Friday, August 8, 2008

A little bit about me...

Chapter 1.
Little Girl Lost.
Living with Anxiety - the early years.

To share this is difficult. I have to go deep. Yet writing down the bones of my life has become a cathartic source of therapy for me. If nothing makes sense, I apologize. It's the way I live and the thoughts become emotions which in turn become words.

To start, I've worn my heart on my sleeve to a fault for many years. Most folks may find this disconcerting but if I can reach out to anyone, I know it wasn't in vain.

I've always been the most honest about my faults, flaws and insecurities. I don't know why but it's been good for me to be open provides a source of seek and help. I mean what the hell? I have nothing to lose that I haven't lost already - which is my mind.

I remember my first anxiety attack. I was only a little girl, maybe about 5 years old.

My Godmother/Aunt and Uncle along with my Grandparents took me every weekend to church, breakfast at the diner and then grocery shopping. One particular weekend, we went to visit friends of my grandparents. I remember sitting there while they talked and getting a sudden homesickness pang for my mom.

We lived in the same city and were only 20 minutes away but the separation anxiety was intense. And the fact that I didn't understand why I was feeling that way manifested the anxiety even more.

The next thing I know, I was crying to go home.

It began then, twisted and reinvented itself in many forms and hasn't stopped since.

I had separation anxiety throughout my school years. Usually my morning ritual consisted of waking up, getting sick in the bathroom, packing my books and getting sick in the hallway at the school.

I'd spend the day in class staring at the clock thinking the time would go fast. It didn't. Numerous phone calls from the nurse's office for my mom or grandfather to pick me up from school became a habit during my school years.

When it was back to school after summer or Christmas holiday, I would cry myself to sleep, vomit and have irritable bowel. The onset of panic became familiar and horrible from the earliest age.

Once puberty hit, a different set of anxieties occurred and now depression started to follow. Why was I different? Why couldn't I spend a weekend with my friends at the shore without feeling an overwhelming sense of doom and panic...? Why did I always feel sick and sad all the time?

My home life was happy for the most part. My dad worked and went to night school, mom was a homemaker except for Thursdays when she worked at the local city newspaper taking classifieds. My two older sisters kept busy with their school and social activities. I had a set of good friends and excelled in school.

Still from an early age, a pang of worry, grief and despair trailed me.

More to come...

No comments: