So I filled my time with more work, more activities, and more goals. The self-loathing would take over, and panic attacks would consume me. I hid behind the guise of being a good student, a good worker, and a good son.īut the dark reality was that if I stopped to rest for a single second, I would spiral out of control. In college, I continued working tirelessly on class projects and student organizations, using my anxiety as the fuel to my overachieving fire. The adults told me I was ambitious, driven even.Īnd perhaps they were right, but I see now that it was just my anxiety taking root in the deepest recesses of my personality and worldview. My mom would make me order food at restaurants and over the phone, in the hope of helping me overcome my irrational fear of interacting with others.īy junior high, I hid myself in class projects and after school programs so that every moment of every day was accounted for, leaving no room for self-doubt to creep in. I was told that I was “just shy,” and that I needed to practice doing things I didn’t want to do in order to get used to my shyness.
But my anxiety was always there, slowly bubbling to the surface for a quarter of a century, until it would eventually erupt, pouring into every aspect of my adult life.Īs a kid, I would second guess everything that I did. Maybe my mother was withholding, or maybe my father was too strict. I search for clues regarding what led me there.
Sometimes, I think back to try to identify the defining moment that turned me into the anxious, paranoid wreck that I became for so long. Experiences that other people would celebrate, such as graduations, weddings, and promotions, are dreaded milestones for me - not the ferociously sought-after goals that they are for many people.
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