My Anxiety (Part One)

Anxiety, to me, is like the monster I used to make my parents check under the bed for. "Nope!" They would say with a tired, but cheery smile on their face. "No monster here!" Filled with doubt, I pulled the polka dot covered sheets up to my chin, as if somehow, the blanket would act as a shield against the creature I knew was there. "But mom..." I began to sit up. I mean, it seemed like the most logical thing to do, seeing as I was in immanent distress. Quickly my mother would hurry back to the bed, and comfort me to the point of drowsiness, then leave to turn off the light again. My arm shot out of the tightly tucked cocoon of blankets I was wrapped in. "Mom, please! Check one more time!" So she would. But without fail, my wonderful, caring, beautiful mother would say the same thing before she left to turn out the light.

"Sadie, you don't need to worry, it's all just in your head."

While the words rang true at the time, for the monsters I thought lurked quietly under my bed, I realize that the same fear bothers me now. Except, the monster I fear doesn't take up space beneath my mattress. Instead, it whispers hello whenever I have a moment of peace. It hides behind good opportunities and happiness, waiting for just the right moment to pop out and scare me. So, I guess my mom was right.

The monsters are all inside of my head.

I think it came to a climax when I reached fifth grade. I mean, I was always an anxious child, but it was never to the point of physical exhaustion or obsession. There were little things that bothered me from time to time, but like most children, the majority of my days were spent using my imagination, allowing no extra room for my monster. But then came my first panic attack.

There are two occasions that could have possibly been day of my first panic attack, The first time I had one was during a week long camp in the summer before fifth grade. My group and I were out hiking in the woods, when it started raining. Immediately, my heart began to pound. How were we going to find our way down the mountain? Where were our camp leaders? What if we were lost here forever? What if someone got struck by lightning? What if I never saw my parents again?
The sheer number of questions entering my mind was growing at an alarmingly fast rate. Before I knew it, tears had begun to stream down my face, and I was shaking. We made it halfway down the mountain before I started screaming.

For the rest of camp, I was referred to as "meltdown girl".

The second time I had a panic attack was in a movie theater. My heart rate skyrocketed, and I leaned over to my mom to ask her if I was having a heart attack. Then, as its speed increased, my questions became statements. "Mom," I whispered, "I am having a heart attack." Quickly she took me out of the theater and asked me to explain my symptoms more clearly, including any weird thoughts I was having. After I had spoken, she took my two little hands in her own, and with the most bleak look I had ever seen in her eyes, said five words I can sometimes still hear echoing in my head.

"You're having a panic attack."