Hypervigilance is Exhausting

She opened the door on the deck above me. I held my breath as she exited the house and walked along the perimeter of the deck, scanning the yard. From my seat, hidden under the deck below, all I could see was a small section of her leg. I watched it, breathing low and slow while repeating in my mind: "Don't come down the stairs. Don't come down the stairs. Don't come down the stairs." I wondered what I would do if she called out. Would I remain silent and still or would I clear my throat and ready a response? I didn't want to speak. I didn't want to move. I didn't want to be seen. I wanted to be left alone, quiet and undisturbed. I in my world, her in her own. I held my breath again as she turned and walked back towards the door. I let out an audible sigh of relief as the unoiled wheels of the door screeched and it slid closed. I will make myself as unnoticeable as possible to avoid others when I'm feeling withdrawn. It doesn't matter if you're family or a stranger - I will make myself quiet and small, and avoid interaction. The anxious-paranoid mind will try to convince others you're well, all the while it ruminates on intrusive thoughts. It's a constant whisper in your ear, trapping you in a delusional hell that isolates you from others and reality. But it's not just anxiety. It's not just paranoia. It's not just overwhelm. It's not just self-doubt or insecurity. It's not just depression. It's hypervigilance that ties them all together. A gatekeeper always on guard, on high alert and on the lookout for dangers both real and presumed. You can plan and prepare all you want to encounter people, places, situations, or things, reminding yourself that you're safe and you've got this; yet the belief will remain: YOU ARE IN DANGER. Not just physical danger, but mental and emotional danger as well. It is noticing the moment when an opportunity for encounter arises, big or small. It is ruminating on endless possible scenarios and expecting the worst. It is walking, standing, and sitting with eyes wide open. It is head jerking at the slightest movement in your peripheral vision. It is heart pounding so fast and hard you can feel it in your throat and hear it in your head. It is sweat dripping and running down your arms. It is tossing and turning through the night, feeling stuck in discomfort. It is inescapable and unavoidable. It wakes me in the morning as the first thought before I open my eyes. It lingers with me through the day, to the end of night as my eyelids flutter, begging for rest. Begging for relief from the relentless battle that's happening within. Hypervigilance is exhausting. I try to share with my wife the anxieties, paranoia, and fears that I have throughout the day, but it can be hard. Things we've discussed in depth at length in the past will resurface for me as if we've never spoken about them before. Once my limbic system has been activated, it's as if rational thought and factual knowledge can't permeate the walls of my mind. I become flooded by anxiety, paranoia, and fear. Overpowered and paralyzed by it. This heightened state has become a place in which I reside - the part of myself that truly is stuck in a belief that I am in danger in one way or another. They believe that I am always doing something wrong or that I'm upsetting someone or letting them down, which is going to lead to something bad happening physically, mentally, emotionally, or financially. There is always some narrative playing out in my head regardless of where I am and what I'm doing. I know that it is highly unlikely that these things will happen, and I even tell this part that, but the belief remains that they will happen. This is where avoidance and withdrawal creep in, freezing me in inaction while my mind continues to ruminate. Nothing feels certain or safe in these moments. I don't know who or what to trust, sometimes even myself. Living in a constant state of hypervigilance paired with a hyperactive amygdala invites anxiety, paranoia, and fear to creep into every area of my life throughout the day, making it more and more difficult to remain present around others and even when I'm alone.

• In the backyard, I find myself hyperaware of my neighbors presence, and deeply fear disturbing their peace. Despite my wife's assurance that we're not disturbing anyone and that we have just as much a right to be in our backyard as others do, I tiptoe around. I hesitate to use the Traeger because of the smoke that it emits, which could blow into the neighbor's yard. I try to remain as quiet as possible as I walk over the rocks. I hold the storm door until the hinge closes all the way, to avoid it banging loudly. I lower my music or turn it off completely. I work diligently to train my dog to not bark and whine. The other day, the neighbors said we're quiet as mice. Straight from the source, an acknowledgement that my made up perception of how I affect my neighbor's peace is not accurate in the slightest; in fact, it's the exact opposite. Quiet as mice. Yet the anxiety and paranoia persists every time I'm in my backyard and see any of my neighbors outside at the same time. As soon as I see one of them, I receive an internal message to hide myself. To become quiet and small. It's like this little part of me is terrified of taking up any space whatsoever in the world. They don't want to disturb or upset anyone. They don't want to get yelled at. They don't want to do anything that could invite anger. They believe that they shouldn’t be seen or heard…perhaps like a mouse. This irrational way of perceiving the world and others perplexes me. I know it's a trauma response, but holy moly it's exhausting to be this way. I want to live like a person, not a mouse.

• Socializing and communicating with others has reached an all-time high on the difficulty scale. I clear notifications as soon as they come in, often reading the summary then never opening the actual message. The number of messages that remain unopened and unanswered in my phone is now too much to even look at. If you text me, you can expect to receive sporadic responses followed by radio silence. If you call me, it's likely that I won't answer even if I'm holding my phone in my hands. Work emails and communication related tasks quickly pile up, often waiting for a response or action longer than I'd like to admit. The holidays and birthdays that have passed are creating a new stack of cards, adding to the old, still waiting to be written in and sent. I say I'll make plans, but rarely follow through. I've seen my best friend only twice over the past couple months - the last time feeling really hard for me to be present and connect with her. I miss everyone, yet I rarely feel sociable enough to make efforts to connect. I'm highly irritable most of the time because of the state I find myself in, and often fear that I won't be good company or that I won't make good conversation, so I just don't respond. I become avoidant and withdrawn when I don't know how to show up. I often give up before I even try because the anxiety, paranoia, and fear that surfaces in those moments is too overwhelming. When it comes to communication, I'm underwater again, in the ocean, outside my window [of tolerance].

• Managing my workload and business tasks has become problematic. I'm overcome with overwhelm most days, which looks like me working on far too many tasks while making little progress with each as my mind gets distracted and pulled to yet another task. I walk into rooms unsure of why I entered. I sit down and stand right back up. I walk back and forth. Sometimes I briefly lay on the floor at the top of the stairs, exhausted and overwhelmed. Time blocking has become the new way I try to manage my days, while writing endless sticky note reminders to myself. If you don't email me about it or write it down, you better believe I likely won't really hear you (even though I may respond), and I sure as heck won't remember. It's the worst kind of auto pilot. I've began making more mistakes than usual with simple tasks like entering sales orders and ordering goods. I'll order the wrong color or quantity, or better yet, I'll order only some of the goods but not all of them. Rookie mistakes that are becoming more difficult to excuse. Invoicing clients has become a task that I often put off while equally acknowledging the need for incoming funds. It is irrational and perplexing behavior, again, all driven by a hyperactive amygdala.

Constantly throughout the day, I am internally talking down the anxious, fearful, and paranoid thoughts that surface. Sometimes they are so loud that I do have to speak out loud to them or get out a notepad and write a note to them. As soon as I begin a task, it triggers the amygdala, activating my limbic system, and that's when the intrusive thoughts will start - freezing me in inaction. I realize that I'm stuck, and begin to sigh in frustration and quietly repeat okay out loud while trying to figure out what to do. I know that I need to create space between myself and what I'm feeling, so I think about separating and unblending from it. Notes always help because it's something physical and external from me, acknowledging what's happening internally. A favorite note I wrote to myself recently in one of these moments simply says: "Remember, it's not that scary. You know what you're doing. Just do it!!" When the fearful, anxious, or paranoid part knows that others parts are there to support, things tend to go smoother. I've come to live by these odd means of communicating with myself in hopes to mitigate stressors and stave off episodes of spiraling. Despite weekly therapy, bi-weekly support group, and mindful and intentional living, I can't seem to break free from these things and these cycles. This relentless battle with myself leads to feelings of hopelessness and depression. My heart started beating faster as I wrote that sentence, and I saw an alarm bell sounding and inducing panic. My internal alarm bell is always ringing. A constant shrill reminder of what we need to be aware of and cautious of and planning for. Always prepared to fight. Forever freezing. I made an appointment with my psychiatrist to re-discuss medication. I previously obtained a medication to take as needed for moments of extreme distress. I've used it only twice, realizing that the prolonged hypervigilant state I find myself in before extreme distress is much more problematic and in need of intervention and medication than the actual moments of spiraling in distress. The latter is an unfortunate symptom of the former, so I'd like to address what comes first. I've decided that I need to try a daily medication for at least a couple months to see if it will help me with the heightened state I repeatedly find myself stuck in and drudging through. I'm so tired of feeling anxious, fearful, paranoid, avoidant, withdrawn, and depressed. Deep seated trauma or not, no person should have to live this way. When I'm like this, my therapist reminds me that I don't do well in ambiguity - for me, that's the vast spaces between the small blips of feeling healthy and well. She reminds me that while I might feel lost or stuck, that I'm still doing the work, gathering information and making connections with myself. I am showing up for myself. Despite the hopelessness and lack of control I feel through the ambiguous lows, I do my best to keep moving forward and show up in whatever ways I'm able. For me, that's attending therapy and support group, and writing.

---

Today, the next day, I feel good. Cheerful even. It's perplexing. I slept well, without waking once. I did not wake to anxiety, but to remembering lovely dreams. My kitten came and snuggled me and we fell back asleep for a little bit. I woke up, without my alarm at 6:25 and got out of bed feeling happy and cheerful. I told Aspen how good I was feeling, and that the anxiety wasn't with me. I thought about what I wrote yesterday and how stuck in that dark place I felt. It's perplexing to say those words don't resonate with the me that's here now. Those words, those beliefs, those intrusive thoughts, and those feelings are here one day - for weeks or months at a time - then gone the next upon my arrival, only to return again in a day or so. It's an endless vicious cycle of inner torment and overwhelm followed by sporadic and fleeting moments of happiness and joy. The fleeting moments are no longer enough to sustain this way of life. It's gone on far too long. I feel sad for that part of me that's trapped there and is so often presenting to the world. I want them to feel happy and have joyful songs stuck in their head like I do rather than intrusive thoughts looping on a wheel. How do we help them, I wonder? I watched my cats playing outside and began taking pictures of them. I vacuumed and cleaned up before showering, all on time. I got a text from my psychiatrist's office saying that they had a cancellation and I could bump my appointment up to tomorrow afternoon rather than waiting another two weeks. I replied in less than a minute accepting the appointment. This me right now feels confident in knowing that daily medication is necessary to help the rest of me feel better and more stable. That's self love. We might not always understand what's going on internally. We might even be scared of it. We might not want to believe or admit we're struggling as much as we are. We might try to talk ourselves out of receiving help. That can be a lonely place to be. This is me, sharing with you: none of us are ever truly alone in our struggles so long as we take the time to sit with ourselves and not flee from that which we don't understand and cannot simply change. Here's to moving forward, and getting the help we need, when we need it.

Up next: my journey with returning to daily medication - in conjunction with attending therapy and support group.