Personal Narrative: My First Experience With Anxiety

There’s one issue that almost every teenager can relate to; it makes you constantly worried, it can cause your heart to beat out of your chest, and sometimes it can even make you want to just give up and have a meltdown. With hundreds of assignments to write, tests to study for, along with dealing with rude “friends” and just trying to fit in, anxiety can ultimately take over your mind and stay there.

For me, my first experience with anxiety was when I was only 7-years-old. I woke up in the middle of the night, sweating and breathing heavily. You would wonder what would make a young child so distressed, and the truth is, I have no idea why I was. I ran into my parent’s room and I poked at them to help me. They were annoyed because this happened most nights; and it was always for the same reason. I was worried that my agenda and my books would magically disappear from my backpack while it was dark. I would force them to come downstairs with me to check to see if they were still there, and only when I knew for sure that they were still safe in my bag would I go back upstairs and fall asleep.

These thoughts of worry would crowd my mind and would ultimately overwhelm me to the point where I wouldn't know what to do and start to cry or throw-up. I needed to find something that would occupy my mind and not let me think of all the things I was a afraid of. I asked my entire family what they did to make themselves feel better, but they never had a clear-cut answer. So instead, I observed what they would do in their free time. What I found out was that they would sit in their rooms quietly, wrapped up in a book. My sister had always tried to get me to read her books, but I always felt discouraged because I was a slow reader compared to my family, and I couldn't understand most of the big words and all the metaphors. I felt stupid in my own home, like I didn’t deserve to belong to my intelligent family. I thought to myself that maybe since I was a bit older now, reading books could perhaps comfort my scattered brain. So I decided to give it a try.

I remember the first novel I had ever read. I would wake up early on a beautiful summer day, before anyone else was awake. I had the whole house to myself, and the universe felt tranquil. I’d read for hours; the story making me forget about everything that bothered me. Not only did it make me feel better, but it finally made me feel like I was normal and a part of the family. Eventually, I was reading all sorts of books; ones about a girl living in World War I, or an 11-year-old boy finding out he’s a wizard and attends a magical school.

This lead me to imagine my own magical words in my head.

I would do this everywhere; in the car, before I fell asleep, and every day at school. Whenever my report card came in, every teacher mentioned in the comments that I had trouble concentrating in class. I decided eventually that I would try to write down my stories on actual paper. I would spend hours at my desk writing about whatever came to my imagination. The window would be opened so I could feel he fresh breeze, and I could hear the pitter-patter of the rain. It would calm me; take me to a whole other world where my problems didn't exist. I recently looked back at the first story I had ever written. It was this story about a mermaid being bullied at school. I cringed at each sentence I read; the words I wrote were repetitive and boring, the dialogue was empty and weak. I’d like to think I’ve grown a lot since

then.

But I’m afraid that since I’m older and now have more responsibilities, there doesn't seem to be much free time at all. Although I used to write and read during my free time, I now hardly have time to just relax and take a minute to myself. I still have the same level of anxiety, but now I have less time to deal with it. There’s no time to think of ways to get over the pain; my main challenge now is to finish essays, assignments, and study for tests all within the same week. Who has time to really do anything else if they actually want to pass their classes? I certainly don’t.