Personal Narrative Anxiety Disorder

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.

I vividly remember that chilly night in March as I walked out of Fifer, the building my father now calls home, for the first time. I had goosebumps, but they were not from the cold I felt hit my skin. Instead, they were from the sickness in my stomach. As I got in the car, I began to cry and had to stop myself from running back inside. My entire world had turned upside-down. How could I go home without my father? How could I leave him in a nursing home, a place where he was too young and mentally fit to be confined? I had to fight the feeling that he didn’t belong. I had to remind myself of why he chose to be there, and I hated it.

When the men finally made their way over to us, one man, tall, skin in size, about a quarter of the muscle tone of my pa’pa pushed him into the wall, while another, shorter in stature, with bright blue eyes, the color of sapphire, hit my father from behind. My father fell to the ground, blood dripping down his face, looking hopeless and feeble. I felt so discouraged, the only thing I could do was weep. My father, on the ground, turned to us and told us to run and we did. Half the way to the house, all I could think about was how hopeless I was and how much I wanted to help, but could not. After all that was my father back there, my friend, my protector, my pa’pa. When we finally made it to the porch of our house, we were out of air and I was about ready to collapse. My brother finally mustered up the energy to tell my mother and uncle what happen.

The anxiety started when we checked into the hotel. I was in Syracuse with three of my best friends, ready to have a weekend full of exhilaration and laughter.

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

Living with anxiety is a battle everyday. I wake up and I’m not sure if today will be good or bad. It can start out good, but the next thing I know, I’m having a panic attack. The world around me starts to cave in, and the noise I hear becomes static; it’s as if I’m being swallowed whole. Suffering from a panic attack is incredibly embarrassing. Nobody understands what I’m going through, they all think it’s in my head or that I’m being dramatic. What they don’t understand is that, it’s a real problem. Just like any other illness, anxiety is paralyzing; so are panic attacks. There are days I don’t want to get out of bed because I’m afraid that today is the day everything will end, so it’s just safer to stay in bed. My anxiety is unpredictable,

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.

I can relate to what you expressed about your son being assessed for ADD symptoms. My son experienced the same situation when he was in first grade. Unfortunately, he lost his father from a sudden death and he was present when we found him. After his dad’s death, he started acting out and his teacher suggested to have him tested for ADHD disorder. Not knowing any better I had him tested, and the Dr. said he does not have ADHD. I took him to counseling at seven years old and he wouldn’t cooperate with the counselor so, we discontinued his therapy. His behavior continues and now the school was suggesting he has a learning disability; he was tested and he was given a IEP for school. Now he is entering middle school and the subject is brought up

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.

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

Before I could put the folder back, there was a knock on the door and I turned around only to see him.

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

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

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,

Tara meets with the family therapist Ida Doggode, who works at Smith Center for Youth. Tara expresses anger towards her mother who does not want to participate in counseling, but Tara is interested in continuing therapy with the therapist. She expressed fear of the future when she becomes eighteen years old. Tara says that she had never had a job and worries about the independence she will take on when turning eighteen. She reports that she does not have a driver’s license and she worries this will prevent her from getting a job. Tara does not know at the moment what type of job she would like to have in the future. Tara reports that she would like to marry her boyfriend who is nine years older than her, she claims they are sexually active