Fighting Anxiety

1. STD Breath

"Honey it's time for school. You don't want to be late." My mother said from behind the door.

Oh golly school.

I hopped you noticed my sarcasm.

The place where I get called a freak. Where people treat me as I might have an attack every minute. Yeah I just love to go there everyday.

Getting up I walked over to the bathroom and looked in the mirror.

Why did I have to have anxiety?

I asked myself this question everyday.

My own parents even pitied me about having it. I'm sure they would have loved to have a healthy child with nothing wrong with them. But to they're disappointment they got me. The child with anxiety. The child who couldn't have play dates with anyone because new people scared her. The teenager who never left her home because she thought everyone was judging her.

Yeah having anxiety sucked but it's something I've been living with for a long time now. But still everyday I find a way to somehow have an attack. It could be over the smallest of things but I'd still have one.

When I was younger my parents thought it was a phase I was going through. But then when I got to middle school they really started to notice it. They took me to a doctor and was told that I had anxiety.

It crushed them. In all honesty I think they were ashamed of me. They were always trying to find these "cures". Like somehow this magical thing would just make my anxiety go away. But no it doesn't work that way. If it did we would have a cure for cancer.

Yeah there are medications I could take but they don't last long. No matter how long the pills kept me from having an attack, in the end I'll always still have one.

They always come. And they never go away.

My parents used to get phone calls from school of kids picking on me because of my random attacks. They kept telling me to "control it". Like this was something I could control. I didn't chose to have anxiety. Anxiety chose me. And I have nothing in my power to change that. But they couldn't except that.

They told me to just face it and talk to people. They weren't going to hurt me. They weren't monsters. But they were wrong. I got hurt be people everyday. And they were two of those people.

With a sign I picked up my tooth brush and brushed my teeth thinking of how my first day of senior year would start.

Would I get picked on in first period or advisory? Would someone drop my lunch tray as I was walking to a lunch table? Would someone trip me up in the hallway on my way to class?

I never knew how these horrible days would start but I always tried to prepare myself.

Rinsing my mouth I walked out the bathroom and over to my closet.

I pulled out a white sweater shirt with black tribal prints, black tights, and brown boots.

With a sign I threw my clothes on and grabbed my bag and headed downstairs.

I was heading towards the kitchen when I herd my parents talking.

"Do you think she'll have an attack on the first day?"

I peered around the corner making myself not noticed to see my mom and dad at the island huddled close.

"Probably. When does she not have one?"

Like I said, they're ashamed. But the least they could do is talk about me when I leave the house.

Storming into the kitchen and stopping right in front of them I said, "Well aren't you two supportive of me."