Tears fighting desperately to drain from my eyes, I sit in silence trying to remain composed, hoping to be forgotten. My fingers fumble awkwardly with each other trying to give me something to focus on other than what was going on inside me. “Just breathe,” I tell myself.  How could an unconscious act be so difficult? It took everything I had not to scream right then and there. I had held it in for as long as I could and the tears were practically bulging from my eyes. I could no longer breathe. I needed to be alone, no one could see me like this. But then it happened. The gentle touch of my best friend asking if I was alright seemed to ignite the bomb that was inside me. I exploded.

Sitting in the back of a minivan full of kind-hearted best friends did not seem like a place to panic, but then again anxiety attacks don't usually come at any opportune moment. They come as they please. It was the weirdest sensation to be in a completely safe environment, with people that I would entrust my life to, and to feel so utterly panicked and alone. It was terrifying. But let’s rewind a decade or so to get the complete picture.
I am the youngest of five. By some weird stroke of luck I ended up with the most amazing siblings possible. All so unique and yet all striving for the common goal to be the best person they can be. That’s a lot to live up to. Now my family always teased me that I was the “perfect child”. (And trust me I am FAR from it.) Because I was quiet and just enjoyed observing life, it left little room for me to be rambunctious. I never really got in trouble and when I did wrong things, often times I was the only one who noticed. From a young age I disciplined myself for my mistakes more harshly that my parents ever would have. As a result of my family not witnessing my many mistakes, the “perfect child” name stuck with me. How daunting is that? The name itself set an impossible expectation that I felt I needed to achieve. This was in no way the intention of my family, it was just my perception of the name. I began to pressure myself into unrealistic standards that were literally unachievable. I was setting myself up for failure and then saying that failure was unacceptable. My life became an ever turning hamster wheel of disappointment.

Clinical anxiety and depression run deep within the veins of my family. Lucky us. I grew up witnessing the ones I love most struggle constantly with this self destructive battle. I never imagined that I too would be blessed with this trial. For the longest time I hid it deep inside me. Out of fear and denial I never mentioned it to anyone. When I would feel anxious I would muster all the strength I had to push it deep down inside me and put on a act that I was perfectly fine. When I felt depressed I would seclude myself from others and sit in silence staring at my ceiling. I ignored every sign and symptom. Eventually all the bottled up emotions had to come out. But why did they have to pick the night of the big game to make their debut?

That day was somewhat ordinary to start. I proceeded as usual: wake up, go to school and so on and so forth. But that night was the big game! The football game all my friends and I had been looking forward to all summer. I was so excited. Seeing my classmates that I hadn’t seen in months, watching the band perform, painting faces, it all sounded grand. (To be perfectly honest I couldn’t have cared less about the actual sport itself.) I put on my blue orchestra t-shirt, a pair of jeans, and my sky blue converse to match the flood-out theme. I arrived early to ensure we would get a prime seat, or rather a place to stand at all. The bleachers were packed with pumped students ready to cheer and shout. As I began to familiarize myself with my surroundings I couldn't help but feel uneasy. But this time I could not just push it down or shake it off. This time my nerves demanded to be felt. The longer the game went on, the more anxious I felt. It soon became unbearable. Trying to escape this environment so that I could settle down I frantically searched for my friends who I had come with. This way I would be able to get home. When I finally found them, I saw how much fun they were having. How could I take them away from this? “Stop being such a wimp. You're fine. It is all in your head,” I told myself so many times I lost count.
As the game dragged on, I felt more and more uncomfortable. I didn’t even think that it was possible for me to get more anxious, but trust me, it just kept on coming. I don’t even know what was at the center of all my nerves. It could have been all the stimulation going on, or just all of the build up that had come from years of compiled feelings, either way I felt dreadful and I wanted to flee the scene as quickly as possible. Watching the clock was like watching individual grains of sand pass through an hourglass: it was painful! Finally, the game ended and I got out of there as quickly as I could.

When we reached the car I conveniently placed myself alone in the very back row, hoping to go unnoticed. I had never felt so terrible in my life. It felt as though the world was attacking me. I tried my hardest but I just couldn’t do anything. I couldn’t think or even breathe. It felt like the world around me was spinning. Though I sat in silence, I felt that my emotions were playing at 5.1 surround sound. How could I bear this any longer? Whether by prompting or by my noticeable stress, my best friend instinctively knew that something was wrong, no matter how hard I attempted to conceal it.  She reached back and gently placed her hand on my knee. In a soft comforting tone she said “What’s wrong?” I was able to muster the word “anxiety” before a whole life of worry burst from my body. I began sobbing more violently than I ever had in my life. In an instant all the others in the car turned and stared. I had never been more embarrassed. My sobs quickly turned into hyperventilation. I watched as my friends swapped concerned glances at each other. None of them knew what was going on. How awkward this must of been for them. I tried my hardest to remain as calm as possible, but that was pretty hard considering my emotions had an agenda to make me suffer. After what seemed like an eternity I was finally able to control my sobs. What remained was only soft tears trickling down my puffy red cheeks and a slight trembling throughout my body. After coming to my senses I realized that my hand was being clasped tightly by a concerned friend, in an effort to calm me down. This gave me comfort in the fact that I knew I was not alone. We arrived at my friend’s house where I promptly called my brother and frantically pleaded with him to come pick me up and take me home. I thought that being in the familiar walls of my own home would stop my anxiety, but it didn’t. I continued to struggle with this for several more weeks, until I finally asked for real help. I went to the doctor, where I was diagnosed with clinical anxiety and depression. From there I was able to find treatments and coping mechanisms to help me manage my anxiety.

This experience taught me more than I could have ever imagined. It was because of this that I finally was able to reach out and ask for help. I don’t know about others, but  the hardest part in coping with my anxiety, or anything else in life, is finally humbling myself and admitting to my weaknesses. Admitting to weakness puts me in such a vulnerable position. Despite my fear of being vulnerable, communicating my struggles, leaves room for others to come in and help. I have also learned that my family in no way expects me to be the “perfect child”, and neither does anyone else. They were merely trying to compliment me on how hard I worked and were showing admiration and love. Reaching out in time of need is absolutely terrifying, but is essential in the healing process. It took me a meltdown in the back of a minivan to learn this, but at least I have a story to tell, no matter how hard it was. Don’t be afraid to listen to the symptoms and share them with others. If I want the world to learn one thing, it’s that talking to others about what is on your mind can prevent unnecessary torment and heartache.