Oh…

When I was in middle school I would tell new friends that I was shy at first, but once I opened up more I was alright. I continued to say that through high school, some friends would chime in saying that I wasn’t shy whatsoever. I remember having this embarrassed feeling engulf me, but still manage to continue on with the conversation, despite the awkwardness inside my head.

ERMAHGERD IT WAS ANXIETY! I HAD EXTREME ANXIETY THEN I JUST DIDN’T KNOW THE WORD!

So I guess those humans were right with saying that I was not shy. I didn’t use the correct word to describe myself. I should’ve said “I have extreme anxiety, that will turn into crippling anxiety in the future.” I recently had the epiphany: ‘oh, I’ve always had anxiety. I just didn’t know it at the time.’ Along with the extreme anxiety meant the attacks that followed when too many emotions would happen at once, or I didn’t know how to deal with my anxiety so of course I would burst. I would always try to have my attacks at my house, rather than in public. Or a bathroom if I could find one. Which is odd because the feeling of being trapped is not one that I enjoy. So going to a bathroom hiding myself behind closed doors and walls probably isn’t the greatest coping skill. I say “isn’t” because I still do it.

I was told growing up that my anxiety attacks, panic attacks and anger attacks were all temper tantrums. So that’s what I would tell others that I had. I remember the looks I received back all made me seem as though I was pathetic. I bet if I changed the wording I wouldn’t have had those looks given to me. Which is stupid.

I don’t remember my first panic attack, but I do remember a bunch of them. The outcome of all of them were horrible. If I was around my Abuser whenever one would happen, I would get a hard smack across my face followed by yelling such as “STOP CRYING! IF YOU DON’T STOP CRYING I WILL SMACK YOU ACROSS YOUR FACE SO HARD YOUR NOSE WILL BLEED! THAT WILL GIVE YOU SOMETHING TO CRY ABOUT!” The reason for that response was because I was upset that a science project didn’t work the way I wanted it to at home. When my cousin showed me how to do it, it went smoothly. So I slammed my hand on the wall and stomped away crying very upset. Only to have him follow me to my room and yell at me. Birth Giver didn’t do anything to stop him. Maybe that’s why I’m terrified to have panic attacks in front of others?

(Birth Giver asked me if I call him Sperm Donor, since she’s Birth Giver. I told her his name is Abuser)

I have to stop this post now, because I work at 7am today. It’s 5:33am currently so I need time to calm down the swirling flashback memories.

~SirChangeling

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