vulnerability

Currently, I'm sitting up in my bed, surrounded by pillows and blankets and cats (live ones. I have three). I'm not wearing any makeup, so the acne sprinkled about my chin is visible, and my hair is just up there doing whatever it wants. I'm drinking tea in my gray sweatpants and oversized t-shirt. I'm feeling very vulnerable at the moment.

In the past year, maybe, I've opened up a lot about my struggles with anxiety and my road to recovery. I talk to people about it openly and answer questions willingly. But I realized a few days ago that I've never written about it. I put a little bit of everything on this blog. I'm honest and raw (or at least, I try to be), and sometimes I'm even a little harsh. I've touched on religion and education, but I've never written about this. So today, in my vulnerable state, I'm going (try to) to bare all and write about my GAD.

The Facts
GAD stands for Generalized Anxiety Disorder. GAD is a relatively common mental health condition. It affects 6.8 million adults (age 18 and older), or 3.1% of the U.S. population. (Women are twice as likely to be affected as men.) "A person with GAD is often worried or anxious about many things that other people don't find any reason to be anxious about, and finds it hard to control this anxiety." Anxiety disorders are highly treatable, yet only about one-third of those suffering ever receive treatment (I am a part of the one third). Anxiety disorders develop from a complex set of risk factors, including genetics, brain chemistry, personality, and life events (for me, it was that last one. But that's a different story, and probably not a story to be shared via the internet). GAD is NOT to be confused with Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD).

Statistics provided by the Anxiety and Depression Association of America

Me
I was diagnosed with Generalized Anxiety Disorder when I was between the ages of six and seven years old. I started first grade at a public elementary school like every other kid my age, but then my parents decided to pull me out of public school around November of that same school year, because I wasn't able to handle the public school environment. The noise, the immensity of the school building, the unfamiliarity of everything, the being-away-from-my-parents-and-cats, the jostling and the pushing; it was all just too much. So, in this fight-or-flight moment, I flew. I got away.

I was home schooled by my parents for the rest of first grade, and all of second and third grade. Being home schooled allowed me to focus on my education in a familiar, stress-free environment. The number of anxiety attacks decreased, and my parents and doctors figured I was getting better. So, at the end of third grade, I took a re-entry exam administered by a school official to make sure that I knew everything I needed to know to start fourth grade. I passed with flying colors (my parents are good teachers), and re-entered public school at the start of fourth grade. My parents decided that it would be good for me to get used to public school again before I had to transition to middle school (they didn't want to homeschool me for middle or high school, because they knew that there were a lot of opportunities that I would miss out on if I didn't go to public school for those important developmental years).

It was hard to go back to public school, because it was extremely difficult for me to be away from my parents for six hours straight, and to be surrounded by loud, obnoxious, uncontrolled elementary schoolers for that time. It was kind of like the first half of first grade all over again - except the kids were bigger than they had been before. I felt overwhelmed and lost and scared that year, and I often left for school in the morning sobbing and clinging to my mom, and came home in the same state. 

Fourth grade was hard, fifth grade was a little easier. But sixth grade was the worst (to this day, I remember that year as the worst year of my life). I threw up before school every day that year. I wasn't able to eat breakfast. When I was able to stomach lunch, I ate them alone in the guidance office, because I couldn't face the noise and craziness of the school lunchroom. I couldn't handle field trips, so I just didn't go on any. 

At one point that year, I think I was seeing three different therapists/psychologists at the same time. My parents were doing all they could to, basically, help me learn how to handle myself in public settings, and how to not only think of the worst things that could happen (for example, one of my biggest constant fears was that my parents would be killed in a car accident, and my sister and I would be left orphans).

Anxiety attacks were (and still are) definitely a thing. When I'm thrown into a new situation and have to face new people, a new place, an activity I've never tried/participated in before, etc., I clam up and my stomach starts to churn and tumble. Usually I refuse/am unable to speak. I avoid eye contact. I build myself a "mental box" and duct tape myself up in that thing. Crying usually happens, too. This is a common anxiety attack.

My personal anxiety is triggered by the fear of the unknown. When I don't know what to expect, am unfamiliar with my surroundings/the situation I'm in, that's when I get anxious. Which sucks, because you can't really get through a normal week without encountering an unfamiliar situation. If you can, you're probably a hermit living in a cave in the middle of the desert (all due respect to hermits living in caves in the middle of deserts). 

This isn't me begging for your pity or your sympathy or your sad looks. This isn't me being showy and trying to appear crippled and sad by flaunting this disorder in your face. This isn't my cry for help. This is me, telling you about this part of me that you may not have been aware of before. This is me being real, and raw, and vulnerable. 

But there's something else you should know. Despite anxiety being a part of who I am, I am not my disorder. I do not live my life as "the girl with anxiety." I am not afflicted by GAD. I used to be. I used to let it hold me back and control me. But I'm so much wiser now. I'm so much stronger. It took years to get to where I am now, and I am so proud of the immense progress that I've made on my road to recovery. Yes, I still have a long ways to go - a million more miles, you might say. ("OH, THAT'S WHERE THE TITLE OF HER BLOG COMES FROM!" Yeah.) But every day is a little easier, and I strongly believe that it will only keep getting better from here. 

Today
Today, I am a happy, healthy, accomplished sophomore in high school. I'm an active member of my community and in my school; I'm a co-captain of my school's improvisational acting troupe, I'm in three select honors choirs, I'm an honors student, I volunteer in class and speak to my peers on popular social issues. I'm a firm believer in individuality and the freedom to self-expression, and I love opening peoples' eyes to ways they can change and better themselves, so they might live more fully - the same way my therapists and psychologists and parents helped me begin to overcome the worst of my anxiety disorder, and start to really live my life. Today, I actually like putting myself out there and making my voice heard.

Today I am content. And I am strong. Sometimes, when things get really rough - the load of schoolwork piles on, my boyfriend and I have a fight, a big choir contest is coming up, or I simply start to doubt myself and my abilities - I still get anxious. But now I have the tools to deal and cope with it, and I am forever grateful to the multiple people who have helped me learn to access those tools. 

Today, when I am in a "fight or flight" situation, I can confidently decide to fight.

So, there's that. Just a piece of me that I am finally able to share with you guys. If you have any further questions, or just want to know more, please feel free to contact me (if you have that information), or simply leave a comment below. I'll try my best to answer any questions that you may have.

Thank you so much for taking time out of your day to learn about this part of me, and thank you to those of you who have stood by me and kept me in your prayers over the years - you know who you are. It really means the world.

h