Anxiety is different for everyone. For some, it’s daily panic attacks, for others, it might be feeling anxious before school. With this post, I’m going to share how anxiety affected me.
Let’s start at the beginning…
I can’t remember exactly when I started feeling anxious – it was more so a kind of feeling that way always there, but it just became more prominent as I got older. I would always be shy around distant relatives and new people, I would NEVER speak or raise a hand in class, and I would genuinely think I would die if somebody raised their voice at me (unfortunately to some extent, I still believe this to be true).
It started getting more serious when physical symptoms started affecting me day to day. I remember this time vividly. I was 11 years old, and I had began experiencing horrific stomach pain, every single day (especially before school started). I began missing school more often than I’d like to admit, and at one point believe I took 2 consecutive weeks off for these pains.
My family were of course concerned and we visited the doctors and hospital multiple times, only to find there was nothing physically wrong with me at all – and that’s when I first heard my symptoms referred to as ‘anxiety’. Now, at 11, I didn’t really understand what anxiety was, and how it somehow had the power to make me feel physically ill – after all, mental and physical health are completely different, right? Young, naïve, little me was wrong, of course. From these frequent doctors visits, and after getting the school involved, at age 12 I was given a hall pass for lessons – where I could simply hand over this laminate piece of paper to a teacher and leave the classroom to take a breather. Now, you can probably guess where this is going… I never used the hall pass because, of course, I was too anxious to. My mind would race with questions like: What if they didn’t understand what it was for? What if I wasn’t allowed to leave? What if everyone stares at me as I stand up? It was all just too much.
So, from there, I just kind of dealt with it, and accepted that it had become a part of who I was. My school attendance was poor, my parents were frustrated, and I was still in pain. It was awful. Highschool didn’t help the situation either. Though, I’m sure that’s kind of expected, when you move to a new school and adopt a new routine. Though, the frustrating part here is, I love learning, and I’m somehow incredibly confident when it comes to making new friends – my downfall, as I found, was the careless teachers.
Lets discuss: I’m sure most of us at some point have made an excuse to miss school, because we knew we had a presentation on that day. Well, that happened to me. Unfortunately in my case, I was still expected to do my presentation on the next day … In front of everyone. I remember being frustrated and flustered at this point, because I explicitly remember pulling my teacher to the side, and explaining that I have anxiety and simply cannot perform in front of others, to which she said “I understand. But everyone has to do it.” After this, I kind of gave up asking for help, because I felt there were no accommodations that could be made, even if I did speak up on how badly it was affecting me.
At this point, I began wondering, since when has fairness been more important than a child’s mental well-being?
My attendance still sucked, my mental and physical health were still plummeting, but hey – at least I got the grades I needed, right?
After finishing high school, I decided to complete my A-Levels, which, in themselves, were fairly enjoyable. Though, it wasn’t quite that simple, and due to the small class sizes, and therefore, added attention on myself, I still struggled to make it into class everyday.
At one point, and I don’t know what switched, but my mum realised just how bad my mental health had gotten – by this point I was borderline depressed, to make things worse. Being the lovely woman she is, she allowed me to have 3 days off school, with no worry – she explained the situation to my head of year and expressed that we all need a break sometimes. And man, do we. During those 3 days, I spent 2 of them trying my best to relax at home, and on the other day, my mum treated me to a day out shopping (lunch included); I think that’s when I realised that maybe some people were understanding when it came to mental health.
Now, we obviously can’t expect everyone in the world to be understanding and appreciative of our mental health issues, but I think if you’re a teacher, or are running a school, then you should probably know the warning signs. Instead of hammering on at students for having ill-attendance, why not just pull them to one side, ask how they’re doing, or if there’s anything they need? That is what students need. We suffer from enough torment mentally, so there’s no need to add onto that by adding to the embarrassment.
Unfortunately, those 3 days, as nice as they were, weren’t quite enough to solve my mental health issues, and one day, I completely broke down at school. At that time, it was suggested to me that I see the school counsellor once a week to talk about things.
I remember on one occasion, we had a nurse visit to talk with us, instead of the usual counsellor – I thought at this point that I might actually get the help I needed – I didn’t. When she visited, and I entered that office, I didn’t feel at all welcome or at ease; I felt as though I was being interviewed. She asked me the generic questions, “How do you feel when you say you get anxious?”, and “What coping strategies do you use?”, so I answered honestly, as you do. Then came the questions that I don’t think I was mentally prepared for. She asked me if I had ever considered hurting myself.
Now, I’ve never actually desired to hurt myself, but I knew in that moment what question was coming next. And to that, I replied yes. This might sound weird to some, but I found myself in such desperation, that I didn’t want to hurt myself, but I desperately wanted it all to end.
I had never told an adult of my suicidal thoughts before – I’d only ever told maybe 1 or 2 of my close friends. I guess what I was expecting, and needed, from her was sympathy, or maybe an ounce of care, but no. In response to that, all I received was another question; “What stops you from doing it?”. I replied with all I could think of in that moment – how it would affect my friends and family. After this, she simply moved on, making notes as she did so, and said the normal counsellor would be back next week. She offered no practical advice, and no words of sympathy. I felt like I had been failed again – and this time, by someone who I thought would be able to save me.
That session didn’t go how I expected it to, and despite telling an adult (and a stranger, at that), about my darkest thoughts, I felt just as bad leaving as I did entering. You would expect to feel relief, right? At least, that’s what I’d hoped.
I must mention, I did at one point, at the beginning of my A-Levels, go to a GP on my own, about my moods and tried reaching out externally for help. Although, just like the rest of my experiences with anxiety, it didn’t help. If anything, it made it worse. How? I’ll tell you now.
I walked into that appointment expecting to walk out with a CAHMS appointment, a prescription, or some advice, but I got nothing.
As soon as I walked into the room, I noticed two student doctors sat at the back of the room. That immediately made me feel uneasy, because what’s worse than telling a stranger you feel depressed – having to tell 3 strangers. Then, in front of the students, I was asked if I wanted them to stay, or if I’d been more comfortable with them out of the room. Now, with the lack of education and the stigma around mental health, I decided it would be best for me to have this appointment one on one. But thinking back, maybe they should’ve stayed. Immediately after I suggested wanting to be alone in the room, the GP looked disappointed, and urged me to tell him why I’m attending the appointment. I didn’t really know what to say exactly, because I still hadn’t gotten the hang of admitting I’m not okay, so I told him I was experiencing ‘low moods’. He just stared at me. And then, he asked, “Okay, and what do you expect me to do to help you?”. I had no idea, so I became confused. My mind was racing, thinking: you’re the doctor. You’re supposed to be the one with the answers. Safe to say, I left that appointment feeling embarrassed, and clutching leaflets for websites with advice on mental health conditions. All of which had month long waiting lists for appointments. Thinking back, I don’t think those leaflets ever saw the light of day.
Anyway, let’s fast forward. Give or take a couple of panic attacks and depressive episodes, it finally came time for me to be happy. I’d just moved in with my partner, I began a new job outside of town and was glad to have some financial responsibility and be able to look after a home that we called ours. That was, until January 2023.
I don’t know exactly what happened, and man, I wish I did – but all I know is that my anxiety peaked, and it still hasn’t come down. Here’s how I remember it:
I was attending work one morning, when all of a sudden I felt violently light-headed. I put down all of my stuff, walk as quickly as I can to the staff room and try to slow my breathing. I walk back out into the corridor and contemplate telling my supervisor (an absolutely lovely woman by the way), but as soon as I see she’s in her office with our boss, I lose hope of talking to her. Why? I was too anxious to faint in front of my boss. You honestly can’t make it up. So instead, I go back into the staff room, get myself some water, and sit with my head between my knees until I feel calm enough to return to work. And return to work, I did.
Since that day I still haven’t felt right. My head always feel fuzzy, I’m permanently tired and I even struggle to leave the house – forever afraid that I’ll collapse and have nobody there to help me. And do you know what triggers these episodes? Anxiety. So, basically, my anxiety makes me anxious. What kind of logic is that?
On month 3 of feeling this way, I called it quits, and after multiple doctor and hospital appointments (and periods of convincing myself I had a brain tumour), I decided to suggest trying going on medication for my anxiety. I’d love to say since that day I’ve been thriving, but I haven’t. I have good days, and bad days, just like everybody else, but recently they’ve been getting bad again, and I’m once again finding it hard to leave the house without having someone I trust with me. It sucks, but that’s anxiety for you.
I’m hopeful things will get better though – you kind of have to be when things like this take you by surprise. I’ve been open with my partner and with my family about my struggles and we’re currently working on a form of ‘exposure therapy’, where I can take one step at a time (not literally, otherwise I wouldn’t get anywhere), so that I can eventually build up the courage to get out the house, on my own, without convincing myself I’m going to die.
So, here’s to taking one step at a time.
Let’s take this journey together.
My Mind, Mostly. 
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