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Have you heard of the word ANXIETY? In a dictionary it is defined as: A feeling of worry, nervousness, or unease, typically about an imminent event or something with an uncertain outcome.  If you've ever suffered from anxiety attacks though, it feels a lot worse than the textbook definition.  Trust me, I know. In 2010, I began suffering from severe, severe anxiety and panic attacks.  This is a type of closure for me; to get it all out there, and hopefully if anyone comes across this and it helps them with their own anxiety issues, than that's awesome!  I'm going to be putting in some of my worst attacks, what brought them on and how I look at them now.  If anyone thinks I am being crass or cruel or insensitive, I'm sorry.  This is how I handle.  Without further ado: The Trials (my friend so aptly named the time period of my life because I'm a huge history dork.  1692?)

I was and still am, a painfully shy person.  I grew up an only child, but with a huge, often loud extended family.  Which meant, if you weren't outgoing, you didn't speak until you were about six or seven when you learned to yell.  I was never a temper tantrum type of child, but with that came a crippling nervousness that hit me whenever I was unsure of myself (Which was a lot!!!).  However, I was able to deal with it and throw it off a lot of the time.  I went to a small school, with a graduating class of just over sixty, the type where you've known everybody since you were about seven.  It's hard to stay a lonely in a class that small so I had a little group of people I hung out with.  

The fall of 2010 was when It started.  It was simple enough.  It was the first time I'd really been stressed, thinking about college, life, grades and the fact that I was still single.  I wasn't sleeping well.  I'd fall asleep and toss and turn, waking up every couple of hours for no reason.  This was manageable.  I started drinking chammomile tea before bed and that helped for awhile.  Then, I began to get shaky.  Just in my hands, and slight enough that I could shake them out and be fine.  It started creeping up though, to where it felt like I had creepy crawlies on my wrists and lower arms.  I continued to try and ward them off by shaking or stretching out my arms over my head.  Along with all of these, there was a type of, nagging feeling in my stomach, where you know something bad might happen, but you don't kow what.  I'd heard about cutting from one of my friends who read, cherished and adored Ellen Hopkins.  I tried reading them at her insistance, but never got very far, they were too dark, depressing and angsty for me.  (I'd promised myself when I was younger that I was not going to be an angsty teenager.  The idea apalled me, and I hated the idea of mopey people.)  However, the disturbing idea of actually harming yourself stuck with me.  I started having nightmares about it, the idea of cutting to make your problems go away.  It was a new concept to me.  I'd never even FATHOMED something like that, ever.  I was a bit of a naive girl even into my teenage years.  I began researching.  Big mistake.  I found out that several things, like chewing nails, picking at scabs and scratching zits (all of which I did) are all forms of self mutilation.  I was terrified of myself.  This was when the worst started.  You know that feeling when you're on a roller coaster and you're at the top of the hill, staring down at the precipise?  That's how I felt.  Like I had already boarded the coaster by biting nails, I had to ride it out and feel the worst. 
The shaking got worse.  I had to shake out my hands all the time, several times.  My knees would twitch, and my feet would tap constantly.  It became impossible to sit still.  I was always moving, always going, always thinking.  If anyone has ever been there, you know the feeling. How weary, tired and just pure exhausted it makes you feel.  I was now only sleeping a few hours at a time, snatched pockets where I wasn't thinking and wasnt worrying.  My parents started noticing a difference.  I was irritable, tired, and prone to crying at the drop of a hat.  My mother, whom I'd always been very, very close with sat me down and asked what was going on.  My first thought was embarrasment.  I was embarrased that I'd thought about cutting myself, because I wanted to be a strong person, stronger than giving in to something like that, and I simply told her I was feeling a little overwhelmed.
Wow, I've already written a lot and this isnt even the worst.  Please, if you read this and think its utter crap, or fake, please don't leave a comment and don't read any further then.  It's my way of coping, by getting all of these memories out of my head and out for someone to read.  If no one reads it, oh well.  If someone does and it helps them. Then that's great and I'm glad I can help.