I first realized I had issues with anxiety during my senior year of high school when I was in crippling tears just from the thought of having to face my bullies for the rest of my last semester. I was supposed to go to an after school event for a class I was a part of and I had gone home before the event to pick up some food and to say hi to my mom since I rarely saw her between school, work and extracurriculars. I sat down in my living room and I started to get really nervous and shaky and told my mom I didn’t want to go to this event. She knew that I had been having issues with these girls for the past few weeks so it wasn’t any news that I would be less than thrilled to go. All I remember is sitting and crying so hard I was hyperventilating just at the thought of walking into the same petty, whisper-filled room as the girls who used to be my best friends.

I recalled just a few weeks prior when I sat in my basement with my best friend staring at their tweets using my name and making fun of me through the tears that had dripped on my phone, wondering what I had done wrong and why all of my other friends suddenly hated me.

I recalled just a few years prior when I weeped in my room alone every night wondering why my best friend at the time wouldn’t speak to me after a class trip to Washington D.C. that I didn’t attend. I remember us reconciling and hanging out often throughout the rest of the school year. I also remember wishing her happy birthday in July after we hadn’t spoken since school got out and her telling me we were "never really friends" and she only hung out with me because she "felt bad that no one else liked me."

I recalled many moments prior to now and I am very certain that anxiety is very real and that it isn’t just something people talk about for attention. Anxiety isn't a choice or teenage fad, but a developmental disorder brought on by earlier life events. Anxiety feels like television static is clogging your thoughts. When I say the thought of a certain sound, crowds of people, or thinking about that one thing I did that one time when I was 14 makes my armpits sweat more than they would if I ran a mile, I’m being serious. I mean real anxiety. I mean short of breath, shaky, almost in tears anxiety. Sometimes its small and I can keep it to myself. Other times my shirt collar is buttoned so high I have to unbutton my entire shirt before I feel like I can get a good breath. Sometimes I can contain myself but other times my clothes are stained from hours of mascara filled tears. Sure, it’s funny that hooded sweatshirts make me lose my shit if I wear them for too long or that I freak out when someone touches my wrist or my throat, but those are things that truly get messed up in my brain. In my mind, those things are closing in on me. Are you just touching my wrist to look at my nail polish or are you trying to kill me? I can't differentiate the two, even if I realistically know the person isn't trying to hurt me.

When you have anxiety, you can carry on a normal life. But your normal life gets interrupted with endless “what if’s”, “are you sure?’s,” and never being able to make a decision without other people's opinions. But then… what if they're wrong? Things always work out eventually, right? Wrong. Well, maybe.

The anxiety took over me during my senior year. I had myself doing the math. "Okay, so I'm 18 and 3 months so I've been through a 6 month period of time 36.5 times in my life without any major issues so I can do this last semester." My anxiety is caused by the constant betrayal of the people I once trusted and a million other small things that I've experienced throughout my life. You can't turn off anxiety, even if you know it's just a small issue. It always takes over me and I just have to breath through my attacks and hope for the best.

There’s a reason I get light headed and sweaty when people are whispering near me or they’re laughing and looking in my general direction--even if there’s an entire crowd of people behind me. There’s a reason I don’t laugh along with the group when I don’t hear a joke...it’s becasue the only safe thing for me to assume is that it’s about me, right? Right? Sometimes I can tell myself it’s just anxiety, but even in those moments I have issues believing myself.

I am not "too sensitive," I have an actual mental disorder.

My anxiety is not an excuse for me to be anti-social, I have an actual mental disorder.

My anxiety is not a joke I talk about to get laughs, I have an actual mental disorder.

My anxiety is not something you can tell me to get over, I have an actual mental disorder.