I’m Scared Most of the Time

Generalized Anxiety Disorder is so… generalized.

Nowhere is truly safe. It’s just a matter of which kinds of danger you’re willing to put up with.

At home? House fires. Like 2,000 Americans experience a house fire each year. That’s not many, you’re thinking. How likely is it to happen to you?

Well, it has to happen to someone. Why not me?

Home could also be carbon monoxide. It could be intruders. It could be falling out the window because these old windows are flimsy as hell and if you leaned against one, you’d probably plummet straight from the top floor of this apartment building to the concrete below.

Out in the world? Oh my. Car accidents. Road rage that turns violent (why else would I be this nice to my fellow drivers!?). Shootings. Floods. Tornadoes. Various acts of terrorism. Various acts of God. Nukes??? Not to mention all the things that can go wrong in crowds! Theft! Crushes! Stabbings!

That doesn’t even include every bad thing that could happen to those I love while I’m safe.

The problem with anxiety is that it’s so rational.

These events could happen to anyone at any time. Sure, they’re unlikely to happen to me, but what if? So I stay prepared—if not physically, then mentally. I turn off lights and unplug appliances before I leave to prevent fires. I keep a pair of shoes by my bedroom door in case I have to run out during the night. During the winter, I regularly check all the baseboard heaters in the house to ensure our stuff is the recommended distance away from the heat source.

I rehearse over and over in my mind what I’d do if there were a fire—what do I grab, where do I go, how do I react.

It feels so reasonable. After all, I’m just being safe. That’s a good thing, no?

But it keeps me up at night.

When my anxiety about intruders was at its worst, I had to check all the closets, cabinets, and other potential hiding spaces before I could go to bed. For a few weeks, I slept with the lights on.