An Anxiety Story

Let me pick up where I left off in Middle School, a dream deferred. With my goal of being a quarterback, a leader of my peers over in my eyes I decided to make the most of my time as a left tackle. I didn't realize it then, but that's actually a very important position. I'm glad I didn't because it would have made my anxiety that much more serious. I also played Defensive tackle which means I was the first line of defense against the opposing teams running game. I would have been pretty good if I could keep my mouthpiece in my mouth. My anxiety caused me to be nauseated most games and having a mouthpiece in only made the issue worse. I was warned multiple times by coaches and refs, but they didn't know the real problem. That monster in my brain telling my body that it was time to panic whenever my number was called. I couldn't focus on play calls, so remembering the playbook was a moot point. I would just block the guy in front of me or crash the gap when I was on defense. Most of the time I got it right and the other times I would get yelled at or one of my teammates would pay the price. Anxiety affected not only me but everyone and everything I was involved in or with. I couldn't even take a shower after practice because I was so afraid of doing the wrong thing or messing something up around my band of brothers. That made me the stinky kid in school.

Moving away from the gridiron for a second and building off the stinky kid persona, I took that with me into class. I tried to sit away from my classmates, but of course, the teacher wanted me front and center in almost all of my classes. Adding to that, I always had to sit in front of a pretty girl, and the thought that they would eventually smell me made the anxiety far worse. Picture it now, too scared to shower, smelling like a wet hog in summer, sitting in the middle of class trying to pretend that it isn't me that unpleasant aroma is coming from. Instead of paying attention to the teacher, I'm staring at the clock waiting for it to be time to go. That's a lot for a 13- year- old to process and deal with. I remember sitting by myself at the end of the day on the bus ride home, surrounded by my odor and penetrated by my fear, my loyal companions. Getting home was always a relief and a release. I wanted to shout "Freedom!" like William Wallace in Braveheart but I kept it to myself. I shouted in my head. Taking a shower and changing clothes felt like having a rush of love pour over me. Laying out my clothes and thinking of the next day would again trap me in that prison. It would bind my soul with imaginary chains in solitary confinement. There's no one to hear you scream in the darkness, no matter how much sun shines in or how blue the sky is. When you feel all alone, you're alone. In the world of anxiety that is all the time.

In 8th grade, I wasn't involved in on -the- field sports, rather I decided that I would best serve my school by being behind the scenes. For a short time, I was a water boy. Yes. I did a little bit of time serving water to my friends. Just a short time because I couldn't deal with the questions. Why aren't you playing with us anymore? Nobody would understand even if I could explain it to them. Heck, I didn't get it either. Why wasn't I playing? Surely, I could overcome a little thing like fear right? How does an ant overcome a hurricane? I had my first girlfriend at 13 and it was very short-lived, to say the least. I liked this new girl that sat behind me in math. She would always smile my way and it just lit up the room. She was smart which instantly drew me to her. I started talking to her one day and passed her a note asking her to be my girlfriend like I really knew what that was. When she said yes I knew immediately that I had messed up. What does a boyfriend do? Do I have to buy her gifts? I have no money! I can't pick her up on dates! All the irrational thoughts ran through my head. They took over my dreams and created their own nightmares. Cold sweats and trips to the bathroom for throwup sessions became the norm. I told my parents and they were happy for me. I wanted to ask my dad what do I do when I kiss a girl, but I was too afraid to. I had to wing it. My parents dropped me off at her house one Saturday and the fear instantly snagged me. It wouldn't let me loose. I was so nervous, my heart racing so fast, the entire memory is a blur. There is one part that isn't though. The kiss. "Do you want to kiss me?" Who am I kidding of course I did! Her lips so rosy red, I wanted to try them, but how do you try something when your legs don't work, your hands are so wet it's like you forgot to dry them after washing them. Writing these words I can feel the anxiety now that I was feeling back then. It was trauma and joy all in one. I was so fragile if a light breeze would have come through that kitchen I would have blown away like sand in a storm. I went in for it and came out embarrassed. I had basically licked her lips. My mouth was open and everything. Pathetic by todays standards, but you have to understand I was a kid with no experience plus suffering from a mental disorder, so I took that hard. She thought it was ok, but I was crucifying myself. I still look back and pray for a time machine. What would I do though? Go back and school my younger self on how to do it right? That wouldn't change the anxiety aspect at all. I would just forget the lesson and crash again. Anxiety has had ahold of me by the belt buckle looking at me dead in the eyes laughing like I said something funny.