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A Tale for the Anxious

A Series in Parts from a First Person Perspective

By Allyson RadfordPublished 7 years ago 4 min read
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Inside of my mind is a whole other world, of course how cliché. A whirlwind of colors and swirls, hues that the human eye cannot comprehend. My fears lie nestled within rocky cliffs and unforeseen storms on the sea. My head is a world that contains all that is. All that an individual learns, interprets, understands, etc. There's a quiet menace that likes to haunt my thoughts, a gang of demons that entangle themselves in my mind’s forests like poisonous vines cutting off a tree’s circulation. The human brain has a funny way of dealing with trauma, doesn't it?

We create horror movies, thrillers, action, and adventure films to satisfy or quench a hunger, a thirst. We entertain ourselves with things that frighten, overwhelm, and excite us. For some, simple day to day tasks can be mind-numbingly difficult. For instance, do you or did you ever get that feeling in your chest? That lump in your throat when it's your time to present something? Whether that be a school essay, project, job interview, or business plan? Most of the brain is calm. You've got this! You have literally practiced and read over these note cards an obscene amount of times. Plus, it's not like anyone in your anatomy class really cares to listen to a ten minute speech on the history of Polynesian culture. For some ungodly reason though, you start sweating, your face gets beat red... hot. hands are damp, knees weak arms are heavy. Just kidding about that last part. You start stuttering and tripping over words, speaking faster than anyone ever should, wanting to puke but in the moment your head still feels okay. Then finally, it's done. Colleagues give a pat on the back and a gentle wink and nod to assure you that “hey, you're alright, kid.” You start to to wonder and over think, is this reassurance out of pity? Spite? No you buffoon, they're human beings trying to calm your crazy ass down from another attack. Attack. It's terrorism of your home front. A civil war. An army forming from the inside to destroy from within.

It's called... Anxiety.

Anxiety is a menace. It's not some cute, quirky, cut, and dry thing. It's not always as simple as someone biting at their nails or playing with their hair too often. It's not that enigma that's overly misconstrued, romanticized, and poorly portrayed on blogging sites. It's not some aesthetic of a pale girl with bruises on her leg. That's not cute. Sorry if you have some self-indulgent fetish over seeing people suffer. That's what people don't understand. It's a disease, an ailment, a cancer if you will... something that even with all the treatment in the world will never go away completely. People suffer, people fight, and sometimes the disease wins. Yes, people take their own lives due to this thing. Sure, it may start out as nail biting, nervous eye shifting, a little bit of rapid heart beat. Then you start noticing you're different. That Susie bites her nails as a ‘bad habit’ and Marcus is sweating because he's hitting early puberty. You sit in class in third grade and realize for the first time, you're not like them. You're clumsy, you cry when the bus is late.. .and you don't just bite your nails, you start biting at flesh. Knuckles first, the pinching your wrists, scratching at your thighs and collar bones. You're having an attack. And all the other kids merrily prance around as your entire world crumbles and melts around you into a hazy disaster. This is the first time, and you have lost this battle... for now.

So what is this? Some woe is me sad sap wording of another lazy millennial? I'll always be my own bully, my worst critic, the judge. One day my sentence will say not guilty, and validate all the pain I've felt. How dramatic, a young and privileged white girl whining to the world again. Never could make up my mind about anything. What gender I was, what I wanted for breakfast, ya know important stuff. You run in the bathroom or a bedroom when things get rough. You used to try to fight back, argue with others who were wrong... push back those who hurt you physically and mentally and here you are. You flashback to eighth grade when a scatter-brained kid sulked into a Mike's hard that she stole. Lights a makeshift bong with some lighter she found in the street, and prays to a god she doesn't believe in to make it all go away. Look how far someone can come, and look how far they can slip. I've been riddled with demons my entire life, and for once I'm finally ready to fight them. Head on, I mean. Not just metaphorically either, literally battling everyday, fighting off triggers and voices in the back of my head saying I'm not good enough. I am good enough, in fact I'm more than good enough. I just wish I'd realized that sooner.

It wasn’t all bad though, growing up. I’m not some American horror story. I wasn’t locked in a basement, I wasn’t beaten senseless. I wasn’t deprived of life experiences. But somehow, I turned out all wrong, so I thought.

panic attacks
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About the Creator

Allyson Radford

Hi there, I am a twenty-two year old creative mind from Pittsburgh, PA. My goal here is to share my views and perspectives and hopefully get my voice heard.

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