A Case of Hypochondria?

Graph, hand-drawn. Color coded. Number of symptoms on the x-axis, percentage on the y-axis. Genetic possibilities highlighted. Systematic. With bravery, I handed it over to the school counselor. I flipped through ruled paper and matter-of-factually gave my recommended diagnoses. I worked all summer on this.

They didn't know what to do. This wasn't a mental health facility, they don't do diagnoses. They only recommend places. I left disheartened. My mom discouraged me from speaking any more about it. "What if they did find something? They'd put you on pills. You don't want that, do you?"

I was assigned an intern counselor. She looked at me incredulously as I spouted out the list again: Depression? Anxiety? Schizotypal? Autistic? ADD? I was desperate for answers.

I sometimes felt weak while crossing the halls from class to class. My shoulder would lightly brush the wall as I walked. I was afraid I would pass out. I headed to the nurses office. Did I have low blood pressure? I wondered. After taking my blood pressure, and listening to my symptoms, the nurse looked at me quizzically. "Are you sure it's not anxiety?" I was sent back out to class.

There was one day, I left choir class early. A break to the bathroom. I sobbed uncontrollably, trembling as soon as I stepped in. What was happening to me? A popular girl caught me. I'd clutched my head with such an expression that the first thing she'd, probably ever, said to me was "What's wrong? Are you scared?" Was I? "I don't know." She escorted me to see the school counselor. "Have you experienced this before?" He asked. I... Don't think so... "Do you know what caused it?" I don't know... Until I calmed down, I stayed in the library to study.

One day, I smelled something off as I walked through the doors. I asked a schoolmate. "Oh, I think it's a propane leak." Alarm bells rang through my head as I pictured something as simple as a Bunsen burner lighting. Then the force of the heat would rapidly expand while eating up the fuel in the air. We're all going to die. The school will explode. I walked out of school- no sooner after I entered- before they can convince me otherwise.

Heading in the direction of home, I stopped over at my brother's middle school, nearby. He was heading over to a field trip as I asked to pick him up. I recognized the school counselor, despite having never gone to that school. First day of enrolling my sibling, this was the same guy that asked my mom if I was autistic.

My mom picked me up. She let stay home for the rest of the day for "mental health reasons". It happened to be a special day at school, full of bonding exercises between my peers. As the others shared heartwarming stories the next day, I admitted I ditched school because I thought it was going to blow up.

I started the next term with a new English teacher I'd never met. I never returned. Why can't I do this right? I thought after the third time of spelling yeasterday yeasterday yesterday. I can't write, I'm probably dyslexic. I requested that the school counselor put me in Writing Remediation class. They gave in. The teacher asked why I was there, after the first assignment. "You don't have a problem writing." I was told. She still allowed me to stay in the Education Remediation Center, so I could have extra time to do the homework. That was something I struggled to keep up with.

The next school meeting, I discussed that I was pretty sure I had a learning disability. They gave me confused looks, telling me that I showed no indication that I did. "Actually, we were thinking about testing you for giftedness." Tears started running down my face. They don't understand. That'll bring more pressure. I told them I would to drop out. Desperate, they told me they would compromise with creating an IEP. I told them I didn't want to compromise, I wanted out of there. Defeated, they got me set up to practice for the GED.

I dreaded my remaining classes. I couldn't focus on what the teachers were saying. The energy progressively felt sucked out of me. A couple times, a teacher would stop me on the way in or out of class asking "How are you doing? Are you being bullied?" I wasn't. But how would I explain the oppression I felt by the nature of the school system? This is their normal.

I couldn't even wait for my GED test to be ready. In fact, I never even found out what score I'd got on the giftedness test. I did't really want to know. I just slipped away quietly from the system. Those were my only two years in public school. Years afterward were spent in stubborn reclusiveness, avoiding integration into society.