Everything is Loud

My world has suddenly shifted, as if I was transported to the inside of a massive speaker at a heavy metal concert. All my emotions have been turned up to overwhelming, dizzying, almost painful levels. I am not simply feeling emotions as I once was, I am drowning in them. As if I received this pleasant flavor of happiness, placed it in my mouth and I can’t swallow, like my throat is full of chalk and I can’t savor it.

These last few days, my internal volume dial, the one I thought was locked safely at a manageable level five, has shattered. Now, everything is playing at an unpredictable eleven. The most confusing part of this emotional hurricane is the sheer disorientation of facing it. I don’t know whether this heightened sensitivity is a form of feeling comfortable, a feeling that has evaded my mind for so long, or a prelude to a complete breakdown. The negative emotions are the most relentless. Anxiety is no longer a nervous hum that I learned over time how to manage. Now it feels like it’s back with a wrath for vengeance. It is a live wire thrashing against my insides. In my head it manifests as a physical sound, a high-pitched electronic whine that drowns out rational thought, scattering my nerves. It tells me, constantly and with absolute conviction, that I am forgetting something vital, or falling behind, or that disaster is imminent. My heart races like a trapped bird desperate to escape the cage of my chest, regardless of the calming logic I try to whisper to it. This anxiety brings fear, which is sharper and colder than anxiety. Displaying in visceral flash-frames, sudden, stark images of loss, failure, or the terrifying vulnerabilities in those I love and care for. It is the primal, tightening sensation that makes me breath shallow, convincing me that vigilance is my only defense against this unseen threat. The world feels too sharp, too loud and too close.

On the flip side, the happiness I can taste is equally overwhelming. It’s not the quiet satisfaction of a good day, it’s an ecstasy so potent it feels almost chemically induced. A small moment, simply talking with a friend, listening to a good song, even drinking tea, or completing a drawing sends a single shaft of light into my life that I know I have been missing. I laugh harder than I have in quite a long time, a sound that feels dangerous in its sheer, uncontrolled release. It is a moment of pure, blinding alignment where everything feels right, perfect, and utterly, terrifyingly fragile. I can peer over the cliff as if I was being carried away from a dark place, terrified at the same time because a drop from such a height would be catastrophic. The fog I’ve faced for so long has been lifted, revealing a crushing pressure built up from every injustice, every unresolved sorrow, every universal ache I have ever experienced, remembering every little thing both good and bad with friends, new and old, family and my own confrontations in those moments. When it comes, it renders me immobile, both emotionally static and physically bound. I am afraid not only of this reflecting presence of sorrow, though also mourning losses that haven't even happened yet or vice versa, losses that have happened and the trauma from such times leaving me terrified to think it’ll happen again.

This brings me back to my main concern. How am I supposed to feel about all of this? I find myself observing the feelings rather than just experiencing them, stuck trying to diagnose the intensity. Is this a wake-up call? A sign of too much stress? Or is this simply what it means to be fully aware, to be able to feel the textures of life without the dulling filter I’ve spent years fine-tuning. I believe my confusion lies in the lack of control. I can resist the anxiety, but the resistance only amplifies it. I grasp at the happiness, but the grasping seems to make it slip away faster.

For now, the only answer I can find is reluctant acceptance. I cannot tame the sounds, but I can learn to embrace the feeling they bring. Similarly to how I once overcame the lack of trust I had in my own heartbeat. Anxiety so bad that it worried doctors and nurses in the ER years ago. I got through that and with enough time, patience and resilience I can make it through this too. I can learn to choose what sounds to keep, recognize which emotions are actually good and not just out to harm me. Perhaps the chaos is a necessary clearing, for when I can feel one emotion at a time am I most at peace. Whether that emotion is the good, the bad or the overwhelmingly loud. I am forced to become a witness of the extreme. I become my own seismograph, recording a sudden, massive shift in my own interior landscape, and for the time being, I am learning to read the vibrations, without judging them as a neglect or responsibility. I am learning the language of eleven for as long as it may last. Even if the volume nearly breaks me, I can at least say that for these few strange, raw days, I have never felt more intensely, undeniably, alive. As I shake in both fear and as those I love in my life continue to accept me as I am. I accept who I am, I am here for it all. Bring it on.

Thank you for reading.