One of the first topics that I want to discuss here is something that has been poking at me lately.
I'm not sure when I first started to feel the symptoms of anxiety. I don't know if I'm genetically anxious or if it's the residue of one of my many childhood traumas. It's probably some wonderfully lucky combination of the two.
I can remember what it felt like as a child and some of the big triggers. My parents used to leave me in the after school program for hours, and often past the closing hours. I used to sit just within the school fence, staring at the parking lot...waiting. I would ask the after school "coach" what time it was about every 5 minutes. I'm sure I drove him crazy. That's one of the more tame attacks at my mental state of mind.
What did it feel it like? I felt like that feeling of eagerness the night before you're going to Disneyland, but minus the euphoria and mixed with the dread of not knowing what kind of mood your parents were going to be in. The excited of maybe I will do the right thing and they will love me today, meeting the reality of I don't even show up on their radar as anything more than a burden. I would hope that my mother would ask me about my day so I could tell her about being called names for being chubby and quiet and a goody-two-shoes. That never happened. I learned to sit quietly in the backseat. Or, it would be my dad, with a beer in his hand, and definitely not the first of the day.
I don't know why I was in such a rush to get home. It was horrible. There was so much mental manipulation and crazy mind games between my parents that they involved me in it at times. There were so many things that went wrong and were detrimental to my mental and emotional state of mind, which led to me always waiting for something even worse to happen. It usually did.
I started having panic attacks when I was young, maybe around ten. I didn't know what it was at the time; I didn't know why I felt the way I did, what it was called, or what to do about it. I wouldn't be able to sleep and I would feel like my skin was crawling. I felt like I wanted to run away forever, but at the same time I was trapped in my bed. I would crawl into a ball on the lower bunk in the room that I shared with my brother. I would be able to hold it together all day, but when it came time to try to turn off my brain and get to sleep, I would just lose my shit and cry. I had no idea what I was crying about. I wasn't sad or hurt physically. I knew a lot of things that were wrong but couldn't put my finger on exactly what I was upset about. It was nothing and everything at the same time. My parents would come into my room and sometimes try to ask me what was wrong. But, I couldn't tell them; I didn't know. They soon became really tired of the tears and noise and were really irritated with me. Meth addicts aren't exactly known for their patience and understanding. My mother used to scream through the walls for me to shut up. My father would open the door and tell me I better stop.
I tried really hard to put my thumb on what it was that I was so sad about. I always was terrified of speaking my mind. I was taught to ignore adult things; to not ask questions, to not open doors, to not listen, to not get involved. So, by that time I was terrified to say anything to anyone. I, of course, had seen a lot by ten that I shouldn't have and so I had a lot of secrets. I just didn't know which of them were MY secrets, which only belonged to my parents, which I should probably tell someone about, which were my fault. I finally thought of something that was all me, and maybe it was what I was upset about.
So, I wrote a note. It was probably covered with my hysterical tears and boogers or something. I wrote "I think I am ugly." I slid it under my door to the hallway. A while later my parents came in yelling at me, "Really?? This is why you've been crying? This is stupid bullshit. Shut up and go to sleep." I may be paraphrasing slightly, but I'm about 85% on point with that. After that I closed myself shut. It wasn't worth sharing how I feel with anyone if I couldn't even talk to my parents about some serious issues that were going on inside of me.
I held all of it inside for a very long time. It ate me up inside. I worked very hard to be shy and sweet and good so no one knew how damaged I was inside. I didn't know what I was doing at the time; but in hindsight, it is pretty clear. I looked for emotional outlets later in life. I looked for ways to ignore what was inside. I found a lot of the wrong answers. It wasn't until I was twenty-five that shit fully hit the fan. I was about to graduate college and truly become an adult. It was terrifying and I still had no strategies for dealing with my anxiety. I'm still not even sure that I knew that's what it was. I gave up on it all because it wasn't worth fighting such a vicious monster inside of me anymore. I was ready for it to stop. I won't get into that story at this point. I only mean to bring light to how real and how harmful anxiety can be, especially to those who don't have a healthy and appropriate way to manage it.
I still struggle with anxiety, daily. I'm struggling in my career choice and I don't know if it's what I want to do forever. I don't know if I'm in the wrong classroom, the wrong peer group, the wrong school, the wrong specialty, or if I'm just not meant to be a teacher. What I do know is that I often dread going into work. I feel the familiarity of not knowing exactly what it is that isn't right for me. I still don't have all the answers for how to deal with the anxiety that I feel. I have some strategies. Sometimes they work, sometimes I don't work with them. Having a two week vacation from the stress I became accustomed to was fantastic, but the closer I came having to go back to work the more my anxiety increased. It was harder to fall asleep and then harder to want to get out of bed. The night before having to go back to work, I had an awful panic attack and was not able to sleep at all. I knew it was coming on, so it was either toss and turn and cry or get up and distract myself. I did a lot of things, cleaned, laundry, watched The Biggest Loser, read a little, browsed the internet. But in the end, it was a lot of tossing and turning and crying and wreaking havoc on my brain. After work that first day back, I slept until the next morning. I think I'm finally back on schedule. It's helpful to be back on a working schedule; to be naturally tired from a long and productive day and be ready to fall asleep on my own. I still go to bed with little scratches of anxiety wanting to take over my brain, but I need to let it go when possible and breathe and distract myself until I'm truly able to fall asleep. I'd rather be a little tired from staying up too late than have a completely sleepless night full of torment.
My advice to those in similar circumstances is to not succumb to the anxiety. Do no let it eat you alive. Do not give up. Figure out what works for you. Watch your favorite show. Laugh. Sleep with a white noise machine or calming music. Exercise. Exercise. Exercise. I need to follow that piece of advice myself. When I get some sunshine and vigorous exercise, I feel great and I sleep a lot better. Also, if it's consistent, getting in shape and becoming healthier is always a positive. Find a hobby and some passion. Do not rely on others to fix you or give you answers. Find your own answers and never let anyone change who you are or make you doubt yourself. Be you. Be unapologetically you with the confidence of queens.
xoxoSheri
No comments