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.
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.
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