“For the first five minutes of class, write about a time that you felt different from everyone around you.”
As I, the sole freshman in my Survey of Special Education afternoon class sat and pondered my professor’s request my mind romped. Romped straight to my sophomore year of high school. Romped straight to the concert that I ran, terrified, out of. Romped straight to the doctor’s office I sat in when I was told that I was, indeed, different.
Just after my fifteenth birthday, I began to feel, well, different. My stomach was constantly being tied into knots, my mind ceaselessly racing. It seemed as if no one had an answer for why I could not shake those feelings. After a few weeks, I visited my primary doctor, who then referred me to other specialists. I took test after test, tried medicine after medicine. Finally, halfway into my fall semester of sophomore year, I was diagnosed with panic and anxiety disorder.
So, there it was. My diagnosis. My label. My limit.
After I was diagnosed, I began seeing a psychologist, but only went to two visits because it made me feel, well, different. I could not sit in class for very long because I would begin to have panic attacks. My panic attacks controlled me, consumed me, I felt like I was sinking into the quick sand, my outstretched hand slowly slipping from the outside world’s view. What is scarier than a panic attack? So far, I have seen very few things that I wouldn’t rather face.
My anxiety was inescapable, and its did just the thing I didn’t want it to: it limited my life. I could not do most things that I used to, such as movie dates, nights out, even tennis matches, because I feared the crowds and uncertainty that lay ahead. I still remember telling my boyfriend, Grant, how nervous I was about going to prom, and worrying that I would become sick that night.
Then, some kind of change began to happen. I began to regularly take medicine to control anxiety, I learned how to talk myself of out panic attacks, and I started going out again. I strengthened relationships that had been strained since my diagnosis. I began to rely on God for my security. Sure, some days were easier than others, but each good day was a small triumph that would lead to my ultimate victory: control over my own life.
Actually, I never had control over my life, and I never will. Rather, God holds the key, the equation to my life. This revelation took a while to sink in, and I struggle with this fact every day. As a person who finds comfort in being in control and knowing the result before the battle, I found it almost impossible to pass my life, my future, and my dreams over to God. Then one day, I did.
So today I stand stronger than I did three years ago in the doctor’s office. Stronger than when I had to leave a concert due to crowd anxiety. Stronger than I did when I tried to control every aspect of my life. What “healed” me? Prayer. Trust. Support.
Do I still battle with anxiety? Every day. Do I still worry about what lies ahead? No doubt. Do I trust God with every aspect of my life? MOST DEFINITELY. Anxiety, like many other illnesses, is a DISORDER, not a label. I am not defined panic attacks, but by my faith, my love for others, and my passion for my future career in Special Education and Speech Therapy.
For those of you who have been labeled by society, in ANY means, I feel and pray for you. I hope you find happiness, I hope you find strength, and I hope that you, in time, overcome your limits.
-Emily
P.S. Be on the look out for a special surprise in an upcoming post. I ask for your prayers as I prepare this surprise, and that you will ask God to guide me in the right direction in order to spread his word.
As I, the sole freshman in my Survey of Special Education afternoon class sat and pondered my professor’s request my mind romped. Romped straight to my sophomore year of high school. Romped straight to the concert that I ran, terrified, out of. Romped straight to the doctor’s office I sat in when I was told that I was, indeed, different.
Just after my fifteenth birthday, I began to feel, well, different. My stomach was constantly being tied into knots, my mind ceaselessly racing. It seemed as if no one had an answer for why I could not shake those feelings. After a few weeks, I visited my primary doctor, who then referred me to other specialists. I took test after test, tried medicine after medicine. Finally, halfway into my fall semester of sophomore year, I was diagnosed with panic and anxiety disorder.
So, there it was. My diagnosis. My label. My limit.
After I was diagnosed, I began seeing a psychologist, but only went to two visits because it made me feel, well, different. I could not sit in class for very long because I would begin to have panic attacks. My panic attacks controlled me, consumed me, I felt like I was sinking into the quick sand, my outstretched hand slowly slipping from the outside world’s view. What is scarier than a panic attack? So far, I have seen very few things that I wouldn’t rather face.
My anxiety was inescapable, and its did just the thing I didn’t want it to: it limited my life. I could not do most things that I used to, such as movie dates, nights out, even tennis matches, because I feared the crowds and uncertainty that lay ahead. I still remember telling my boyfriend, Grant, how nervous I was about going to prom, and worrying that I would become sick that night.
Then, some kind of change began to happen. I began to regularly take medicine to control anxiety, I learned how to talk myself of out panic attacks, and I started going out again. I strengthened relationships that had been strained since my diagnosis. I began to rely on God for my security. Sure, some days were easier than others, but each good day was a small triumph that would lead to my ultimate victory: control over my own life.
Actually, I never had control over my life, and I never will. Rather, God holds the key, the equation to my life. This revelation took a while to sink in, and I struggle with this fact every day. As a person who finds comfort in being in control and knowing the result before the battle, I found it almost impossible to pass my life, my future, and my dreams over to God. Then one day, I did.
So today I stand stronger than I did three years ago in the doctor’s office. Stronger than when I had to leave a concert due to crowd anxiety. Stronger than I did when I tried to control every aspect of my life. What “healed” me? Prayer. Trust. Support.
Do I still battle with anxiety? Every day. Do I still worry about what lies ahead? No doubt. Do I trust God with every aspect of my life? MOST DEFINITELY. Anxiety, like many other illnesses, is a DISORDER, not a label. I am not defined panic attacks, but by my faith, my love for others, and my passion for my future career in Special Education and Speech Therapy.
For those of you who have been labeled by society, in ANY means, I feel and pray for you. I hope you find happiness, I hope you find strength, and I hope that you, in time, overcome your limits.
-Emily
P.S. Be on the look out for a special surprise in an upcoming post. I ask for your prayers as I prepare this surprise, and that you will ask God to guide me in the right direction in order to spread his word.