Probably the worst feeling in the world is knowing that something is wrong with you and not being able to figure out what it is. Ever since I was little, I’ve always been a worrier. I worried about whether or not people liked me, whether people thought I was pretty, whether or not I was making my parents proud of me.

In some aspects, I blame my parents for not noticing the problem sooner. From the constant picking at myself, whether it was adjusting my clothes to cover myself more, or the whole two months I stopped talking because someone noticed my lisp when I was six. I’m surprised that no one did anything until my senior year of high school.

I never had much luck with dating. I always dated the person that had the worst track record and everyone told me not to go after them. But I never listened. Slowly throughout my last relationship, I noticed how tired I always was, how much more often I was crying. Everything just felt heavy to me, like I was moving through gel. At first, I blamed it on the end of school and the amount of pressure I was under. But when the school year ended, the weight got worse. My boyfriend ignored me, something that I wasn’t used to at all. He would give me excuses, things like “Oh, I’m sorry, babe, I’m working,” or that he was out. And for a while, I believed him. I believed that nothing had changed and that he still loved me.

In the middle of June, he went on a trip to see his father. I expected less contact, knowing that he needed time with his father. But the same thing was happening as before, only worse. I’d go all day before hearing from him. This was a stark contrast to what I was used to before. I was used to talking to him, seeing him every single day, all day. I felt lonely, empty. And I thought I had done something wrong, this lose of contact was because of something I had done.

This brought on a series of new worries, new things for me to focus on. I picked apart my behavior from the past few months, trying to see what was wrong. Was I not smart enough? Was I not pretty enough? Was I not thin enough?

And then I saw it and it was something that was right in front of me the whole time. I wasn’t her, the girl that was before me, the one he still loved.

A day later, he called me. He told me that he didn’t love me, that he never really did. Two weeks later, I told him I was done and I have barely spoken to him since. After that, I couldn’t stop crying. I felt this constant weight on my body. I felt like I couldn’t breathe all the time. No one could say anything about anything that had to do with him without me breaking down.  And every time I would see myself in the mirror, I’d see a girl who wasn’t worth loving. I would see a girl who was only a replacement, almost the same in general looks, but different everywhere else.

I didn’t know I had a serious problem until the first attack came. It felt like something was squeezing me from my sides, trying to push my body into a new shape. I couldn’t breathe, the air going in but not coming out. There were black spots dancing in my vision and I couldn’t focus on anything. I felt like I was going to be sick and I couldn’t stop crying.

And then just as quickly as the attack came, it was done and over with. After this terrifying experience, I decided I needed help. I expected for the counselor to tell me I had something mild, something that I could fix quickly and never have to think about again.

“You’ve probably had generalized anxiety all your life,” she told me and handed me a little booklet of the different types of anxiety and what they all meant. I felt like I wanted to cry, having this disorder that I knew nothing about and now knowing that something was wrong with me. The counselor told me that the experience with him, the first boy I had ever loved, the one who had broken me done more times than I could count, was what trigger the anxiety to get bad.

Now that I know what’s wrong, now that I can fix it, I can work on other things, things that are more important. Things like getting over him, moving past the pain of seeing him with another girl that isn’t me. Working through the pain he left me with, getting over the fear and squeezing I feel whenever I see him, that’s what’s important to me now.  Rebuilding my life after him and getting over the ideas that he put into my head, like that I’m worthless and disgusting is what I need to focus on now.

Proving him wrong, making him understand that I’m better than him and that I deserve way more than what he ever gave me, that’s what is important to me.