Before I Knew What Anxiety Was

My experience first started when I was young — around the age of ten, at least that’s when I can really remember it. I constantly felt a sense of panic and an overwhelming urge to do compulsions. For me, it felt like it came out of nowhere. I didn’t know something was wrong at the time. I honestly thought this was just how life was.

I remember having to bang my body against the doors in my house until it felt like I did it right. Before I could go to sleep and rest, I had to close my dresser and closet door a certain number of times — again and again — until it finally felt right. Sometimes I had to pace around my room in a very specific way before I was allowed to rest.

I had constant thoughts and felt the need to say everything I was thinking out loud. I would repeat myself over and over until it felt like I said it correctly. I was scared all the time — especially of being alone with myself at night. I would have my mom tuck me in twice: once before she took a shower and again after. Even then, I still wanted her to stay because I felt so empty and so sad.

Every night I cried myself to sleep, just to wake up and do it all over again the next day, and the next. I hated waking up. I hated the days — but I hated the nights even more. Nighttime was when I felt the emptiest, the most hopeless. I never got relief. Not even in my dreams. Even when I slept, I couldn’t escape my thoughts.

At ten years old, I didn’t know what was wrong. I didn’t have the words for what I was feeling, and I didn’t know what anxiety was yet. But now I know this wasn’t normal — and these were the signs. The signs that something wasn’t right, and that it was time to reach out and seek help, even if I didn’t understand it then.

I’m writing this as a way to remind myself that I’m not alone in everything I’ve struggled through. And I’m sharing it for you, too — so you know you’re not alone either. I see you. And I want to know what you have to say as well.