Perfume Kiosk

I can recall a specific errand my mother and I went on in order to get furniture for our new home. I can still smell the overbearing perfume from the merchandise kiosk as I lay on the carpet floor next to it. My heart was racing as the employees from the Bed, Bath, and Beyond store came sprinting in fear towards my limp body. I remember my heart racing as if it was going to give out any second, but my face still pressed to the cold carpet that covered that portion of the mall next to the perfume kiosk. Panicked and unfamiliar faces surrounded me as I lay there for what felt like a long, helpless century. I hope telling this story can shed light on the importance of fighting mental illness, overcoming pessimistic thoughts, and receiving help for those with serious disorders.

I was always the daring kid who tried anything they were challenged with. I rode every roller coaster, ate every food, danced in front of any audience, and I even stood up for political issues I was too young to fully understand. I even remember having my picture taken alongside my best friend at the annual Women's March in Washington, D.C. some time during middle school. I never feared difference, amusement park rides, or anything you can think of. I was a typical, audacious, ecstatic young girl. I was the ordinary kid that loved new experiences, thoughts, and sometimes smells. I never would have thought that the perfume scent from the mall kiosk would be a distinct memory of extreme trepidation in the near future.

Going to run errands that day, I was nervous for some bizarre reason that occurred quite frequently. Since growing up and becoming a teenager, I always seemed to become anxious in small situations. Getting up in front of the entire class to sharpen a dull pencil was a brutal task for me. Leaving my mother's side at the supermarket to dreadfully grab bread from across the store never seemed so problematic until now. I never wanted to stand out from the crowd, I never even wanted to have the slightest form of ephemeral attention from anyone. I longed to stay undiscovered as I lived in the shadow of my fear and guilt. I did not know that the hysterical panic attacks I endured daily were considered unhealthy behavior. My life had become a labyrinth of terror, and I did not conceptualize a possible way out.

In fact, the fast pace rhythm of my heart almost felt normal, mostly because I had not had a chance to experience otherwise. Nothing seemed to trigger the panic attack I had at the mall that one day. Some days, I would just wake up with a heavyweight of dread and fright upon me, ready to show itself to the world at any moment. I remember walking alongside my mother that day, meanwhile having a serious conversation about the terrifying gun violence that been recently popping up on the news at home. “Did you know that they want to install metal detectors in schools now? They should learn to protect the kids without making the facility look like a prison,” my mother said as she heavily rolled her eyes.

At this part of the conversation, each limb started to feel heavy, as if each step was taking a vast amount of energy from me. At this moment, my mother's voice began to fade out of my control. I felt as though I couldn’t speak the exasperating thoughts going through my head at the time. I couldn’t tell my mom what was going on, hell, I didn't even understand what was going on. It seemed as though the crowded groups of people walking, the noises, the smells, everything was too much. I felt as though the world was unbearable, and hiding from it all was the only way to escape the madness in my head. I fell to the ground, overwhelmed with thoughts, noises, and feelings of anxiety engulfing me.

I collapsed to the ground in tears with my mother by my side. It wasn’t for a while until I could walk to the car where my mother would drive me home. My mother suggested stopping for food, water, and really anything she could offer me. “Do you want to stop for ice cream at Cold Stone?” She asked.

I lost my appetite, the thought of food was just sickening. The car ride home was silent for the most part, with the occasional sigh from my mother and me apologizing every so often. “I’m sorry-”

I would say before she would cut me off with “Stop apologizing.” I felt a weight on my chest, a guilty weight, for having possibly embarrassed her in front of such a large audience. I felt as though no mother should have the burden of raising a child who fears the world and its contents. We pulled into the driveway and came to a slow stop.

The meltdown at the mall, as I like to call it, was unfortunately the first step to a long road I would soon endure. There were many episodes to come, some less noticeable to the eye and silent. They occurred anywhere and everywhere, and the only thing I felt capable of doing was doing, well, nothing. The panic attacks prevented me from social events and proper contact with friends and family. I began to think that letting these panic attacks run their course was the best thing in my interest.

Through having these experiences, I can say that more good than bad has come from them. My mother and I soon realized the seriousness of the extent of my disorder. After the mall fiasco, my mother and I visited our family general practitioner. As soon as I walked inside the baroque revolving doors of the doctor offices, I felt on edge. The hospital-smelling stink combined with the handshake of my doctor gave me an uneasy feeling. After the uncomfortable small talk, the doctor ushered me and my mother into his office. After talking about the series of panic attacks I have been experiencing, I then learned that the overwhelming and unbearable feeling at the mall that day had a name; General Anxiety Disorder, as Dr. Fitz called it. He immediately sat down comfortably on a stool by where I was laying, and continued to provide multiple solutions to my issue. He was seemingly very engaged in my recovery. “The disorder is very common and dealt with by many people in your age group.” He said very reassuringly. I was somewhat glad that we could identify the solution, but I was still lost on how we were going about fixing it. Since then, there have been many remedies I have used to help cope with my anxiety.

I figured out that in some situations, there is no trigger, but in others such as the mall, there are a few that I can detect and cautiously avoid. I have learned from counseling and writing, that there are healthy ways to unleash my anxiety in a harmonious way. I wrote in a journal, I learned various breathing techniques, and I even attended sessions with a “shrink”—sorry, a therapist. I have found that sometimes taking a step back and rhythmically breathing can prevent an intense, anxious situation from getting to me. I’ve since become better at dealing with this issue, and I never let it get in the way of my goals and attributions. I can now distinguish between healthy stress and an unhealthy anxiety episode. Of course, I still have my days, but the positive influences and coping methods in my life have encouraged me to work to outweigh the negative. I hope that this reflection can open up opportunities for those who struggled with General Anxiety Disorder, and I wish that anyone who may be suffering will learn to cope and rehabilitate like I did.