Two Steps Forward, One Step Back: King of Prussia, PA

       The edge of my eyes beg to close, and my eyelashes feel like a hundred pounds each. Measurements fly through my head of prices and sales. New sales pitches grabs at the ends of my brain pushing for attention. The past week has consisted of setting up for school, figuring out Pennsylvania's DMV (it's way more complicated than Virginia...), and of course, tea. After being offered a position to work at a local tea store I jumped at the opportunity. I'm more than excited to get back working and it's a chance to meet new people. I walk in to do the final paper work. Afterwards,  my new manager smiles and hands me a 200+ page manual. I keep the smile tight on my face and walk to my car. Upon my arrival I sit in the hot air and stare at it. Sixty pages needed to be finished by Monday, today is Friday. I drive home trying to fathom about what in the hell could contain 200 pages other than Grey's Anatomy or The Bible?
      Turning the pages I discovered the wonderful world of tea. I don't remember the past two days outside of the manual. Every moment I was awake I was immersed into it, learning different types of tea, memorizing their health benefits, and working on sales pitches. Slowly, I felt passionate about this product and the amazing benefits of it. I laugh as I notice how I moved from something that slowly kills you (Italian food) to basically liquid medicine. Tea has a solution for almost any physical or mental imbalance you might have. But, I'm not trying to sell through my blog, so enough about tea.
      I need to register for classes, and reschedule my financial aid meeting because of work, and tons of other things beginning to pile up. My blog went untouched for a week and Facebook views were limited. This new job is taking over my life. It seems horrible, but I smile. See, I'm a workaholic. Working is what I do best. Pushing to perfect my work and become the best I can be is my hobby. Being a workaholic can ruin lives, but when you're young-I don't think there is anything better. Plus, this is exactly what I needed.
     Lately, depression has been creeping up my back and into my head. I can't rid it. I've been focusing on my loneliness and my failed relationship that broke apart six months ago. Not even my friends could fill this void that was growing stronger in me. I begin to go insane, checking old emails from him and stalking his Facebook, staring at his pictures, missing him. I've worked so hard to let him go, but my efforts are worthless. I stare at my white walls and dream about being with him again. My mind wonders into a world where I know what he is thinking, if he really is happy, and if he ever thinks of me.  His new girlfriend keeps him on a leash shorter and tighter than I did. There is absolutely no way for me to contact him, without her getting it first. Except if I went there, and trust me, I've toyed with that idea more than a hundred times. I miss him, I wish I could fix what I messed up, I wish I could have been right for him like he is right for me. But, now I watch his life through pictures. Far, far away from me he sleeps next to her. He loves her. While I sleep alone, and I love him. My eyes drop from my white walls and back to the manual.
      A job allows me to forget these things, at least for the moment. It allows me to focus on myself and build my esteem as I push sales and make managers proud. With all of the free time I had, it was impossible to avoid this depression. Now, I can push it away and I move into a new world. A world that he doesn't know about, a world I wish he was in, but he's not. Even as I write this, I hope somehow he comes across it and he gets the courage to talk to me, even if it makes her mad. My hopes are high while my expectations are low.
       He's never far from my mind and he tends to be the body of each tear that falls from my eye. Although I struggle everyday without him, I become stronger each day. Each day I become more independent. Each day I force myself to stand tall and smile, because it isn't the end of the world. It's just a dent in my dreams. And dents can be filled and fixed with time.
        The edges of my eyes now tug with tears rather than exhaustion. I look down at the floor and wipe the tears away, wipe him away, at least for tonight. Tonight, I am strong.

A Change in Plans: Philadelphia, PA; Phoenixville, PA

        I bounce down the stairs elated to be wearing red, white and blue. Pulling back on my blinking pacifier and pushing sunglasses past my bangs, I smile. My family has decided to head into Philadelphia to watch the spectacular fireworks over the Delaware River. My excitement is barely containable as I reminisce about my last trip to Penn's Landing. Fireworks burst across the sky as the gentle waves lapped against the concrete walls. New Jersey was captured in an array of colors and shades. I began loving my dad again. I couldn't wait to go back. As we board the train my mother immediately slips into a bad mood. She wanted to drive into Philadelphia, but my dad wasn't ready to bear the traffic and stress of parking. Plus, the train was fun, it was different. I ignore her as I press my headphones into my ear. I let Taylor Swift calm my growing belligerence and watch as the cities and towns pass my window.
       Once we land at 5th street I can not wait to get into the city. Pushing my way past pedestrians I soak up the history surrounding me. I stood where independence was created. I saw the Liberty Bell and heard out actors as they explained what this independence meant for new found America. Hiding my excitement from my family I gazed into any windows I could find and read glimpses of everything available. Soon, my brother starts looking upset. He wanted to eat at Gino's or Pat's or something. He only came into the city for the famed Philly Cheesesteak. Which I couldn't blame him, but I wanted more. I looked down disappointing, was I the only one who appreciated history anymore? Shoving my wants back down my throat I agree to whatever makes them happy. I wasn't in the mood for a fight.
     Cobblestone roads and loose brick paths lead us to Sonny's. "Authentic Philly Cheesesteaks" read the sign, we shrugged and headed through the tiny green door. They. were. delicious. Seriously, Philly isn't known for Cheesesteaks for nothing. As I swallow mine as if it's a contest, my dad and I hail praise to the last time we went to Penn's Landing. We talked about the amazing fireworks and music and how the porter potty didn't have toilet paper. Taking our own advise, we all went to the bathroom before we left, my mom before me. When she comes back to the table she leans over to me,
"I stole some toilet paper just in case" she whispers.
Laughter beings bellowing out of my mouth and fell onto the tiled floor. My mom is ridiculous. I venture into the bathroom and when I finish peeing I reach for the toilet paper. There is almost none left, like seriously, it isn't even 2 ply! I walk out and whisper harsh accusations at my mom, we laugh all the way to Christ Church. After a few more stops, we head to Penn's Landing. I can't wait to show my mom and brother how perfect it is. I walk with an extra bounce in my step, until I see it. "No Fireworks July 4th" reads a white sign with plastered red letters. What the fuck, is that even legal to say? In the homeland of independence, next to Independence Hall, the freaking Delaware River, we're surrounded by what built this country and we can't even celebrate it? Sigh. My family turns and stares at each other. Well, we weren't expecting that. After a nice, awkward moment, we begin moving away from the disappointing river and back to the train station.
       No one speaks on the ride home, we suddenly become extremely tired. But, I'm busy people watching. I watch as the men and women respond to each other and their environment, as Taylor Swift once again keeps me company. Gazing upon each passenger I wonder what their story is. Did they fall in love and get left suddenly, like I did? Did they try to start their own business? Or loose their family in a fire? Do they wish someone would just talk to them? Who are these people? I'm absolutely convinced that everyone has a story to tell.
    On the way to Philadelphia, it hit me. I stare at one man, he's older probably his 70's. He has taken out his wallet and is staring at a ticket or receipt. His hands tremble softly as he puts it back in it's creased brown home. He lifts himself to one side and pushes it into his back pocket, buttoning it. The man stares out the window, he has a soft smile that tugs at the sides of his cheeks. I want to know him. I want to know all about his first love, and what his dreams were. If they came true. I want to know the places he's been and his craziest adventure. I want to know his favorite memory, what makes him happy, and his beliefs. Breaking my gaze I look at my hands. I decided right then, I want to be a journalist. At 2:15pm July 4th, I realized what I want to do. One day before my placement test for college.
      The train halts as it pulls into Norristown Transportation Center. My eyes follow the passengers as they exit the train. Curiosity still tugging at my brain. My family piles into the car and we start heading home. Their holiday was ruined, but I wasn't going to let mine fall apart. When I get home, I take my car to downtown Phoenixville. Earlier, I was invited to go watch a band and fireworks at a local restaurant. As I drive down Gay Street Bridge I see many families heading in the opposite direction. Still, I moved forward and tried to find parking near the restaurant. No luck. My day seriously refused to work out. A new idea pops into my head and I head back home. I grab a bag and stuff two water bottles, a blanket, and a shit bag. Clipping Sparky's leash to his collar, we head out.
     Soon enough, Sparky and I are following families up the street and into Friendship Park (I know, it's cute). We settle down into a spot when I notice Sparky's leg is shaking uncontrollably, he's slipping, he looks scared. This is my baby. I start walking him again and he seems fine. Being as determined as I am, he will see a vet soon. Gazing around for somewhere to go, I spot a white cart in the distance. Pertucci's is a local ice cream place and they had a cart out in the field. I bought a Cherry Water Ice and walked Sparky past the adoring crowd. Sitting against a light pole, I watch Sparky and his movements. He stays close, he's a good boy. I give him a million kisses and pour out the rest of my water ice, filling up the cup with water. Sparky doesn't care. Instead, he knocks over the cup towards me (I'm sitting remember?), knocks over my phone into the water and looks away. What a dick. I grab my phone and pick up the blanket stashing it back into the bag. Suddenly, I don't think Sparky should be here. I remember dogs have more acute hearing, I'm an  idiot. I start taking Sparky home. Before I'm two steps away, the first firework explodes. Shit. Sparky looks terrified and begins walking pretty fast past people and children. My butt's wet. I'm excusing my dog and myself as the crowd looks to the sky and not where they're walking. Children try to grab at Sparky as I move him further from the noise. After an exciting walk, we get home. I run upstairs and throw on next to nothing and go outside. I can see the fireworks from my front yard.
     I lean against a pole and watch the explosions in the sky. I smile as I look back on my day. I never thought I'd end up here. A wet ass, in my pajamas, in my front yard, a newly decided journalist major. It's funny how things work out that way. There were some disappointments along the way, but as I gaze into the sky, it was all worth it. A small laugh escapes my lips, "Welcome to Pennsylvania" I think to myself. Who knew this is where I'd land? I sure didn't.
Happy Independence Day, and may you plans never go the way they should.

Rolling Along: Phoenixville, PA

      Out of the corner of my eye I see my Dad's mouth get wider, he's becoming red and his eyebrows are pushed together in an angry sort of way. I turn away and stare out the window as the rolling hills past by my tired eyes. A new song blasts onto my IPod, I look down to change it to something calmer. Now I watch as my brother builds his defense against my father. He's in the backseat with me. His eyes are growing wider, he's being attacked and he knows it. I turn back away, he'll give up soon, we all do. My father grabs his Coke Zero in a hostile manner and the all to familiar cringe crawls up my back. Quickly, I turn up my music, I sit straighter, and I try not to show my unbearable discomfort. It's going to happen I thought, not here I begged some unknown universal power, not now, please. I dig my nails softly into my palm. I can't avoid it.
        This horrifying event has happened to me since I was ten years old. I've struggled with anxiety for what feels like forever. I wasn't diagnosed with actually having "panic attacks" or "anxiety disorder" until last September.
        It goes way back to a story about Elizabeth Smart, maybe you remember her, you probably don't. In 2002 a little girl was kidnapped from her bed in the middle of the night. Nine months later, she emerged from her captors grasp, the world couldn't believe she was alive. She has spent 9 horrifying months being a slave for a horrible man 18 miles away from her original home in Salt Lake City, Utah. Little did she and her family know this would cascade me into the terrifying world of anxiety. My new fear was being kidnapped and abused. For the majority of my sixth grade year, I slept on my parents bedroom floor. Often subject to my head and feet being tripped over as they made their way to the bathroom in the pitch black. This wasn't working for any of us. After a few months of intensive therapy I made my way back to my bed. Noise was the solution. I needed noise to distract my from the moans and shivers of my house. For a few years we kept a TV in my room to distract me, but I couldn't fall asleep.
      Eventually, my anxiety found new ways to ruin my life. Suddenly, I could not stand the sound of people eating. My brother's loud and messy ways of eating, physically hurt me. A pain in my back would tighten, I'd sit more still, I had to focus on it. These torturous dinners lead to tearful eyes and screaming fights. No one understood what was going on.
      My parents took me from therapist to therapist to find a solution. Nothing worked. By eighth grade I couldn't stand to be in a room where someone was chewing gum, and this was a huge problem at school. I couldn't focus and I experienced attack after attack for a tiring eight hours a day.
      There was no letting up with my anxiety as I entered high school, I dove into online relationships where they too suffered from my disorder. The growing anxiety lead to my desperate need for constant attention, especially at night. Even into my teenage years I still feared being kidnapped, I still do. My boyfriends would help me through attacks, but eventually they got sick of them too. They didn't understand these emotions, they all left.
       It got so intense that my mind went haywire. I began using my anxiety to make my boyfriends pity me to stay with me. I missed Thanksgiving dinners with family, and mostly ate alone in my room for every family meal. I avoided restaurants and movie theaters and church. I hated going to school, and glared at people chewing gum. My IPod became my essential tool for avoiding attacks. Just thinking about having an attack lead to one.
      Most people never knew about my anxiety, it was something that I never wanted to share with people.
But, I think it's a big part of who I am. I've gotten a lot better at controlling it, although the move has been stressful. I've learned how to control my attacks in public. I may have had one in front of you, and unless you watched my hands, you would have never known. Sign language helped me finger spell my emotions so that I could release the tension physically and constructively. When that didn't work, I would dig my nails into my skin to build a distraction. The pain was nothing compared to the physical pain I endured internally during an attack. Hurting myself outwardly helped me internally.
      I decided to write this and finally become public with my anxiety for many reasons. As I went through high school  I met many people who had struggled with the same thing, some more intense than others. Many people who struggle with panic disorder don't realize there's a cure other than Xanax or other medications. I had to change my lifestyle to become better. My parents never allowed me to get on any medication for it. I had to tough it out and become creative. First, I mapped out what made me anxious. After I removed those, or changed how I handled those situations, I breathed easier. It was always important to me to have a way out of every situation. I needed a "safety". Instead of relying on people, I relied on myself with my car and phone. I figured how to mask my anxiety when I wasn't alone. It hurt, but it saved me from many, many ugly situations. The most important thing I did to help my anxiety was to admit I had it, and admit that I could change. If I gave into my anxiety I would have been in some deep shit right now. With no friends, my family would be sick of me, and I'd probably be living in my room.
      For those of you who have experienced the same horrifying feeling, please know you are not alone. Some nights, it got bad, so bad that I thought I would die, or that dying would be easier. I've been there. I've had attacks I should have been hospitalized for. You are not alone. There is help out there. After a few bad therapists and sleepless nights, I stumbled upon an amazing therapist who helped me overcome most of my anxiety and helped me become a better and happier person (If you want her number, just ask.) Since then, I've lived my life to the fullest. I've had sleepovers and have been to many restaurants. I've enjoyed movies and could eat with my family without my IPod. You can change, it's a disorder not a disease. I hope by sharing my story, you'll be inspired to seek help. For those of you who don't encounter massive anxiety attacks on a daily basis, you're lucky. Help out those who need an ear to listen. Don't be afraid to suggest help. Those with anxiety, welcome the help. You have to want to change for it to work.
     I look back at my brother, he's given up. My dad stares out the front window, his arms are tense. My mom is fed up. I take my nails out of my palm. I escaped it. I breath easier. Not today, anxiety, not today. I smile to myself and watch the clouds pass. Today, I am safe.