In the past, I have always written down my thoughts and
feelings as though someone else would be reading them or like they were the
inner dialogue to a character in a movie. They had to be interesting, funny,
depressing…I couldn’t just feel. I think this says a lot about me as a person.
I need to feel important; like I matter. If my story isn’t interesting, then
who wants to hear it? Boring is bad. We should strive to be different. Everyone
roots for the underdog or less fortunate. No one cares about the normal. I,
Anna Reese, view myself as painfully normal.
The first time I ever had a
panic attack I was in the 2nd grade and had never been introduced to
mental illness. My mom, brother, and I were watching “Snow White and the Seven
Dwarfs” when I started feeling like something was wrong – I mean, besides the
fact that Disney made a movie about a woman shacking up with seven men while
her evil step mother tried to poison her with an innocent fruit. The feeling
came suddenly and it was real. I was CERTAIN that I was dying. My end had come.
In true Anna fashion, I became dramatic. I ran outside with tears streaming
down my face and shaking my hands to the point of pain. My mom followed me
outside to see what was going on. Pacing back and forth and with all sincerity
I said to her “mom, call the priest. I am dying. He needs to be here now. I CAN’T
go to hell. I need to make things right.” This was the first of countless panic attacks
that would soon dominate my life.
I hate to admit it but sometimes
(a lot of times) I envy people who had a rough childhood or overcame the odds.
In my mind, their feelings are justified. They are interesting, inspiring
individuals that give you hope and prove that you can overcome any obstacle.
The biggest obstacle that I have overcome is living with my anxiety and OCD.
Poor Anna, right? One of the many of Americans who have to turn to
medication because life is just too hard. My loving family, amazing job,
supportive friends, abundance of food, and opportunities to do things most
people never get the chance to do just aren’t enough. I need more and I that really eats at me. I should always be happy.
Although deep down I know my
anxiety/OCD is valid and something that I have struggled with for a long time,
I can’t help but beat myself up sometimes for allowing it to affect me - like I
can control it or just choose for it to go away. (Note for friends of friends
with mental illnesses, the worst advice you can ever give someone who is having
a panic attack is “just stop.” Don’t you think if we could, we would?) When I
was younger, I never viewed my condition as bad. Don’t get me wrong, I knew it
sucked and it wasn't something I would wish upon my worst enemy but I accepted it. It was something that came with being “Anna” and I dealt with it.
As I grew older, my view toward my condition changed.
In high school I started hating
myself for having mental illnesses rather than dealing with it. I tried to
change myself many times in hopes of changing my mind. I was what I like to
call a “phaser”. I would hang out with a certain group of people, adopt some of
their qualities (without ever changing the core of who I was), and successfully
escape from my (as I saw it) pitiful self. Each phase had the same ending. After distracting myself from my real emotions for a certain amount of
time, they would inevitably start back up when I became comfortable with the
group and my new identity. That was when I knew it was time to move on to the next phase. Although
I am not as bad as I once was, I still have phase-like tendencies. As soon as
distractions wear off or things start getting too real, I’m out. There is
nothing worse than confronting your anxiety face-to-face and not being able to
rise above it. I know this because it happened twice in college and I became so
weak and mentally exhausted that I had to withdraw both times.
This is why I am choosing to
share my thoughts and feelings from now on. Well, at least the ones that I am
okay with sharing to the mass. They may
not be worthy of a million dollar screenplay but they are worthy of something.
I am entitled to my feelings, no matter how silly or unjustified I think they are, and so are
you. Viewing my feelings as validated is going to be a long, painful journey
and I am ready to pack my bags and get moving. Self-worth is in my future.
