Personal Narrative: My Version Of Anxiety

One of the most common mental health disorders, anxiety, has had an astronomic affect on human beings, influencing the entirety of an individual on a bio-psycho-social level. Globally, anxiety is the catalyst for the execution of specific significant political and military actions. Although, anxiety can propel one forward, excessive anxiety is debilitating and the effects are cataclysmic. Experiencing the crippling effects of anxiety firsthand has manifested to me the power and dominion anxiety can have over one's life. With the help of cognitive behavioral therapist I found the inner strength to cope and abate my own anxiety levels. My experience has not only stimulated my interest in the field of clinical social work but has also shown me the major

That was the phrase that had been assaulting my ears for the last half an hour. Although it wasn’t odd that someone was telling me that specific phrase, this time it was different. My grandmother, whom I thought had understood my problems, had just proven to me that she actually didn’t. At the age of 12, I was heartbroken.

On our way up the stairs to our unit, a girl named Jada came up behind me. “So why are you here?” I was thrown off by the personal question she asked so casually. Only an hour prior I had arrived at the facility and was introduced to the other eleven teenagers.

This feeling was unusual because as a youngster, I spent most of my childhood going on acting auditions and

In my freshmen year, I got my first stage management job, as a production assistant on one of my school’s mainstage productions. The majority of those I was working with were graduate students and/or faculty. I was extremely intimidated and I struggled to do any task without apprehension, due to my generalized anxiety disorder. After noting this behavior, I began working on my confidence, in order to mitigate my trepidation, by way of reflection and therapy. When asked to tape out the prop table, rather than asking dozens of questions about which color of tape to use and the ideal position for the breakable wine glass, I just began the task, trusting my judgement. Sometimes I was corrected and had to redo my work, but most of the time, my work

Hello! I’m so excited to be back. Oh how I’ve missed writing! This post will be more of an update on what has happened these last few months, so, lets get started. After getting out of Rogers Memorial Hospital for my OCD and Anxiety, I had one week home and then I went right off to college. It was a pretty scary step for me. Just a few months earlier I couldn’t handle anyone mentioning the word “school”, let alone actually attend. But that is exactly what I did, and surprisingly, I felt ready.

When I first came to America, I was bullied because I was different, and judged of every action so I could be mocked by the way I behaved. I used to have no problems asking where the bathroom is, and I didn’t care about my accent or grammar as long as I got the message across. But years growing up in a tiny Southern town, unaware of the existence of the Asian race, molded me into a different person. I was, and still, fearsome of social situations, as little as asking someone in class for a pencil. I could never ask for help because I was afraid what will happen during the process, or after. In my head, I’d imagine instances where my voice could crack while asking, the class could go silent focusing their attention onto me, or worse, finally having the courage to ask, but it turns out the person I asked had rejected my request. This personality of mine is so painful at times, I considered it as a disorder. I was always stuck in between this thick social barrier; I couldn’t approach anyone, always the one waiting to be approached. But, unlike the silent students who are great scholars, I was never a great student myself, and I suffered immensely. When it was time for group projects, I was always the fatboy in PE, having the teacher assign me to a random group. I’ve been trying to overcome this social anxiety by forcing myself to talk to new people,

All my life, I have suffered from generalized anxiety disorder, which can make it difficult to do mundane tasks and educational requirements. For example, giving speeches, taking exams and quizzes, and having to communicate with other students that I do not know. I have been sheltered most of my life, which causes things that would be considered basic to other people to scare me. After analyzing my anxious tendencies, I came to the conclusion that the root of my anxiety comes from having seperation anxiety from my Mother after my Father passed away, which made me scared to talk to people, resulting in speech anxiety. My main fear with my speech anxiety is that I will receive a bad grade on my speech or not do well enough academically. I strive

Although there is a plethora of mental illnesses such as depression, anxiety, and alcoholism that run rampant in my family; I never spoke about mental illness with either of my parents until I was diagnosed with social anxiety, OCD, and panic disorder at 18. At that age I wasn’t even aware that anxiety was more than just feeling nervous or that it was a treatable diagnosis. After describing the symptoms of what I now know to be a panic attack to my general doctor, she referred me to a psychiatrist who prescribed me three pills, two were for anxiety, and one which was for my panic attacks.

What will it take for them to realize what truly goes on inside our brains. Sticking out like a sore thumb or a lost shoe in the center of the highway. Anxiety is like not being able to breathe even being outside. I wish I could somehow explain the science behind how they make me feel. I got my first dose of anti-depressants when I was twelve years old. An artificial happiness that “worked”. The drugs never worked. But doesn’t mean a goddamn thing about being depressed! Sometimes the medications didn’t work because I was already happy, but people have to dig deeper to find out what the problem is. When someone takes their own life, how are we supposed to react? Are we supposed to think it’s just sad? Taking your own life is an ugly side of

¨ Good Good... my mom and I went to the museum and went shark watching.¨

Objects have a powerful influence in our lives. Upon looking around at all my possessions, one pair of antique Everlasting leather boxing gloves, sewn with black thread, with half a glove torn off, brought back a memory in which changed the way people viewed me.

When I was little, I was suffering with illness anxiety disorder. A minor symptom or body sensation would easily make me think that I have some kind of serious illnesses. It was all started back when was six, when my grandpa was diagnosed with cancer. He died after a year battle with cancer. However, everything changed when I was in the summer of third grade, when I noticed that one of my breasts was unusually bigger than the other. I didn’t tell my parent after a while because I did not like the idea of going to the hospital. I hated hospitals, I hated the smell and the feelings of being there; the last time I was there was when I was visiting my grandpa.

Of course I was the first to be called up to give my introduction speech! Perhaps because my professor knew me so well? Who knows… but I was actually glad that I was chosen first because I get to set the bar without having to worry about competing with the previous speeches. So with that positive mindset, my anxiety levels were really low. On a scale from one to ten I’d say I was a solid two! As soon as I was about to speak I observed my audience, their faces, movements, and eyes. All the attention was on me and I got right into my zone.

I collapsed to the floor as my lungs shrunk two sizes and my tears couldn’t even be released due to my inability to breathe, let alone stand. This was my first real panic attack, and my body had succumbed to my mind. Backstage, just minutes before my first play, I began to think about all of the improvisation necessary for my role, and how I had to be in character continually (so as not to ruin the play for everyone else), and I couldn’t handle it. My lines had been erased from my mind, and my vision went blurry from tears and fear. Just then, two people had surrounded me, squatting to get on my level. Dizzy and ready to faint, my two best friends had helped me get a grip of reality again. They reminded