Jane

The girl upstairs, knows everything. Lately these few months I have managed to give her a name, “Jane”. The name “Jane” came to me because it was a generic name of someone that I have never met. “Jane” isn’t a name that has been spoiled for me (not until now, of course). I know what you are wondering: how could I name something that I can’t even imagine? How do I name sudden feelings of panic or dread? Of a rushing heart and clammy hands? How could I give loud-mouthed thoughts a name?

Jane knows all my secrets. She knows, if she stomps her feet loud enough filled with judgement, it might be enough to wake me up. She knows that her whispers of hatred in my ears, might make me jump. She is my anxiety and does not take “No” for an answer.

Usually Jane gives me peace for the first fifteen minutes after I have woken up, but there are times when it is if she was whispering all night long. Sometimes that would explain the few stress dreams. Jane would be frantically screaming at times when I would make my way to the mirror. She never failed to say hurtful things. Jane didn’t exactly like the way I looked, always comparing me with others. Convincingly she would make sure that I knew the flaws of my body.

Some days Jane is the reason I’m upset or hurt. Making my friends curious, but never told them about Jane. They wouldn’t understand Jane, with her red dress, high heels and her hazel hair.

“Do you ever hear yourself, you sound so fake, with your accent and what not.”

“What are you wearing, who chose your clothes, a blind bat?”

“ugh don’t put make up it doesn’t make you look pretty, in fact it makes you look even worse”

*puts down the lip gloss, changes the outfit, and talks ‘normally’*

At this moment Jane isn’t portrayed as the best. Even after the over thinking she makes me do and the lack of confidence; It’s like I’m never alone, always having conversations be it an argument or a moment of silence. To other’s my relationship with my anxiety might be ‘complicated’.

“you are so irritating. Don’t you think people will get tired of your mood swings and panicked look all the time?”

“Jane I’m not panicked all the time.”

“But you look like you are, and because you don’t communicate your feelings you look angry!”

*putting nail polish*

Jane would sometimes flick my hand so that my nail paint gets ruined.

“Oh my God what if you’re having a stroke?!”

*puts nail paint again, ignoring Jane*

If you ever meet Jane you should know that she loves to play, for her my mind is her personal playground. Lucky for Jane, playtime never ends. I’m constantly wishing there was a way my body could escape the mind (The playground).

I met Jane for the first time in Sixth grade, the first glance of her presence in my mind made younger me sure that I had made a new friend. I had heard what ‘anxiety’ was but some how I managed to convince myself that my ‘new friend’ was not anxiety. That thought stuck with me till I was 13, that year I had come to terms that I was sure that my ‘new friend’ is staying for the long run, not going anywhere. When I turned 15 that’s when Jane started coming and speaking more often, till I realised that the panic attacks were Jane’s doing, feeling sick to my stomach, all Jane.

Jane was not just mental she is physical too. For instance, when I would be having a shower there would times when Jane would keep shaking my shoulder making me drop the shampoo bottle 3 to 4 times. Unknowingly there I would be sitting doing my work and just shaking my leg, as a sign of nervousness.

To be honest ever since I have started naming my anxiety, it has been easier for me. Just because sometimes Jane’s voice is louder than my own. I’m still a normal person, just like everyone else and I have the ability to make sense of the world even when at times it is hard.