www.whyville.net Sep 12, 2010 Weekly Issue

Guest Writer

Living in Fear

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Everyday, I look in the mirror. Who doesn't? I wash my face, brush my teeth, and smile. I walk around with a smile on my face all day. It's like a phony mask I wear so people don't see the real me. People may see me as a glowing, fun, bubbly person, but is that really me? No. The real me is one I would never show to the world. Many people say to "be yourself". But what if yourself, is a horrible, frightened child that can't get a grip on reality? Then what? Do you pretend to be someone you're not? Or force people to live with you, a monster?

In reality, I am a monster. I have GAD (General Anxiety Disorder), so I'm always living in fear. To put it simply, General Anxiety Disorder is like this: you worry way too much about little things. You anticipate the worst, and are always afraid of what will happen to you. Some of the things you may worry about are things such as money, jobs, death, friends, family, cars, etc. But sometimes, you just worry for no apparent reason. In severe cases, this causes you to go, what normal people might say, crazy. You lose a grip on reality. You can't catch up with everyday life, for you're living in fear. Every day is a struggle, a fight over your fears and your mind. Luckily, many cases aren't like that -- some, very few, but some are.

My day normally goes like this. I do my normal routine in the morning that I explained in my opening paragraph. I go to school, just like any other normal teenager. As I walk through the crowd of oncoming people every morning to class, my throat swells up. My eyes dart around, and I look away from everyone. If I hear someone laugh, I automatically assume that they're laughing at me. They're laughing at my clothes, my hair, my looks, my weight. This is what my brain tells me. Everyone is out to get me. The cruel world just wants to laugh and tell me that I'm not a normal person, that I'm silly, and that I'm stupid. And on those normal days when I'm walking down a hallway, I believe my thoughts. I give in.

As I walk into my first period class, I sit down and direct my eyes toward the floor. People are staring at me. What do they want from me? Are they trying to judge me? I bite the skin around my fingers anxiously. A nasty habit, but it's mine. My first period goes slowly. A few girls in my class chatter and talk with their friends, sing songs, while my teacher talks about science. The guys point at them and smile flirtatiously. I sit in the corner desk, the one that's closest to the door. As soon as the bell rings, I dart from my seat, out in to the merciless flood of students.

My other periods and classes normally go the same. The tapping of my foot, and the anxiety that I get as soon as class ends. My least favorite class would definitely have to be P.E. The locker rooms are noisy and crowded, filled with girls changing into their gym uniforms. I try to undo my lock faster than them, so that I can change without judging eyes seeing me. What if they see the stretch marks on my back? Or how bony I am, and how you can almost see every little detail of my spine? Maybe they'll notice how flat my chest is, or how many freckles dot my arms. I go into a corner, while my friend Julia constantly chatters to me about how silly the day has been, or about how she wants to trade shirts with me. I answer her with the most sincerity. I have many friends, but she's one of the only ones who accepts me for who I am. A weird, fearful little child. And I love her for it.

At the end of the day, I avoid riding the bus at all costs. The bus to me is the worst thing I could ever experience. I have panic attacks when I see a little bug in our classroom, so the bus is definitely not a place for me to be. I cringe as soon as my foot steps on to the little stairs that bring me to the wide array of students. They're all yelling cuss words, fighting with each other, singing rap songs, kissing each other, socializing. None of my friends ride my bus, so I sit next to a girl who absolutely hates me. She yells across the seat from me to one of her popular friends. They laugh so hard every bus ride. Are they laughing at me? I hope they aren't . . . Oh please, let them not laugh at me. What did I ever do to deserve this?

After an agonizing bus ride home, I go upstairs and lay down on my bed. Sometimes I cry, and sometimes I just sit there, contemplating the day's events. I walk downstairs to get on to the computer, my only escape from reality.

In reality, I am a monster. On Whyville, I am a beautiful girl with friends. I chat with other people, people who know nothing about how I really am. I may look welcoming, but in reality, I am just a monster. And nobody wants a monster.


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