Mourning My Childhood

Hi everyone,

I wanted to share my anxiety story in the hope that it can help someone going through something similar. Thank you for reading, I really appreciate it. Feel free to share your story, too :)

****Content warning: mentions of bullying, suicidal thoughts, depression, anxiety*****

Anxiety runs in my family, and the genetic component of the disorder is absolutely fascinating to me. My maternal grandfather had very bad anxiety. This was then passed down to my mom, who then gave it to my brother and I (my sister got lucky!). This family experience with the disorder was beneficial in a way, because my mom saw the signs of anxiety when I was very young (around 5) and was able to put me in therapy as soon as she recognized what was going on.

My anxiety presented itself in one major way: panic-induced crying. Whether it was intense separation anxiety when I was younger or the fear of being late or not succeeding as I got older, what now seem to be such trivial issues were enough to get me so worked up that I cried uncontrollably -- both in private and in public. I would recognize the perceived "problem", immediately feel my chest tighten, my stomach drop (as if I were on a roller coaster), my breathing get faster, and my eyes well up with tears. In first grade, I would go to the nurse at least three times a week saying I didn't feel well so that my mom would come get me and save me from whatever danger I thought I was in. This anxiety, paired with being bullied at age 6, made for a stressful time.

I went to therapy weekly, and it helped somewhat. Mainly, it helped me form tactics to deal with my OCD, but made less of an impact on my generalized anxiety disorder. I used to cry from embarrassment on the way home from the psychologist: none of my friends needed a doctor like this. I honestly felt like something was wrong with me, and that this must have been why I was teased.

Sometimes my anxiety would go decrease for a period of time. For the last two years of elementary school, the panic attacks were almost non-existent.

Then, middle school started. Honestly thinking back to it now as a sophomore in college, I still have a visceral reaction. Beginning 7th grade was exciting at first: new friends, changing classrooms, using lockers-- I looked forward to it.

When I tell you that this year was hell for me, I mean it. I cannot stress enough how horrible it was for me, and how it continues to effect me as an adult. Needless to say, I did not cope well with the transition. For some reason, I convinced myself that, 5 years in the future, colleges would look at and consider my middle school grades for the admissions process. This triggered a need to get perfect grades and have perfect attendance. A "B" on an assignment would send me into an absolute panic, the bus driver getting me to school late caused me to meltdown. Forgetting an assignment at home made me physically ill. I made myself go to school if I was sick out of fear of falling behind. I cried every morning before getting on the bus. My friends from elementary school, obviously embarrassed by me, dropped me. I found out my teachers would talk to each other about me after school. Despite having the support of my family, I never felt more alone. I did not see a scenario in which life could get better. At age 12, I had my first thoughts of suicide.

The combination of depression and anxiety was exhausting. After years of hearing my therapist tell me and my mom "she doesn't need to go on medication" I believed that this pain was my destiny. I believed I was just a freak that was "incurable". I really saw no point to living.

One day during one of my panic attacks at home, I screamed to my mom through my sobs "please give me medicine". The concern on her face was heartbreaking. It hurt me that she had to see her daughter like this. I went to the psychiatrist that week.

Now, several years later, on 150 mg of Zoloft with a new therapist, I am a healthy, happy college student in a medical major. I have amazing friends, a wonderful home life, and a great outlook on everything. Still, something haunts me.

I am mourning the loss of my childhood. I am mourning the years where I should have been stress-free, the years where I should have just enjoyed being a kid. Being a young adult with the stresses of school, work, and other responsibilities, I look back wishing I enjoyed the simpler times of my life. In a way, I feel like I failed my younger self. What's most important, however, is that I am learning to move on, forgive myself, and cherish the lessons I learned, with the main one being:

'Tough times don't last, tough people do!"

Anything you may be feeling is temporary. Every problem has a solution. You are valid and loved despite what your thoughts may be telling you. Keep fighting, and know you can get through anything.