Just Keep Breathing
Chapter 1
I’m scared of life, is that weird to say? I mean, I’m not exactly scared but I definitely do not enjoy the typical life type things, which in turn gives me the feeling of being "scared" of life.
First thing to know, is I suffer from an anxiety disorder, which pretty much means I freak out, shut down, and push people away on a daily basis. I can't help it really, sometimes the smallest things can trigger an attack. Like for example, yesterday morning my Brother, James, decided to distract me away from the toast I was making, and when it came out gross and burnt, I freaked out and missed the first hour of one of my online classes.
My mom and my brother try and take it upon themselves for curing me. They force me into awkward and uneasy situations to try and make me get over what ever is wrong inside my head. They make me go into large crowds by myself and make me decide on not so easy decisions. I hate it, it does nothing but make all the horrid symptoms take over my body; shaking, chills, head aches, nausea, and more. I wish they would just let me take my pills and leave it at that.
Tonight is one of the nights where my brother is trying to "cure" me. He's dragging me along to one of his friends parties. Most of his friends knew that there was a little something wrong with me. None of them ever said anything when I would have an attack in front of them, but this just wasn't his closer friends. This was going to be a full blown part full with drinking, partying, people, and everything that triggers my insanity.
"Get ready," My bother called as he walked past my door.
I slid open my closet door, examining my wardrobe and what I should wear. A party usually means wearing something sexy so that you stand out and attract people. Problem was I didn't pull of sexy too well. Closest things I had to "sexy" were slightly low cut shirts and tight jeans. I picked out something I figured was good enough so that I wouldn't look to out of place. Blending in tended to calm my nerves.
After I got dressed, I walked into my bathroom and straight to the medicine cabinet. Inside were the typical small bottles of Tylenol, Advil, Midol, and others. But then, in a different looking bottle with its label pharmacy typed, was Zoloft. That was like my composure, my strength, and in a way it was my cure. It stopped my anxiety, my panic, and my physical sickness.
I took the bottle out of the cabinet and shook one pill into my hand. I replaced the bottle quickly and took the pill with a gulp of water. My mom would most likely get mad if she knew that I took the medicine before going out. She thought I did it to myself, the attacks I mean, and if it weren't for my dad, she would have never even taken me to the doctors.
"Ready?" James asked, peeking into my doorway. I nodded and grabbed my jacket before fallowing him out of my room and to the car.
I wished myself luck for tonight.
First thing to know, is I suffer from an anxiety disorder, which pretty much means I freak out, shut down, and push people away on a daily basis. I can't help it really, sometimes the smallest things can trigger an attack. Like for example, yesterday morning my Brother, James, decided to distract me away from the toast I was making, and when it came out gross and burnt, I freaked out and missed the first hour of one of my online classes.
My mom and my brother try and take it upon themselves for curing me. They force me into awkward and uneasy situations to try and make me get over what ever is wrong inside my head. They make me go into large crowds by myself and make me decide on not so easy decisions. I hate it, it does nothing but make all the horrid symptoms take over my body; shaking, chills, head aches, nausea, and more. I wish they would just let me take my pills and leave it at that.
Tonight is one of the nights where my brother is trying to "cure" me. He's dragging me along to one of his friends parties. Most of his friends knew that there was a little something wrong with me. None of them ever said anything when I would have an attack in front of them, but this just wasn't his closer friends. This was going to be a full blown part full with drinking, partying, people, and everything that triggers my insanity.
"Get ready," My bother called as he walked past my door.
I slid open my closet door, examining my wardrobe and what I should wear. A party usually means wearing something sexy so that you stand out and attract people. Problem was I didn't pull of sexy too well. Closest things I had to "sexy" were slightly low cut shirts and tight jeans. I picked out something I figured was good enough so that I wouldn't look to out of place. Blending in tended to calm my nerves.
After I got dressed, I walked into my bathroom and straight to the medicine cabinet. Inside were the typical small bottles of Tylenol, Advil, Midol, and others. But then, in a different looking bottle with its label pharmacy typed, was Zoloft. That was like my composure, my strength, and in a way it was my cure. It stopped my anxiety, my panic, and my physical sickness.
I took the bottle out of the cabinet and shook one pill into my hand. I replaced the bottle quickly and took the pill with a gulp of water. My mom would most likely get mad if she knew that I took the medicine before going out. She thought I did it to myself, the attacks I mean, and if it weren't for my dad, she would have never even taken me to the doctors.
"Ready?" James asked, peeking into my doorway. I nodded and grabbed my jacket before fallowing him out of my room and to the car.
I wished myself luck for tonight.