Four Years Ago

Five years ago I gripped my phone, captured with a fear I could not explain, and imprisoned in my own head. First came the dizziness and the rest was history. I thought I was sick--and in a way, I was.

It seemed that I left school early every day. Before the day had time to start, my stomach had twisted into knots and my head spun out of control. Family, teachers, and friends alike worried that I was sick every day, and I struggled to find what was shaking me to my core.

Anxiety. A word that felt abstract to me at the time and an idea I had taken with a grain of salt and a heavy dose of skepticism. As I struggled to come to terms with the word, those around me said it more and more.

It was only months later when I dropped out of high school. I looked for help in the form of doctors. I started acupuncture, I had weekly visits at a mental health facility. I wanted, desperately, to come back to school but it was in these months that I watched my health crumble before my eyes.

I was put on medicine but I was still suffering. The medicine took the form of a mask with a smile on it. The fear still shocked my heart to its core and it seemed as if the medicine only made me dizzier. It was at this point when I started to shut down. Panic attacks appeared with my every outing. First, it was school. Next was restaurants, and then I couldn't be in the living room with my own family.

I had resigned myself from my own health. I thought that a silver bullet shot by the right doctor would give me some form of normalcy. As I took the medicine I found myself getting sicker. I had my prescription changed and it only got worse.

Four years go I understood what it would take to get myself better. I had to be invested in my recovery. One day, I marched down to my school and I walked through the doors. I requested a meeting with my counselor and I had classes assigned starting in January. I was excited to be in control of my own health.

My therapist shocked me. I had told her what I had done, the change in mindset I had gone through since my last visit. She dismissed it all and told me I had made a mistake. She was all too eager to give me a piece of paper with step-by-step instructions on how to handle my health. First, I had to sit in the lobby. Next, I had to sit in a bigger lobby. A few months down the road, I would go to a store when it was almost empty. She had my health all planned out--in fact, she was so smart she probably had the health of every anxiety patient figured out. If only I knew how many people sat in my shoes, read the paper, and thought there was no other way.

With the shake of my head and a polite goodbye, I walked past the receptionist's desk and told the receptionist that I didn't need to plan another date for therapy. It was at that moment when I started having a shift. Later that week, I went Christmas shopping with my family at Walmart. It was crowded, and every moment was hell but I did it.

I got back into school at the start of January. I made a point to talk to all of my teachers before class. I told them all that I had an anxiety and panic disorder, that I might have to leave the classroom or maybe go home sick but that I would do my best. Every teacher understood and offered to help in any way they could. While I was telling my teachers about the obstacles, I was already making new goals.

"If I can make it through this class without leaving, I can make it through the next one too," I told myself and so it was done. It was not easy--I broke a pencil during one of the final classes of the day but I didn't leave the classrooms once.

"If I can make it through today without leaving a single classroom, I can do the same tomorrow," I repeated to myself throughout the day. When I got on the bus, I realized what I had accomplished. Far from over, at that point, but it was a step.

Two years ago, I started my own company through a program with my city's chamber of commerce. I gave a speech in front of tens of people--maybe even hundreds--looking for investment for my company. Just months after, I graduated with my class on time, proving to my therapist that I could make my own path.

Why do I tell you this story? For those of you who deal with anxiety, I'm not telling you to do what I did--quite the opposite. Unlike my therapist, I don't think there is one way to deal with anxiety. When people tell you how to fix yourself, they often come from a place of ignorance. I'm not suggesting that doctors or therapists are dumb or uninformed; however, I can guarantee that most of them haven't felt the same as you.

When you go home every night, you suffer from anxiety that they haven't ever felt. You know what helps you and what makes it worse. To doctors, you are a case--an example of what anxiety looks like in the real world. They learned about dealing with you sometime in their studies, but they only scratch that surface.

If you want to get better, my only advice is to take your health into your own hands. I can't promise you that you'll instantly feel better, and I can almost fully assure you that this path is a more painful one--but only temporarily. Sitting in the Walmart, going back to school, none of it was easy. I'm thankful that I did it; however, because I doubt I would have achieved half of what I have if I had followed the steps of someone who never walked in the shoes that I had to wear.