Anxiety

Full Story

 *S/o PoV*

I stayed in the corner of my bedroom not able to take a step from the spot I was huddled in. I just needed to breathe. I thought to myself, even though my breath was uneasy and not constant I sat there shaking trying to control it. Every time I had an anxiety attack I felt useless and stupid for not being able to control it. I should be able to control my own emotions just like everyone else. I thought, wiping the tears from my eyes quickly not wanting them to run down my face to my tongue. I didn't want to have to taste my shame too.

"S/o!" I heard my father yell at me from downstairs. I winced at the harsh tone my father used with my own name. He hated me and this happened almost every time he came home. This wouldn't have happened if he hadn't come home. I just prayed he wasn't drunk so I wouldn't have to deal with the pain of his lashings.

"It's good for you, trust me. It's helping you. It's for your own good." All things he would tell me, but the bruises and marks were making it harder to believe that it was helping. Where was mother when I needed her? Probably out having a drink with friends. It was Tuesday night of course and she hated being in the house when dad was home on the weekend. It also didn't help she had anxiety and was bipolar as well. My family was filled with problems and disorders. Somehow I had most of them. Dyslexia, anxiety, something I had earned over time from the stress of my other disorder, and probably many more I wouldn't even know because I've never once been tested or treated for them.

"S/o!" He repeated.

"Y-yes." I stuttered praying for the life of me he wasn't drunk or going to come up the stairs. I would have stuttered anyway even if I wasn't scared of what he was calling me for because of my dyslexia. I hated the fact I was dumber than everyone else with a passion. It was the only thing I could hold onto because there was nothing else stable in my life. We didn't always have a stable income because dad got kicked from jobs for being an alcoholic. He was always able to get another job within a week and during that week I tried to not be at home during that time because I knew I would be lashed more than usual. He said it would help my brain understand its wrongs. He was trying to punish my brain for my dyslexia.

"Where is your mother?" He yelled. I sighed thinking about how he wasn't actually mad at me, he was probably mad at mom which was why she wasn't home. She might be working extra shifts at the corner store to get a little extra money or she was out with friends. If that was happening she wouldn't be coming home tonight. She would just sleep on someone's couch.

"She went out. She didn't tell m-me where." I told him.

"Jez boy eighteen and you still can't freaking talk. Do your homework." He yelled. I looked at the pile of homework from all the classes I was failing and sighed relieved he hadn't really started drinking yet. The only classes I wasn't failing was music and art and as father said those weren't going to get me anywhere. I didn't believe him because people had gotten somewhere before with it, but I was useless and I wouldn't be able to last in the workforce no matter what job it was. There was no point to even trying at this point, I had tried to get a job, just to stay out of the house a little longer than the six hours I was at school. I didn't want to be at school either, there wasn't a place I wanted to be. Maybe I thought it wouldn't be hell to work somewhere and be somewhere no one I knew would go. I looked beside me to the sheet music of the song I needed to learn for music. The only thing I seemed to be able to read was sheet music, probably because it didn't have words and I actually seemed to understand it. I pulled the math book to me from the stack of the other textbooks on my floor in the centre of my room. I was behind in math the most at the moments, mostly because I needed to read the questions multiple times before I understood the questions and I already had a problem with reading. The words never seemed to stay still on the page as I wanted them to. They moved if I looked at them too long. It was worse the smaller the words where they moved faster quicker so I couldn't even try to learn to read them. I looked down at the numbers and letters that started moving on the page and threw the book into the wall out of anger. Why was it I couldn't just open a book and manage to read one sentence? Why did I have to be born like this? Why was I so stupid? If the words would just stay still on the page it would be so much easier, I could breeze by in school like the other students did and actually complete the school work I needed to be done for homework or the actual school work that needed to be done in class. Teachers wouldn't try to make me feel stupid and I would be able to read out loud in class. I got up off the floor making sure to leave to book at the spot it had landed on the floor cleaning up my eyes and controlled my breathing from the anxiety attack I had earlier over dad coming home. I heard him open the fridge pulling out the all too familiar sound of his beer bottle and opened it. The bottle cap rolled along the counter making a spinning noise until it stopped soundlessly lying face down on the counter. I changed and curled up in my bed feeling the aches from my muscles and bruises being punished. I just kept remembering the way he explained it worked to me. The nerves in my body were connected to my brain. I couldn't actually look it up because I wouldn't be able to read it long enough to figure it out. I rubbed my upper arm and cried myself to sleep like I did most nights.