With exam weeks rolling in, assignments piling up, and students collectively sharing moments of existential crisis, I thought about the ways one can lower anxiety levels in stressful times like these.

Living with anxiety is a big issue; it sits on your shoulder and weighs you down. I'm not going to go into the details of my own experiences, but I've found that the most offered solution to it, is therapy.

The Internet gives us endless information around How Therapy Changed My Life. Therapy is indeed a powerful, helpful tool for recovery,

but it's also expensive.

With many people in the world struggling with an ED, and many others trying to recover from an ED, and others who don't even know they have an ED, it breaks my heart to see a world that still sometimes thinks it's not "real". Apparently, peer pressure and society both play a large role. They are partly why over 50% of teenage girls take unhealthy weight control methods like laxatives, fasting, vomiting, or skipping meals. And why there have been 20 million women in the US alone suffering from a clinically significant ED, and why anorexia has the highest fatality rate of any mental illness. 

While many are unaware of the problem, many also choose to turn away from it. In my country especially, the term "eating disorder" isn't even a familiar context. In this post, I'm not going to elaborate on whether or not I have experienced it; I'm not being pretentious, I just don't think I'm ready to share that story. But I've listed some ways people always seem to think wrongly when it comes to the issue.

1. People with disordered eating = people who are extremely skinny. // Anorexia is a real thing, and yes, when someone is severely malnourished, they will appear to be very skin-and-bone or weak. But that is only one end of the spectrum. When someone tells you they might have an eating disorder, please don't believe them any less just because their arms don't look stick thin or their hipbones don't show. So do avoid saying "but you don't look like you have an eating disorder!" because that would just create more unwanted pressure regarding their appearance.
2. "If she had one, I would've known." // Even though it's very likely that when a person is struggling, it will show through their behaviors around food, it's also still very easy for a sufferer of an ED to hide it from everyone else, including the people closest to them. My advice is, don't assume. Ask. 
3. It's only about "dieting". // Diets taken to extreme measures are one of the major causes for  long-term eating disorders, but disordered eating is a complex term. It revolves around one's fixation on food, but it could also involve issues surrounding self-esteem, peer pressure, and even depression. Labeling eating disorders as just "strange diets" or "girls who just want to lose weight" is an extreme, extreme insult to those who have lost (or nearly lost) their lives, or have suffered actual consequences to their health. 
4. They're just thirsty for attention. // To this I should emphasize: the reason why so many people with mental health issues choose not to come forward is because of this stigma. I'll just ask, what part of a girl trying to throw up in her bathroom alone is "attention-seeking" to you? Do consider that some people are genuinely struggling, not fishing for pity. It shouldn't be taken lightly, and people should not just casually say they have an ED without doing proper research and self-introspecting. But it doesn't make it right for you to imply that they're self-absorbed.
5. It only affects your eating. // As much as we wish it only affected our eating patterns and nothing else, an ED can affect much more. Hormonal imbalances in the body caused by this unsteady stream of nutrients and fuel can cause damage to many metabolisms. I won't get much into it, but it takes a toll on everything; your skin, blood sugar levels, reproductive health, and especially mental health. (You can read more here.)
6. It can simply "go away". // Again, we wish it could. But it's not as easy. It's not like a cold, where some dosage of medicine can guarantee you a nice exit out of it. When dealt with, they can take up a lot of time. Recovery can't happen overnight. Instead, it can take up to months and years, even longer than the time they were suffering from said ED. The fact that some keep it concealed, and don't seek out treatment/help, also makes it worse. Even as you are recovered, you'll find that the thoughts will still try to creep into your head, affecting you again and again. I hope for those of you who can't seem to move on, feeling like this is already a part of you, the key is to have compassion for yourself, and to learn to live with it and try your best. Slow progress is still progress. With time, you can and you will overcome.

I'd often thought of writing about this, and in fact, the idea crosses my mind nearly every day. But I'll be honest; I don't deem myself that brave. Today, I am in no way less scared, but I'd decided that if there was an open issue that was still happening, that I could write about and then bring to discussion, why should I stay silent? Even as my heart is racing as I type in the contents of this post?

Hopefully (truly, truly, truly I hope) this has helped speak for any person reading this. And for anyone who happens to be here, and if you're struggling, in whatever stage you are in right now, I hope this reminds you that you are never alone. Please be kind to yourself. My comments section (or social media links) will be open for any form of questions or stories that you might have. Let's build each other up. I'd love to hear from you.

See you around.

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I'll write again soon.

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the golden hour light passes through your window blinds

and into your living room

you're sitting in your home,

and it's quiet and safe

until

someone's knocking on the door

first softly, then a little louder

and louder after that

you wonder who it is as you open the door

and the second you do,

anxiety is the friend that walks into the room

disrupting what was once your peaceful sanctuary

they sit with you at first and you talk and converse

they start giving you ideas

ones you never really thought of

but how strange, you start to think,

that even as they haven't been inside for longer than ten minutes

it's almost like they know exactly

where you keep your box of insecurities

almost like they know exactly

how to attack you

anxiety is the friend who sits leisurely on that sofa

legs on the coffee table

arms outstretched

marking

a territory

anxiety is the friend who'll keep on talking

to you, about you, against you

their words keep spilling out of those lips

into the air of your home

slowly it suffocates you, but first you think,

nah, i'm just too sensitive

they sit and ramble on

even when you're no longer sitting there

and as they finally leave

you find them coming back the day after

and again the day after that

some days whenever you're gone,

you find them by the doorstep once you arrive home

anxiety becomes the friend who not only sits and talks

but looks around and silently judges

your taste in home decorating

they suddenly get on their feet and paces around your living room

they're the friend who starts flipping through your calendar

"all these things coming up," they scoff,

"how will you survive?"

your mouth stays shut and you just realize

you don't know how to answer that

they're the friend who looks at your framed photos

the ones you took before junior year,

then they glance at you, up and down,

the words come right out as you're forced to hear them,

"so are you sure you don't need to lose weight?"

they pick on your flaws and they tell you what you need fixed

"let's start with those teeth, those thighs,

that nose, those hips, that hair!"

your mouth stays shut because you secretly agree

anxiety is the friend who skims through your photo album,

they point to that photo you took with your friends,

"most of them only pretend to like you, why bother?"

they throw at you only the most bitter words

anxiety looks into your bank account papers

their fingers still flipping through,

"this is how much you make?"

anxiety's the friend who asks about your love life

and tells you they don't think it's going to work

"you're high-maintenance, you know,

i mean who wants to love a mess?"

one day you work up the courage to call someone else

tell them about the uninvited guest that keeps entering your life

you stutter when you say it because you feel like you're losing your mind

but the other end of the phone just pauses then says,

"maybe you're exaggerating."

anxiety is the friend who wreaks havoc in your bedroom

leaves trash on your couch

breaks a glass in the kitchen and calls it an 'accident'

they come and go as they please

anxiety makes you panic about small things

like leaving the car door unlocked

or big things, like seeing your parents die

they watch you fretfully reach for your keys,

they watch you sink into fear

whatever happens to you, at the end of it,

they just watch you and laugh

anxiety feeds you lies

they feed you lies so often, you start to believe them

when they're not there, their words still linger in the air around you

like they'd diffused poison into the oxygen

so much so, you have trouble breathing

sometimes you find yourself suffocating

the warmth of your home has turned ice cold

inside you're numb, and outside you're shaking

golden hour light no longer comes in

you got rid of those blinds, you boarded up the windows

because anxiety told you to

strange, your home is no longer normal

your peaceful sanctuary now feels as

what it truly is without them

empty

you can never un-meet a person

you can't know their name and face, spend time with them,

then tell yourself you don't know them anymore

too late, you do.

meeting anxiety felt the same

see, they're the friend who makes a mess

they leave footprints in the form of fear and worries

when they come the next day, they add some more

after a while, though, you start to understand

the importance of not letting anxiety

become that friend who bullies you in your own safe zone

the importance of knowing which things were true, which things mattered,

which things can and might kill you

and which things that, honestly, won't.

this time, as they knock on your door

you don't let them in

their presence you no longer welcome

you've cleaned up their mess, you finally opened the windows,

it is air that you now welcome, and finally, you breathe

but the truth is, there'll be times where they highly insist

be prepared for the days where they'll just let themselves in

because you see, anxiety isn't a friend you can un-meet.

so honey, here's what i did

i let them in

and as they start to say a few words

i stand in their way before they get to that couch

i grabbed them by the hand, so hard that i didn't care if it hurt

i took them inside and i didn't listen when they said they hated the windows

i found a rope and tied their wrist to my washing machine

you might be asking, why the washing machine?

the reason is because

nobody casually walks into a laundry room

i simply thought it'd be best to place them in the room least frequently used

i closed the door, locked them in, and i walked away

they're still in my house, i acknowledged the fact

but only in the smallest, most insignificant part of it

my days went by and the home was still mine

i stayed far from the laundry room, so i didn't have to hear them

i knew they were there, but i didn't have to look at them

but honey, one day, the day they've had enough

they'll scream.

when they scream, anxiety is the friend

who'll scream so loud you'll feel it sting

anxiety is the friend who will keep banging on that door

they'll even shout your name, they'll tell you they were always right

it was just you who couldn't handle the truth

you stand outside that laundry room, you hear their voice

their words were loud and clear, but from behind that closed door,

the poison doesn't get to you anymore

anxiety is the friend who never stops talking

so i hope as you finally open that laundry room door,

you don't offer them anything but a glance

you look at their powerless pride, straight in the eye, as you finally say,

"you were never my friend."