From that point when I was 7, until a second major point when I was 15, I was always known as the girl that got nervous and threw up. I went to doctors. They all told my parents that I just was a little bit more anxious than the rest of us, but I would grow out of it. Ha ha ha....
Every time I had any type of pressure on myself I would get scared and vomit. It was just my "thing".
CUT TO: The beginning of my sophomore year of high school.
My brother had just left for college. I moved into his old room. For some reason, this scared me. Suddenly I felt like my whole childhood had abruptly ended. I was now an "adult" in my mind.
Again, it was my first day of school. I had already gone to my high school for a year. There was nothing to be afraid of. But I felt different.
I got to school and I was shaking. I couldn't breathe. And again, I felt nausea. Insane nausea. I only made it to 4th period until I begged the school nurse to call my father to pick me up.
I didn't go to school for the rest of the week. When I tried to go each day, something stopped me in my tracks. This time I was aware that I had no illness. I wasn't in any danger. I thought I was crazy. I had to be. Why else would this be happening?
Somehow, I finally adjusted to school. Then came the Homecoming dance. I remember going to get my dress and dreading the upcoming event. I finally sat my mother down in my room and said "Mom, this is bigger than butterflies. I'm crazy. I have a problem." She told me that everything would be okay. I made it to the dance with great difficulty. Then I had an appointment with a therapist.
It was a rainy day when I went to the therapist for the first time. It was on the side of a busy road next to a Sheetz. I saw nurses outside smoking cigarettes through my car window. I felt like I was being committed.
The waiting room was very circular and bland. There were really worn out children's books in the corner titled "The tales of Sad Sally" and "Angry Adam". The newest magazines were a year old. And then there was a wall of pamphlets. I find it weird that the Psychiatric Industry thinks that making a pamphlet about anger, depression, and anxiety will help people. It's just a bunch of random statistics and a diagram or two about god know's what. I swear that there is a pamphlet on anything that could be wrong with you.
After a few sessions with a therapist, I was referred to an actual psychiatrist. She prescribed me pills that were supposed to make me feel better but mostly just made me depressed. I have to say that eventually I stuck to a pill that made a microscopic difference in my ability to leave my house. But really my progression was made on my own. But that's another story.
The story of my sophomore year of high school is me laying in my bed, listening to depressing music on my Ipod. Talking to my best friend on the phone for an hour a day. Only leaving my house for school. And longing to either get better or kill myself.
It's not pretty, I know. But that's how it goes. What I've realized in my short 19 years, especially from this experience, is that you have to hit rock bottom to be able to climb back up. And you're gonna slip and fall back down after that for sure. But you have to hit rock bottom so that in the future you know that wherever you fall, you can get back up.
No comments:
Post a Comment