Mrs. West is about to hand back our Creative Writing stories. I worked really hard on this. Really hard. Because being creative doesn't come easy for me. Math? I will kill it. It makes sense to me.... equations make sense. I don't have to ask "why?" because there are rules. And I like rules. I am a rule follower through and through. Creative writing? There are no rules and it's very tough for me..... especially because I'm a perfectionist. At 10 years old, I want everything I do to be perfect. And I want to please my teacher very much. When I get my paper back, there is a big, red, C+ at the top. Instantly tears fill my eyes. I am completely and utterly shocked. This is the first time I have ever received a mark that wasn't an "A". I'm blinking furiously so that no one sees me crying. My face is hot, which means it's also red. My heart starts pounding. Oh my God.... I hope no one sees me looking like this. I tell myself to calm down and quickly hide my paper. I would be mortified if anyone saw that grade.
I manage to get through the day and get out of the school as fast as I can when the time comes. I am in tears before I can get across the bridge that connects my school to the back alley that will take me home. By the time I'm home, I'm hyperventilating. I'm alone until my mom gets home at 4:30. I cry and cry until my head is aching and my eyes are swollen... and then my mom comes home and it all starts again. There is nothing she can do to console me. Nothing. It is unbearable to me and it doesn't matter what she says or does right now, this is REAL - it is heartbreaking and devastating. Finally, something gets through to me... she says, "let's ask Mrs. West if you can have another chance to write it. Maybe she'll let you do that." Ahhhhhhhh..... a solution. A slight relief. And then.... the worrying instantly begins. "What if she says 'no'?" "What if I'm stuck with that mark?" "What if I can't do any better the second time?".... My mom needs to make dinner and I am calm enough for now.... I go downstairs to watch some TV while she cooks. I need something to numb my brain for a while.
I turn the on the TV and it's the news. I watch for a second as they tell a story about a young boy in Vancouver who has AIDS. He's pale and he looks really, really sick. I don't know what on earth AIDS is, but it looks bad. I change the channel and find something else to watch.
After dinner, I need to have a shower for school tomorrow. I have a long, hot shower and when I get out, my legs are red and patchy. I panic!! What is wrong with me? Why are my legs like that? This hasn't EVER happened before. What if I have AIDS???? I yell for my mom and she comes bolting through the door. I show her my legs and tell her I think I must have AIDS. I don't even remember what she says, but I know it involves some serious patience and reassurance. She gets me calmed down, somehow. I still don't know why my legs are like this though. There must be SOMETHING wrong with me, but Mom says I don't have AIDS, so at least it isn't that.
It's bedtime. I HATE bedtime. I say goodnight to my parents and climb into my perfectly made bed. It's 8:30 so I have an hour and a half to fall asleep before my parents turn the lights off and go to bed. I have to fall asleep in this time or I know I won't sleep at all tonight. I am running through my mind how I will approach Mrs. West tomorrow. She will probably say no. My wheels turn and turn and I start to get anxious because the clock is ticking and soon it will be 10:00. I have to fall asleep right now!
It's 10:00 and I can hear my dad locking the front door. Soon the lights will go out and my parents will go to bed and I will be all alone in the dark. My heart starts beating rapidly. The boy with AIDS flashes before my eyes. At 11:00 I get up to check my legs again. Phew, they look normal. But maybe if I cough really loud, my mom will come check on me and give me one more hug and a little bit more reassurance. Maybe, she'll lay with me. She doesn't know it, but on the nights she lays with me, I fall asleep easily. In fact, she doesn't know that most nights I am awake almost all night. I stay in the bathroom about 15 minutes coughing. I guess she is sleeping pretty soundly because she doesn't hear me and I finally give up and go back to my room.
I wedge myself between the waterbed mattress and the wooden frame. I do this every night. The frame is solid and it makes me feel somewhat protected. I will NOT sleep. Because if I sleep, I won't wake up. I KNOW this with all of my being. I will lay really still and ignore my pounding heart. And when my dad gets up at 4:30 and turns some lights on, I will sleep for 2 1/2 hours before school. I can always nap tomorrow after school. That's pretty routine for me.
It's morning! I must have fallen asleep... I hear my dad and my uncle Pete having coffee, as they do every morning. Ahhhhhhhh...... relief. I made it. I un-wedge myself from the waterbed and get up. My body is aching and stiff. Ouch.... everything hurts terribly. I didn't move an inch last night. My bed is still perfectly made, just as it is every morning of every day. All I have to do is tuck in the small corner where I slept last night. I feel really tired and I hope I don't drift off during silent reading.
I get ready for school. I get dressed in the outfit I picked for myself last Sunday when I planned out what I was going to wear for the entire week. I feel normal right now. It is the only time of day that I feel this way. I feel.... almost happy. The sounds of my home are all around me - my dad just left for work, my mom is getting a coffee, my brother is in the shower, my other brother is still sleeping, but I know he's right below me. And then..... the usual.... the thoughts....My wheels start turning, just like a hamster on a wheel. "I hope I don't walk into the classroom to see a mocking picture of me on the blackboard again this morning. I hope I have friends today. I hope Mrs. West gives me another chance. I hope she doesn't laugh at me......" ...And today is another day in the life of a 10-year old girl with anxiety....
Sidenote about my anxiety:
My parents didn't know I had "anxiety" because mental illness wasn't talked about back then. Isn't it a gift that we can talk openly about it now? We are aware of what it is and how we help those who suffer with it. My son has General Anxiety Disorder. I can feel passionately and deeply for him. I have great empathy for what he goes through because I went through it myself. But even if I hadn't, I feel strongly that because we are educated today, I would recognize it and get him help. Thank you, Bell, for supporting this day that has intense meaning for me and my family.
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