If I had a pound for every time I’d heard that…. I’d probably be out of my never ending overdraft.

The fact that mental health stigma still exists gives me more anxiety than my own anxiety. Knowing that people will never understand that I can’t shut my brain off, am often so tortured by my own thoughts that I can’t leave my house, is heart-breaking. 

A few weeks ago I had an argument with my friend. Nothing major, those small fights you’re bound to have after years of friendship. I’d seek help, assuming anyone I spoke to would reciprocate my panic. But oh, those people do not suffer from the Brain Battle. And so I felt the tears filling my eyes. What have I done? Are we ever gonna be friends again? She hates me. She’s gonna turn everyone against me. Everyone’s talking about me.

“It’s not that big a deal.”

I lay awake that whole night. Repeating the words over and over, as I’d heard so many times. It’s not that big a deal.

But my anxiety had full control and wouldn’t let go. Everything you’ve ever confided in her, she’s told them. Everyone knows. She never liked you anyway.

“It’s not that big a deal.”

My friends are great. They will drop everything and help me when I’m asking those stupid anxiety-induced questions. But there’s only so many times they can say it.

It’s not that big a deal.


Those words have lost meaning.