I gotta write this. I do journaling every night where I anxiety-dump all my worries, mostly about my health, sometimes mistakes I made in the past (that could have had huge consequences but I was fortunate that it didn’t end up that way. I was lucky? that I learned the easy way, I guess. But the guilt is not easy to escape), and the future, especially now that I am getting older. Pushing 40 has made me rethink all my life decisions every single night.

I was somewhat a wreck last year. After our South Korea trip, I had to deal with some family drama (courtesy of our mom), and then this gastrointestinal issue that had been on and off. My doctors were conservative about it, and I kept postponing getting a colonoscopy because I had so many worries about the procedure. Firstly, I was gonna be sedated (what if I don’t wake up?), or what if they accidentally nick my intestines, or I get a bacterial infection because of it? It was a private hospital with a good reputation, but still, anxiety nags me about the worst “what ifs.” I feel like I carried this worry for almost half a year, and every night I wondered if I was silently cradling a serious issue that I was just brushing off because the doctors didn’t seem to be in a rush about it (I asked!). When it happened five consecutive days, I was terrified. My family reassured me that it couldn’t be that bad, and with the holidays being near, my doctors told me the latest schedule could be January. For two weeks, I distracted myself, trying to enjoy the holidays. It didn’t help that I was feeling jittery, weak, almost always sleepy, probably from being in “fight or flight” mode 24/7. Then the phone call came. It was time.

I was grateful to God for the outcome. Everything went well. There was no issue during the procedure, and most of all, my results were good. They found nothing. I’m cleared. That was a huge relief out of my system. I thought the big hurdle was over and I could go back to my normal self—my regular anxious self. But no, I became more conscious. My hypochondria leveled up. I can’t stop scanning myself, overanalyzing what seems like just a little issue, something normal even, and thinking the worst of it. I feel deflated every time I catch myself constantly thinking about my health. There was even a week where I jumped from one illness to another every single day. Tiring as it was, my mind kept spinning me into an anxious pinwheel of thoughts.

It’s not even just my health. Sometimes I get triggered by past mistakes. Some were cute and cringey, some were downright serious, and the possible consequences still haunt me. Yes, it was unintentional, made out of ignorance, not deliberate behavior, but still, guilt swallows me whole. I wonder what if it didn’t turn out the way it did, and it scares me unnecessarily. And it’s not even something that happened one year ago, or two years ago. Some were decades ago, yet I feel like I just did them yesterday. And I tell myself I shouldn’t be anxious because it didn’t lead to something bad, but I still am. I am very hard on myself. The constant paranoia feeds me. In fact, sometimes, weirdly enough, if I don’t have anything to worry about, it feels like something is missing. And this is wrong, admittedly.

One thing I learned from counseling is that it’s okay to acknowledge when behavior is off. The good thing is I know I’m reacting too much, and I know what this is. Though acknowledging it doesn’t make me less anxious, it helps me understand that how I’m feeling is connected to my behavior. I know it’s there. I’m not imagining it. But at the same time, I should still go on with it in mind. I just go on with my life. Even if I feel nervous, I will step outside and do my thing. I have to go on, even if it means living life scared. Of course, I want to feel normal, but I have to live in the present. I have to live for today and not be scared of tomorrow or even yesterday.

I am not ready to be on meds, despite the psychologist I consulted recommending it. I’m, unsurprisingly, anxious about becoming dependent on it. I know, I know, I could try, but meds are not something on the table for me right now. At least for now, they’re not.

I am trying. Figuring out more things, not allowing myself to wallow in these intrusive thoughts. I will channel my thoughts into something else, even if temporarily. Not thinking about it helps me do what I need to. To act normal despite all these thoughts.

Ah, this feels good. This feels cathartic. Usually, these thoughts are boxed inside my journal for no one to read. Only God knows who I talk to every night through it. But maybe writing this and posting it publicly (I don’t really have any readers, but the point remains) makes it all feel real. That my worries are there, and I’m trying despite them. Conquering fear isn’t easy. Anxiety about my health is real, but I am trying to keep my mind sane. I’m glad for my hobbies, my family, and my faith for keeping me intact.