Man On The Moon

Because of you, I take the long way to class just to avoid that one person. I don’t correct people at restaurants who get my order wrong. I just leave it. Because of you. I choose not to approach someone because you tell me I’m too awkward and I’ll mess something up. We choose our outfits together, arguing back and forth in the mirror every morning. I think I look good enough, but you say otherwise. We are constantly in the middle of a boxing match that I can’t win, yet I am determined to knock you out. I have been fighting for control of our house for years. Fighting not to crack. Breathe. I think the reason my relationships don’t work out is that no one knows they are signing up for a threesome. I understand. I know how hard it is to live with both of us. Every conversation anyone has ever had with us will be repeated and deconstructed and analyzed in my head a million times, after. Sometimes I get so lost in the back and forth that I begin to forget who I am. I hate you, anxiety.  

Walking home in the frigid night air, a skinny freshman, I can’t stop thinking: I’m a failure. It doesn’t matter how hard I try. I don’t have what it takes. After months of ground balls, batting practice, and wind sprints, I didn’t make the Boston College Club Baseball team. This is humiliating. I’ll never be good enough. It’s early in the semester, yet I feel like my fate is already sealed. Everywhere I turn, I’m on a downward spiral. I’m struggling in my Spanish class, and now I’m falling behind in Calculus. The units keep coming – powers, roots, radicals – and it feels like I’m the only one lost and confused. Is it even worth asking for help? I don’t know. 

It’s a quiet Friday afternoon. I’m at the cliff with two of my friends, Ryan and Kai. The sun has just started to set. Kid Cudi’s “Man on the Moon,” plays in the background. It’s peaceful. Mystical even. The bright hues of purple, orange, and yellow fill the sky. Chirps ripple through the almost-barren trees. From those first few notes burst so many more, as if the birds had been waiting for the first to call into the dawn. Talking, laughing, and storytelling ensues as we relax in our lawn chairs overlooking the view. Man, things couldn’t get much better than this. And then out of nowhere, my anxiety takes the reins. My friends continue their laughter, commenting on how carefree and relaxed they feel. Right then, it hits me. I can’t do that. I don’t know how to fully let go. I wasn’t aware that it was possible. Thousands of questions constantly prowl through the depths of my mind. I’m so in my head that I rarely stop to experience the present moment. I get up from my seat and decide to take a walk. I do this a lot. It’s hard to explain why. When I stay in one spot for too long, I can get consumed by the tsunami of my thoughts. Walking back and forth gives me control over myself. Something I don’t have very often.

On a crisp Monday night, I walk into the gymnasium. I hear the pure sound of a round ball pounding the wooden court. The sweet swish of the net remains unmistakable. The squeaking of basketball shoes chimes in to add more flavor. I feel at home here. My friends Dan, Aidan, and I play a game of 3v3. As soon as the game kicks off, I feel my body get into a rhythm. I catch the ball in the corner and immediately fire up a shot. Feet squared, elbow locked, perfect release. I don’t even have to look. Swish. I feel comfortable. On the final play of the game, Dan comes down hard on his ankle. It doesn’t look good. He asks me to call an Eagle Escort to give him a ride home. Oh no. I’ve never been good at phone calls. I take comfort in knowing exactly what I need to do, and what the result will be. When I don’t know those things, I am stricken with panic. This is one of those situations. My mind goes blank. My hands are sweaty. I dial the number and shakily mumble out the words, “Uh….hello? My friend needs a ride from the gym to Upper campus.” An angry Northeastern man yells back, “Who do you think I am, an Uber driver?” Of course. While I was stuck worrying about what I was going to say, I had typed the wrong number. Dan gives me a look and says, “Whatever. I can just do it.” Ugh, not again. I hate this. 

I used to think that everyone was like me. I assumed it was normal to overthink every situation. I thought everyone got in their head to the point where they feel paralyzed. Obsessive thoughts have always filled my brain. I assumed this was everyday life for all of my peers around me. I now realize this isn’t the case. Halfway through the semester, I was on the phone with you when I felt a very strong anxiety attack coming on. I described to you how my heart raced, my brain felt like it was going 1,000 miles per hour, and I couldn’t move. I still remember your exact words. “Fred, this isn’t normal. What do you mean you can’t relax? Are you okay?” These words truly rocked my world. I could hear the worry in your voice. It scared me. It was what you said next, though, that got me thinking. “You don’t have to listen to that voice.” After this conversation, I began to think about the thoughts in my head differently. I decided I should try to ignore the anxious thoughts as if they are some distant radio and get on with my life. Maybe then the anxiety could lessen and disappear. Why should I let myself be controlled by this inner voice? Can I just trick my brain to not worry as much? 

Eventually, I gathered up the courage to talk to my Mom about how I was feeling. I’m thankful I did because she gave me a new perspective. “You are not alone. So many people struggle with this.” Then, she told me stories that I had never heard before. My Dad used to be unable to speak in public due to his anxiety. Really? My Dad? The same one who now stands in front of hundreds of people to talk, and seems to know every single person in my community? This gave me hope. I don’t have to always be like this. I am not alone. My next conversation was with myself. It’s my turn to take control. Of course, some days are better than others. I still regularly fight with myself. Back and forth, back and forth. The inner voice of insecurity is ever eager to interject. It constantly holds me back. Just give up. It tells me to cower in my room where it’s safe. It hates to try new things. When the going gets tough, it tells me to shut down. But I’m learning to speak new words. Words of affirmation and assurance. You got this. Keep going. The point isn’t that I’ll always succeed in every venture. Knowing that my voice has power and that the words I speak to myself matter, I’m choosing to internalize a new script. It’s not easy to overtake that little voice in the back of my head. But it’s necessary.