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2001-03-13 I think I first really began to notice my problem in seventh grade, every monday was missed. Monday's were the days when the war with my mind was almost always enough to over power me. Monday mornings were always spent over a toilet or a trashcan. My mom never quite believed in my sickness those days, thinking that I was just having a case of 'I don't want to go to school.' I kept my grades up, I was the straight A student, so my mom let me have my little no school days. In eighth grade, the problem seemed to clear up a bit, now that I think back on it, it was probably because my step-father finally exited my life. I still had my down days, where I would be so sick in the mornings, but by mid afternoon, I could hardly remember the shaking, and the nausia. With ninth grade came a new school, a new house, new friends, and what I thought would be a new start to my school life. I was determined to not miss as many days. By the second week of school it was already easy to see that that wasn't going to happen. The shakey feelings, nausia, and just plain fear had already returned. Although they had not yet hit full force, I was having a hard time keeping the control that I love so much. I was the good student though, so I continued to fight my mind, most of the time succeding in winning, although my failures weighed heavily on my chest. With first semester of highschool done, came my first C, as well as an array of other semi disappointing grades. Yeah, maybe I was too hard on myself, but it wasn't because the work was hard. I was in "the smart classes", but the work was easy, I never really had a hard time catching on. After a full day of panicing about my next class, convincing myself not to go home early, and keeping one eye on the classroom trash cans, by the time I got home, there was no energy left in my mind for the minimum four hours of homework. I would wait till the last minutes with all of my classes, which meant a decline in my work. I was still sliding by with mainly A's and B's, but I was loosing the passion I once had for school. Second semester came, what I like to call, my 'mini nervous breakdown.' I had been at my dad's house all weekend, which is not the place to do homework. Between the fights my step-brother, and step-mother would have, my dad was like a little kid always wanting my attention. I then made the mistake of asking him to help me a little with my homework. With one simple question, my dad managed to make it an hour long lecture. He's a real history butt, so he told me facts that I will never in my life need to know. Anyway, when my dad finally drove me home, I thought I could finally finish my homework. I had only been able to complete one subject while I was at my dad's house. My mom was driving back from vacation in Florida, so the house was all mine. I sat down, and opened my math book, and completed two problems. When I got to the third, I was stumped. I'm sure it wasn't that hard of a problem, but I think my emotions were just on high. When I looked at the clock, it was 8:30, and I was already tired. I still had to take a shower, finish about five hours of homework, and get sleep. When I looked back down at the math book page, it began to blur together, and then I found myself sobbing. I had no reason, I just couldn't stop. Of course, as I am having this emotional breakdown, my friend Jake called, so I tried to sound normal as I picked up the phone. He instantly knew something was wrong. He asked me, and I had never been so happy to hear the other line come in so much in my life. I told him I would call him back, and clicked over, only for my happiness to fade, it was my mom. She instanly heard the change in my voice, and inquired about what was wrong. I told her I was fine, and had just sneezed, or something as unbelieveable as that. So, I get off the phone with her, and once again try to complete my homework, only to begin crying over that same problem. Now, it's about nine thirty, and my grandfather, who lives fourty-five minutes from my house, suddenly shows up at my door. You cannot hide that you have been crying from your grandfather. The second he walked in the door, and saw me crying, he wrapped me in his arms, and I cried even harder. He then called my mom, and told her. She told me not to worry about school the next day, and relax. Jake then called back, and talked to me a lot, until I finally calmed down. It was three days before I could think about school without bursting into tears. I think that was my mom's first clue that something was really wrong with me mentally. Tenth grade finally came, and the second week of school, good ol' Heather managed to be bucked off of her horse. I was -bucked- off, I didn't fall :) The fall snapped my collar bone in two, as well as giving me a nice sized concusion. I missed a week of school due to that, and my constant pain pills. Then,. I wasn't allowed to write with my hand for another month. Do you have any idea how hard it is to do things in school when you aren't allowed to write. I would cheat, and try desperately to write enough notes so that I could understand my homework, only to get home, and have my collar bone on fire. I never thought I would make it through that semester. I quite going to movies, and out to eat. Instead I spent all my time trying to get caught up in homework, and fighting hard with my mind again. With Christmas break came a cruise. I thought it would be the perfect way to relax. I was wrong. I hardly ate anything the whole time, and it wasn't sea sickness. I would just start shaking and have a hard time stopping. Once we got back, I went to school for another month, before my mom finally took me to a specialist in stomach disorders. He ordered a test in which I eat radio active eggs, and they watch to see if I have digestion problems, but everything appeared fine. Of course, every doctor I went to made me perform a pregnancy test. They of course acted shocked when the results were negative. After that, I was refered to a psyciatrist, who diagnosed me with social anxiety disorder. Panic attacks. I new about the disorder, because I had had a friend suffering from the same thing. I didn't want to accept that I had that. I tried to go to school, but my mom would see my, hanging over a trashcan as she drove me to school every day, chanting to myself that I could do it, that I would be fine. I wasn't fine. My mom finally turned the car around, after about the forth day of my trying futiley to make it to school, only to shake so bad that I couldn't get out of the car. That was a year ago. I've been trying to get my life together ever since. One thing after another has happened, as this diary details. My medication has been upped time and time again. I am currently on Paxil, Xanax, and Welbutrin. I am finally begining to feel as if I am beating this illness. That I am finally winning. It's not easy, every day I fight with my mind. 'It's just the grocery store, nothing is going to happen, you can go in, you can get a candy bar.' It's an endless matra that goes on in my head. So, that's my long entry, there is more I could talk about, but I think I have already put enough people to sleep. Oh, and I also wrote an entry a few hours ago in case you missed it. <-//->
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