Letters from an anxious person

Big girl school

You may be thinking "well I guess that's the end of it right?". That we had decided I had a childhood phobia and now everything was going to go back to normal. Well for a couple of years, you'd be correct. First, second and even third grade all went by with minimal issues. My parents were pleased that I had been doing well and we were all very excited for me to start the fourth grade.

Now, fourth grade was super important. It meant that I had moved on from being the little kiddie grades and was now in what I called: Big girl school. Needless to say, I was SO excited. I was basically going to be the queen of the school, minus the very tall and scary fifth and sixth graders. The summer between third and fourth grade went by as fast as ever and before I knew it, I was walking into my first full day as a fourth grader.

First up on the list of big girl school things, find a seat in the cafeteria. I held my friends hands tightly as we stepped into the big kids area in our cafeteria. I quickly turned to my friend Julia and asked her where we were going to sit. She looked at me with a perplexed look and said: "Is your nose bleeding?". I touched my face and sure enough a drop of blood stained my finger. And so I raised my hand and was excused to head to the washroom and clean myself up.

As I left the cafeteria a familiar sound made my heart skip a beat. I slowly turned around to see a boy from my class throwing up his entire breakfast. I felt my head start spinning, my heart pounding so loud I'm surprised no one heard it. My legs were frozen and even though I wanted to run away, I couldn't.

Recess came along and I couldn't shake the feeling of complete panic. I hadn't had an "attack" since kindergarten, and this time it wasn't going away. I sat on the warm grass outside and immediately started to ball my eyes out. And as most children do, all of the fourth grade girls came rushing to my aid. "What's wrong?" they asked. I didn't know what to answer, mostly because well I didn't know the answer. So I answered what would make the most sense. I simply told all of them that I was just sad and really missed my home. This came as a shock to most of them seeing as though we were now the big kids in the school.

They all tried their best to comfort and console me, but nothing would work. The recess bell rang and as I was slowly walking back to my line, I heard a voice. "Come with me"she said. I followed the young lady into her office in which she began questioning me. I felt like a science experiment that had gone completely wrong. She asked about my life, my siblings, my friends. Pretty much anything she could ask that would even remotely explain my sudden bout of sadness. And to no avail, she couldn't figure it out.

Phobia? Nope. Homesick? Nope. Bullied? Nope. Nothing fit the feeling in my chest, and worst of all nothing in my life was wrong. I had loads of friends, a great loving family and had never been bullied. Rethinking that moment now I realize how crazy I felt. I thought I belonged in a crazy house. Why would a girl with the perfect life be crying her eyes out? Why am I not happy? Those questions haunted me daily.

Did these "attacks" subside just like in kindergarten? Not at all. It became a daily occurrence for me to freak out the minute my mom's car pulled into the school parking lot. I stopped eating anytime I was in that building. Weekends became my only "calm time". I would purposely set a 6 am alarm so that I would have more time to spend awake in my house. I refused to go to birthday parties, well actually I refused to go anywhere without my mom.

At nine years old, I became a complete recluse. I lost all of my friends. No one understood why I came to school with tears in my eyes and why I refused to eat. Needless to say, I began hating myself for everything that was going on. The trouble I caused my parents, the fights they had because of me and the sleepless nights they had, trying to console me when my brain would take over.

Calming teas, relaxation techniques, we tried it all. Nothing stuck. Near the end of the school year my parents decided that I needed help. Not from them, but from a professional who knew what he was doing. And so my father contacted an old friend of his. A psychologist to be exact. He was a nice man, very calm and grounded. I felt comfortable with him. For the first time in months I was able to spend an hour away from my mom, and that was a great feat.

That year ended and I felt more hopeless than ever. We had stopped seeing my therapist because my parents thought I was finally doing better. I didn't have as many "attacks" as before, however I had forgotten what life was like without sadness and fear. It may sound crazy but, I felt comfortable being miserable. It somehow became my new normal.