Looking Back and Ahead

“Have I had anxiety my whole life?” This was the question that made memories of all the different ‘incidents’ come back to me. There’s a specific trial from kindergarten that comes to mind when answering this question. I went a private school back then, so of course I had to wear a uniform. On this particular day my mom didn’t have a girl’s uniform for me to wear so I was stuck with the boy version.  It fashioned an obnoxious red polo shirt with beige dress pants. This one set back of having to wear a boy’s uniform really ate at my five year old self.

         When we got to school I wouldn’t step foot into the classroom. “Mommy pleeease. Why can’t I wear a dress? Don’t make me go! Pleeease!” I cried, as I tugged at her shirt. I pleaded and begged until my face dripped with tears. After tiring out and getting nowhere I trudged into my classroom full of shame for having the wrong uniform on.

         Other ordeals I remember from elementary school were the times I would have to escape the adventures of the play ground and have a few minutes to myself on the field. There were also the weekly stomach aches. I’d always had them it seemed, though I was rarely ever sick.

         Before I knew it the exciting time for Middle School came and like every other preteen before their first day, I couldn’t sleep. I still had the stomach aches. They were practically daily now, but I’d gotten used to it.

         Seventh grade hit and so did the headaches, though only a couple times a week. What was wrong with my body? Did I just constantly have a cold or something?

         I pondered those questions up until the eighth grade. By this time the headaches were daily as were the stomach aches. My family and I tried countless herbs and medicines for me; peppermint oil, and Ibuprofen for my head, drops of the cat’s claw remedy and Zantac pills for my stomach.  These seldom worked so towards the end of eighth grade I began searching online for what could be going on with me. I stumbled upon GDA or generalized anxiety disorder. I went over all the lists of symptoms, physical and emotional. I found that I matched up with the majority of those lists. But I wasn’t ready to claim anything yet.

         I poured myself into research for about two months. I finally confirmed what I already suspected one day at school. We were entering the golf unit in P.E when all these unnerving thoughts flooded my head. “What if someone swings too far and whacks someone in the head? What if someone gets hit? This is really dangerous. Someone’s gonna get hit! These teachers are crazy! Someone could die! Oh God. This is NOT safe!” And on and on I went. I was at the mini golf station, a tight space between the changing rooms and gym, when I finally started to relax, “What could go wrong here? No one’s even swinging above their knee and it’s such a pretty day, the sky’s so blue, who’s ball is that rolling-- whack!

         When I saw light again I was crouched on the ground clutching my head; my hair a veil around my face forbidding anyone to see the tears forming in my eyes. I kept my head down. “God. What happened? Ugh! It hurts…am I bleeding? Bloody hell. Who did that?”

“Alyse are you okay?”

I couldn’t speak. I shook my head. No.

“I’m sorry,” another voice said but I couldn’t quit place it. “I feel sick. Oww.”

“Do you want to go to the office?” my friend asked.

I shook my head again. Yes. The threats of tears were getting increasingly stronger and I needed to get away. With my friend at my side, I got up and began to walk. A few steps later, it hit me. As hard and as quick as a delivery truck. Thoughts swarmed my mind. “It happened. Oh god. It happened, to me! Do I have a concussion- am I bleeding? Please don’t let me have a concussion! Oh God, Oh God, I’m...shaking. I can’t walk. I can’t…oh God. I can’t breathe. I can’t breathe. I CAN’T breathe!!!”

“Can’t…breathe. Stop. I can’t…” I managed. I was like a fish out of water. I just couldn’t get enough oxygen. It was terrifying.

         At last when I could take some reasonable breaths my friend walked me into the office. I called my mom, got a note, went to the bathroom to change my clothes and cried. I cried and cried and cried. It felt like my insides were being pulled apart thread by thread. I banged my fists against the wall of the dull gray stall.

“Why, why, why, WHY? What’s wrong with me!”

Self-contempt seeped through me, stinging my fragile heart. My back slide down the wall and I sank to the cold floor. I broke completely and sobbed.

         “God help me. Please, please. Pleease!” These words became my whispered mantra as I wallowed in the dim light of the bathroom. Eventually the cold darkness in my heart began to pass and I got up, and went to class.

         Only this year, was I officially diagnosed with an anxiety disorder. I’ve come to the conclusion recently, that even though at times this anxiety is crippling I’m brave enough to stick it out. When I walk into school or a place with potential anxieties I think of a warrior stepping out onto a battle field. Ready for whatever comes her way. She might be scared but she stays strong and has faith that everything will turn out okay.  In the middle of a battle you can’t always be sure what’s coming next, but you can think of the amazing person it can shape you into, and remember that from pain comes beauty. That’s what I’ll keep with me in the following years to come, that even though there will be some hard times, there will also be something good to come out of it. I’m now finally starting to see the light at the end of the tunnel.