I was diagnosed with an Anxiety Disorder when I was eleven years old. My parents noticed something wrong with me when I was young and in prep. First they thought it was a learning disability so they had me checked out by a ‘special’ lady who wore too much perfume. Turns out I was fine, smarter than the average kid my age actually. Mum came home smiling wide and telling me I was gifted. I remember she said I had a great memory and my IQ was higher than the average kid. Mum seemed so excited.
When I moved to primary school I still had trouble learning so they had me tested for hearing. I was in a box with headphones and they told me every time I heard the little buzzing noise I was to tap the box. I tapped every time and passed the test.
Next was an eye test. It seemed easy enough and I passed with flying colours. Then came all the people I had to go see, people with too wide of smiles asking you to play with toys while they write down notes. I didn’t mind. I liked the toys.
Eventually my parents gave up. They didn’t know what was wrong with me all through primary school. It wasn’t until I moved to high school that one of the teachers thought it could be anxiety. I didn’t fully understand myself when the doctors explained it to my parents. Shouldn’t I be the one getting it explained to? I am the one with the condition. My parents told me I was different. Special. And sometimes I would feel strange and there would be a monster talking in my head, telling me lies but I had to ignore it. They never told me how hard it would be.
It was around then I got close to my cousin. I loved going to her house and playing with the mud and in the Dam, despite how cold it would be and with the crazy eel swimming around in there. We use to hunt hell hounds and play with the chickens we could never catch. Things went bad when she came to my school and got bullied by some of my friends. Something happened and we lost contact after I doubted her. I should have known about the bullying and done something, but I didn’t realize.
She moved shortly after and I couldn’t blame her. We had a falling out, including both our parents getting mad and fighting.
In year eight when I was fourteen I had a rough year. Almost every day I was scared to leave the house and I had an anxiety attack. My mum got mad; she threw her keys at me and left me for the day usually. Calling me worthless. She would calm down by the time she got home and would most likely ignore me. When I had an attack with dad he would be different. Grabbing me by my arm and dragging me to the car, kicking and screaming. He threw me outside while I sobbed and blocked the door so I couldn’t get back inside. They would put child lock on in the car and I would try to break through the window.
One day I cried at school. One of the religion teachers, the one all the students thought was weird, took me into her office and told me about life and said it’s ok to cry. She gave me tissues and thankfully I had her class next. From that day I always liked her and defended her when the kids bagged her.
My friends would see me crying and ask what’s wrong. I couldn’t tell them about my parents, forcing me into the car. So I simply said anxiety attack and they became sympathetic.
My parents accused me of faking. Of not trying. Of throwing my life away and giving up. They don’t seem to realize that I still get up every morning and deal with this and I hate how they don’t understand.
That was when I met my brother Mk (as I nicknamed him). His been my rock and my best friend, always standing by me and never judging me.
I also met the first guy I ever loved. He was a real sleaze at first but it was all an act because his really the sweetest guy I’ve ever known. When he left I almost died. And now I have a huge hole in my heart just pumping away. I have to keep going without him and it hurts.
Now I’m in year nine. I’ve left the school and have joined a place called AYCE. The kids seem nice, only about six in my class.
My mum has seemed to give up on me, every day saying how much she has sacrificed and how hard it is on her. I would love her to have my life for just a day. My dad seems to be more understanding then her; it’s hard to believe for me. I hate both my parents. A kid shouldn’t hate their parents. The only person I did like was my older sister who’s now living in Perth, another state.
I had my appendix out in the hospital. Ouch!
I have two stones in my salvia gland that the hospital is refusing to take out. Again ouch!
I have blood backing up in my stomach that hurts like hell. OUCH!
I like to write, my mum says it’s a way for me to escape. Guess it’s a pretty good way.
This is the basic sum up of my life if anyone asks.
I’m still breathing and as long as I breathe, I’ll hopefully make it through.
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