The Night My Anxiety Called The Cops

One night, years ago, I was so wound up with anxiety that I called the police because I heard voices outside my window at 2 a.m. I’d already written out a whole backstory in my head — who they were, what they wanted, what was about to happen. My heart was pounding out of my chest when I dialed.

The officer on the line was calm, said they’d send someone to check. But it wasn’t enough. I couldn’t shake it. I sat there wide awake until morning, exhausted, ashamed, and asking myself: why am I like this? Why can’t I just be normal?

That was the worst part. Not the fear — the shame. Feeling broken.

Then, a friend told me quietly one day that she had anxiety too. Just hearing that — that someone else lived with the same chaos in their head — cracked something open. I wasn’t crazy. I wasn’t alone.

That conversation gave me enough courage to try therapy, to stop hiding from what was really happening. Slowly, I learned how to ride the waves of panic instead of drowning in them.

Now? I fall asleep in minutes. If I have a nightmare, I wake up, think “well, that was unpleasant,” and roll over. No spiral. No shame. Just sleep.

It’s wild to look back and realize how far I’ve come — from pacing the floor all night to finally feeling at peace in my own skin.