Hello, Panic, My Old Friend

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Memoir  |  House: Review Chain


This is for the writing contest and the theme I picked out was mental health and mental-illness. It goes in depth of what it is, I try to go in depth of what it's like living with a mental illness
or a mental disorder.

Submitted: August 02, 2018

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Submitted: August 02, 2018

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Hello, Panic, My Old Friend
 

At the the tender age of fifteen I played the part to be the perfect model student, who relied on heavy ambition, so that I could strive for the perfect grades on a silver platter. I’ve always been the actress who performed on a show, wore a jester mask to conceal my own inner chagrin, until my stage finally titled with panic when I couldn’t hold my own posture anymore. A consuming panic hummed through my body; it heightened my nerves like a tickle, it made my brain absorb coherent thoughts, and my heart began to stop like a rhythmic clock. I indubitably thought that I was going to die. It turned out my diagnose manipulated my body and rewired my brain with consuming panic attacks. The realization that I no longer pulled the strings of my life; it belonged to this obstacle that made myself live in panic. I knew I had to adapt and survive through this diagnosis, even if the model student I used to be would forever be a ghost in the past.
 

The first time I had my panic attack, I felt myself being skyrocketed out of my body. My mind no longer pulled the strings, it had hidden itself in its own dusty attic, where it wanted to remain in the blissful darkness. My body, on the other hand, made myself get high from this disoriented drug I called panic. I remembered how my body warms itself to the panic, to the point where I could have been your personal heater, even though the room I was in had windows breezing in the winter air. My lungs volatilized myself to scream like I was a victim of a horror film. The things I feared painted themselves red on the walls, then it closed in on me so that I couldn’t even breath, and black spots clouded my vision from how disoriented I was. When I came out of my panic attack, I felt myself in a animated silent movie; I couldn’t hear anything coming out of people’s mouths. Then, after about a minute or two, high voices escalated through my eardrums that made me wish everything was silent again. I may have been back to the present for now, but I realized that this could happen to me again, and that I would need medication.
 

If I had auditioned to be an extra zombie on the Walking Dead show, they would have hired me in a heartbeat, since the various antidepressants I took dissolved myself from real life. I became Rapunzel who always feared to leave my own protective tower. I became Sleeping Beauty that never wanted to wake from my once upon a dream. I became Elsa from Frozen that had a talent to shut people out. However, my talent to shut people out began to fickle when my persistent older sister barged in with no problem. Despite the huge twenty year age gap, she understood me and resurrected me with her sentimental words: “Don’t let your own anxieties control your life, be open with your mental disorders, but don’t let it define you as person!” To this day, her words still reassured me when I have my bad days. I’ve always reminded myself I’m a strong heroine, not some damsel in distress that couldn’t carry their own story without a Prince Charming.

 

 




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