I'm not really sure of an exact time when or what first
triggered my anxiety, but I do know that I started when I was in 4th
grade, so I was probably about 9 or 10 years old. A lot of stuff had been going
on in my life, so my guess is that the combination of everything along with the
stress just caused me to break and I never really got put back together.
Around the time my anxiety started, my entire life had
basically been flipped upside down. A year or so before it began, I had moved
to a new town, then when the anxiety actually did begin, my dad was a severe
alcoholic and my parents weren't in a good place at all and ended up getting a
divorce and it was a situation that I kind of ended up in the middle of. Once
my dad left and I couldn't see him, and at that point I really didn't want to,
my mom had to take up a second job so she was always working and when she wasn't,
she was sleeping. She had become very depressed and the only other person I
lived with was my brother and I really didn't have much of a relationship with
him because he just started high school and dealing with the divorce in his own
way. This put me in a position that made me have to grow up a little sooner
than I should’ve. I did go to some group counseling sessions both in and out of
school for kids whose parents had also recently split up and I think that
helped a little bit, but it didn't make that big of a difference. At this time,
I still managed to do well in school and had a good amount of friends, but it
also added on to what I think may be
the main root of my anxiety. Whenever my dad would come home drunk, he would
seem fine and we would eat dinner as a family, but immediately after words he
would go into the bathroom and throw up because of the alcohol. It was
something that really always bothered me some because no one really enjoys vomit. Well, it didn't help that
I had a class at school full of kids with the weakest stomachs. Multiple times
at school there would be kids who threw up in class and I would see it and hear
it and smell it and every time I did I would feel sick. I never felt like I
would throw up, but my stomach would feel weak, I would become light-headed,
and my heart would start to pound. There was even one time where a girl threw
up all over herself and her desk while she was sitting right next to me. Luckily, I had just gotten up from my seat in
that moment, but after it happened I had to sit at my teacher’s desk until the
janitor came and cleaned it up and then I had to sit back at my desk, but it
smelled of vomit and cleaner and there was still a tiny dime-sized amount of it
sitting on the corner of her desk. It was revolting. There was another time
where a boy threw up in class and I started to feel sick, so I called my mom to
see if I could go home, but she was working so she called my grandfather and his
wife to come pick me up. Well, they picked me up and asked me if I minded if
they ran a few quick errands before going home. I told them I didn't mind and
we ended up going to drop of some sort of paper work at their bank or something
and right when we parked, low and behold, my grandfather rolls down the window
of his truck and vomits right out the window as he is sitting directly in front
of me. Needless to say, that day wasn't the best for me. Also, right before my
parents split up I got the flu and threw up all over my bed and floor and it
was something I will unfortunately never forget. After that, I stopped eating
lunch at school. I would pack a lunch, but I would never eat it in fear of
throwing up. My teacher eventually started making me eat my lunch in class
because she was so worried about me not eating. It got to the point that I
would imagine that I felt ill at lunch and I would go to the nurse every day
and call home and every day my mom would say to stay in school and I did and I
would be fine. The school nurse knew me very well by the end of the year and
would actually think something was wrong if I didn’t show up one day.
This became the start of post-traumatic stress for me. I was
so afraid of throwing up and being around throw up that I would cringe at the
pure thought. I couldn't close my eyes at night without seeing vomit and I
would have to lie in bed and force myself to try and imagine a pure white
canvas with nothing on it, just so I could go to sleep. Anytime I felt slightly
out of the ordinary, I automatically thought I was going to throw up, even if
it was just a slight headache. I would begin to panic and my heart would race
and I would sweat and I would run to the bathroom and just sit next to the
toilet and just spit into it every five seconds until my mouth was dry until I
would start to feel better. This soon became a daily thing for me, as if it
were a part of my routine. I would sit on the bathroom floor in the morning and
in the evening and sometimes I would wake up in the middle of the night out of
a dead sleep, no nightmares triggering it or anything, but I would rush to the
bathroom and just sit there.
Not too long after my parents had been divorced, my
grandparents were in the process of moving from five hours away from us to one
hour away, so while their house was being built, they came and lived with us.
They became aware of my habits and it didn't seem to worry them too much until
one specific occasion that I will never forget. We made plans to go see the new
Pirates of the Caribbean movie and I had been excited about it all day. I
wouldn't shut up about it at school or for the days leading up to it. Then
about an hour or so before we were going to leave, I began panicking. I sat on
the floor of my mom’s bathroom because I had been sleeping in her room at the
time and I did the usual thing. My heart was racing, I was sweating, I couldn't
catch my breath…you would've thought I just ran a marathon. Worrying thoughts
began rushing through my head, “What if I feel sick during the movie?” “What if
I get stuck in a middle seat and can’t get out?” “What if I throw up?” “What if
I throw up on myself or the people around me?” “What if I have to run to the
bathroom in the middle of the movie and people get mad at me for disturbing
them?” It was an endless stream of ‘What ifs” going through my mind, I just
wanted to reach into my brain and rip it out because it wouldn’t stop. I
started crying and my mom and grandparents were getting mad and frustrated
because they had no idea what I was doing and I told them I couldn't go and I
was freaking out and it got to the point where they had my grandpa had to pick
me up as I was sobbing profusely and put me in the car and they all had to help
me try and rationalize my thoughts, though at the time I didn't know what was
wrong.
This time was when I believe my anxiety really started. I
think it was a combination of my parent’s divorce, my irrational fear of vomit,
and also, not long after the time my grandparents moved in, one of my best
friends who lived down the street from me and who was my brother’s age, had
passed away in a car accident. I had face a lot of traumatic events and all of
the built up stress just caused me to burst.
This is just the beginning of my anxiety. I will be posting
more about individual situations in which I had to deal with my anxiety, my
first real panic attack, how my family and friends responded to my anxiety,
treatment, etc. I know this was a lot to take in and it probably seems like a
jumbled mess of thoughts, but I think you will soon realize that this is just
how my mind works. I just really wanted to share my first experience with my
anxiety because I know when I first realized that I had it; I tried to look
online for other people’s stories as well. If you have any questions, please
feel free to leave a comment. Thank you for reading.
