There is plenty of academic research in the field of psychiatry that tries to “locate mental illness in the body”. But here, “locating” refers to where it originates or synthesizes in the body and rarely, where it is visible – but hardly ever does it focus on where it is felt by the host. My anxiety disorder and depressive episodes seize my entire body when they are at their strongest. In this chapter I try to summarize the gastrointestinal and musculoskeletal distress that I have suffered from over the years that only got better once I started receiving treatment for my mental illness, which I consider to be reason enough to believe that there is a correlation, if not causation at play here. The aim here is to encourage more first person reporting of pain due to neurobiological disorders. I want to write an account of my pain, yes – but I also want to attempt developing a form of objective report of pain as a result of mental illness that may be used as a template by other people with mental illness so that we might be able to have more of those since I believe focusing on the pain and the nature of it is crucial for developing any understanding of mental illness as a disability that could help us dismantle ableism.

It is rather surprising that the violent physicality of my mental illness didn’t compel me to seek treatment sooner. Perhaps the reason is that the physical too, was as invisible as the mental. Anxiety disorders come with a variety of physical symptoms and the famed “anxiety attack” isn’t remotely the worst of them. Throughout my childhood I would get violently nauseous and would be unable to eat. Things only got worse as I grew up. At its peak, the anxiety induced nausea got so bad that I couldn’t hold any food down at all. Result was highly disordered eating. This naturally led to irritable bowel and the vicious cycle went on and on.

There came a point when my anxiety had starved me to a point where my blood pressure dropped and I had to be hospitalized. Its remarkable to me how present this symptom of anxiety was – how very “there” – and yet, how invisiblized. No one in my life knew of what I was going through at that point. I was managing the symptoms on my own. And every day, I woke up feeling like a failure. It is only now – now that I have medical help – do I realize how ridiculously strong and resilient I was to have gone through it so utterly alone. And how unnecessary all that strength and resilience was. I imagine how much joy and revolution would have been generated from that resilient energy, had I received the medical attention I needed. But what’s more baffling is, how everywhere in my body just this one symptom was located. It was in my digestive system and it was is the rest of my body too – because it wasn’t receiving the nourishment it needed.

The somatic features of the anxiety of course didn’t end at the nausea. The severe musculoskeletal distress that my anxiety caused me was so constantly present that until I started taking the combination of my anxiolytic medication, I was not even aware of it, Because it didn't register as something abnormal. It was in September 2021, when my medication first started taking effect that I realized how tense my muscles had been for the majority of my waking, and a good amount of my sleeping hours. This involuntary stiffness not only exhausted me but also caused regular pains and aches (although when my sickness was at its worse, I was only vaguely aware of the pain as such because when you’re holding your body that tense and your brain is so overwhelmed by a swarm of anxieties and intrusive thoughts or numbed by depression – or at times a combination of both, you don’t feel pain you normally would). I don't know if this has caused any lasting effect on my muscles and bones but it is hard to believe it wouldn't.

Now coming to the infamous panic attack. The thing about anxiety disorders is a panic attack or an anxiety attack is simply an exaggerated version of what you are feeling all of the time. Difficulty breathing, chest pain, palpitations are things that occur inside your body more times a day than you could count on your fingers and toes. Speaking of fingers and toes, they get cold numb, tingly, twitchy on numerous occasions too. Up until I had access to medical treatment, I did not know what people meant when they said “take a deep breath”. I don’t know if I was incapable of taking a deep breath or incapable of feeling it in my perpetually clenched lungs.

Today, almost three years after I started with my medication, I still have aches and pains. Perhaps some that even might be a side effect of the medications I need to take in order to make my existence a little bit more tolerable, but not once since I started it, have I felt that all consuming tension. I think my digestive system is messed beyond repair at this point, but I can keep down three meals on most days. And as for the panic attacks, they happen – but now I have emergency medication to shield myself from their sheer brutality. So, after all this, what can I conclusively say about the location of the pain caused by my mental illness within my body? The easy answer would just be saying “everywhere”: in my heart and lungs that felt as if there were multiple fists constantly clenching them, my muscles and bones that were strained as if someone was pulling at me from every direction, the acid reflux, the nausea, the stomach ache – but instead I’ll answer with what everyone, including modern medicine has told me – it’s in my head.