All About Me

5. A Boken Soldier Won't Fight

Travel back in time with me to the not-so-distant past.
I had a way to get through the day when I was in 1st grade I always had a way of talking to people calmly and slowly. I always knew what to do and when to do it. I always had a system for everything. Then we moved into Redding, and that's when the toy soldier broke.
Even when I was little, my OCD was a big problem. It would always give me something to be ticked at. I was a wind-up toy soldier; I always walked in the same pattern everyday when I got wound up in the morning. Then a spring broke loose when I heard we were moving to a new town.
I still remember that night that we left the house in full detail. I remember the tears running down my face as I sat on my couch for the last time, my parents explaining to me where our new house was. I remember meeting who was taking the house, trying to hide my emotions from them. I remember the car ride to our new home, worried about making new friends at a new school. I remember leaving my friends behind, both Jacob and Andy. I remember when I fainted in the hallway of our new home, thinking and hoping it was all a dream and that I'd wake up sooner or later. I remember the vivid colors that flashed through my head, the red of hatred, the blue of despair. I remember the doctor diagnosing me with OCD once and for all, finally putting the myth to rest. I remember meeting my new teacher on the first day. I remember getting made fun of for being the "new kid," my pain being the only thing to lighten their day.
That's when I learned how to be silent and secluded. That's when the little toy soldier didn't march anymore. He didn't raise his rifle on his way to battle. He didn't call to his army to attack. He stood there, his mouth sewn shut, his eyes always dotted with terror and sadness. I passed other soldiers in the hallways of my new school, but I never could muster up the courage to say "hi" or "hello." I would walk in silence. I never raised my hand. I never sat with anyone at lunch. I never showed what was on the inside of me. I never shared my thoughts. I was broken.
I never did completely recover. I still have anxiety attacks at times when things remind me of what happened. They can last from a few minutes to a half-hour. I try to keep them to myself so my parents don't worry, but it's hard. I still have OCD, but I've learned to handle it. I've adapted.
This toy soldier's still broken. Just in a lesser ways than before.

Nick's note: This was probably the hardest chapter to write yet. I know where I'm going, but this definitely took a long time. I must of had, like, 3 or 4 anxiety attacks and, like, 5 moments where I just had to stop as I wrote this. When all those memories flood in your brain, crap hits the fan. And it hits hard. And don't think this is the end, 'cause it isn't. In fact, it's only gotten started. Hope you all are enjoying this as much as I am. Though it's hard, it's worth it.