathing, dizziness or lightheadedness, crippling fear of being judged, etc. It didn't take him long to come across depression either. 

Jake felt like someone had punched him in the gut. He read stories, articles, blog posts from people who had been diagnosed. This was exactly what he had felt. Well, he didn't know that. He was not about to be one of those self-diagnosing assholes who turned a serious illness into a joke, but something in him knew that this was it. There was no other explanation. 

On one hand, it felt good to know there was a reason (maybe). It was nice to know that he wasn't alone, that it wasn't just him. On the other, Jake's entire world came crashing down. Even though a part of him knew that wasn't how it worked, he felt like he was doomed to be sad and scared forever. He was right, there was something really, really wrong with him. 

And of course, there was still the part of him that believed nothing was actually wrong and he was just being a baby. 

Jake burst out laughing. I've been through some serious crap. I've been threatened by hardened criminals (not to mention the whole Figgis incident). I had to go to witness protection in Florida of all places (ew). My own girlfriend shot me, which, to be fair, was because I told her to. I went to freaking prison. After all that, the thing that breaks me... is Sad Disease? And wait, it gets better. The Sad Disease makes me feel bad about having the Sad Disease, and about thinking I have the Sad Disease, and also about not having the Sad Disease, all at the same time? Seriously?

You've got to be freakin' kidding me.

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Hey y'all,

This chapter was seriously hard to write, the hardest one yet. I don't know why, I guess it was just really weird to describe all of this because it's a super emotional experience and most of it takes place inside Jake's head so I couldn't really tell it through dialogue... This definitely isn't the best chapter in the story but I really hope that you guys enjoy it anyway because it was quite the little #!&*% to write. I tried my best.

Thanks for understanding and for all your support! 

- try_again_love