Celine's story

​I never actually thought there was something wrong with me. I just thought I was different. I mean, I am different, but not to the extent where I have issues with my mental health. Being different though seemed to be my downfall in high school. I couldn’t even say I was at the bottom of the food chain because I wasn’t visible to my student body. I was very secluded. Very introverted. I didn’t think much of people. Considering people didn’t think much of me...

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I went to University in Ontario to escape B.C.. I didn’t like who I became after high school and I wasn’t too fond of the people I was surrounded by so I decided to leave the province. It was the best decision of my life. However, when I came to university, all of a sudden I became visible. I made friends. Hell, they even LIKED me. Surprise! I became more and more comfortable with who I was and now, being a 5th year student, I am quite positive I know who I am and I don’t give a damn if people don’t like it. Haters gon’ hate.
 
Here’s the thing, though… This was the first time I was truly visible… People actually started wondering who I was, what I was all about, questions were being asked, judgments were being made, so on and so forth. So I became strongly aware of my presence. And it overwhelmed me. I became so very aware of how much I worried about everything, about how negative aspects of my new life really shone through, about how what others thought about me actually started to matter, and how introverted I truly wanted to be because the thought of being social all of a sudden freaked me out. I wasn’t doing well in school, either, so I got to a point where I started convincing myself I wasn’t worthy of these new people, of school, and of life. Despite the fact that I had a significantly better life in Ontario, I still wasn’t happy. I was lost, confused, and ashamed, once again, of who I was.
 
In 3rd year, I really started thinking about the fact that something could be wrong with me. Every time I worried about something, I couldn’t breath. It always started in my chest, every single time. And then it moved into my throat, as if I were about to cry out of nowhere. If I didn’t end up crying, then the possibility of crying would be replaced by hyperventilating. Everything positive would disappear, and I would be consumed by my worries and fears. And then, if I was lucky, I’d blackout. This also become quite common whenever I would write a midterm or an exam. After these “episodes” occurred one too many times, I was positive something was wrong with me.
 
I eventually went in for a psycho-educational exam with a psychologist to get some answers about why I did poorly in school and why my worries and fears took a control of my life. 2 weeks later and I got a diagnosis: a learning disability specific to my working memory and severe Generalized Anxiety Disorder.
 
At first, I was incredibly relieved. I know, odd initial response. I had an answer, though. There WAS something wrong. It wasn’t just me. I wasn’t stupid when it came to school, I wasn’t just a worry-wart. No, I just had no control over these things! But immediately after the relief, I felt scared. My chest tightened up once again and I proceeded to try my hardest to keep an anxiety attack at bay right then and there in front of the psychologist. She told me that it was strongly recommended that I get help from not only a therapist, but that I become medicated as well. I immediately refused medication, but considered professional help. This if my life now. A learning disability and severe anxiety. I had no idea what I was going to do.
 
4th year was the worst. My anxiety took control over my life to the point where I had a panic attack 5-6 times a week and they ended with me crying myself to sleep. Then I was diagnosed with depression, which consumed me as well. I failed an important class in Fall semester and completely DREADED going back to school for the Winter semester. Dropping out of school sounded ridiculously ideal. I never wanted to be in school less. I didn’t want to go back to B.C. though (I was in Mexico at the time). I didn’t give a shit about my education, my friends, or anything for that matter. I didn’t want to be anywhere. I didn’t want to be anyone. I didn’t want to be.
 
I finally decided to go on medication. I 100% couldn’t help myself. I was lost in a sea of despair, pain, fear, and worry. Once it started to work, I finally felt like I could breath right again. I started hanging out with my friends once again, I started working harder at my volunteer job, I actually studied for tests. I was breaking out of my rut. I then realized that everything was going to be ok.
 
I have anxiety. But I am not alone. No, I don’t have a coping mechanism just yet, but I know for a fact that I am doing better. I cry less. I breathe more. I surround myself with as much positivity as possible. I can’t control this. I never will be able to. But I am learning to maintain it and that’s all I need right now. It sucks sometimes, but I don’t let it define me. In fact, I allow it to make me stronger. Because I’m anxious and alive, and I’m going to be ok.