My issues
(A note before we begin, please do not share this with the class. I wish not to even write about this, but I have to, and if you must read it then fine, but no other eyes is my only request.)
I've struggled with anxiety and paranoia for the past four or five years. It's not something I talk about, I keep it to myself and I've done fine as masking it for since it has ever started. As the years went on, however, it progressively got worse, and up until a few days ago, no one ever knew. I was simply Kevin, the kid who just wanted to help other people and didn't really have any problems of his own. I never told anyone, especially my parents, because I could handle it on my own, and that's all that ever mattered to me, being able to handle it on my own. I decided a long time ago that if it ever got to the point where I was physically unable to hold off from expressing it out, I would ask for help, and that day came as few days ago.
I regret not telling my parents about any of it when it started, but that is mostly to blame on me not even knowing that I was suffering from anxiety or paranoia at all. Had I known when it started, and had I told my parents, maybe I wouldn't be in the condition that I am today, currently shunning away friends and especially family in fear that if they know what I hide then I'll be outcast-ed or shunned. The worse thing I've ever known to feel is pity, and that is the one reason why I never told my parents once I found out. I completely dislike being pitied, or for people to feel bad for me. I don't want that. I can guess that all I've ever wanted was someone to offer help to me. I never would want any help, but the thought of someone wanting to help me would help me in it's own right.
I regret not being closer to my mother or father, I always kept a safe distance away from them socially, although I love them and I know they are always there for me, I always had my fears and suspicious, and watch what I say around them in fear of them taking it a wrong way. I keep going back in my head to a day where I was feeling really down, and I knew why, and my mom knew that I was down but she didn't know why I was. All she wanted to do was help me, and I shouted at her, telling her that I was fine and that she needed to stop butting into my life when I didn't want her there. Even writing these words hurts my heart because when I finished shouting at her, and when I finally calmed down after that outbreak, I couldn't move with how sickened I was with myself, that I would ever say such a thing to my own mother. Perhaps it is because of that day I try to keep a safe distance from others socially, so that they don't see when I'm in a bad mood, so that I don't shout at them for trying to invade my life, and feel like I did back then, again.
I've always regretted not telling my parents anything about what has gone on in my life, but I still refuse to talk to them about it. I know that they would support me, that they would do whatever they could to help me fix my endless anguish, but I cannot bring myself to face my parents and tell them that I need medication, that I need a therapist, that I need help! I've only ever wanted people to want to help me, for people to simply feel compelled to help me because they cared about me, and not because they pity me or feel sorry for me. Any help offered, I always deny, because I still want to handle it on my own, but I know that there are those with me that I can turn to for anything I need, and they know that when I am in need of help I will come to them. Sadly, my parents aren't any of the people I can go to, and my main regret is that it's my fault they can't be those people. When I am off to college, and I wont be living with them anymore, I'm not sure how I will be able to handle the lack of constant "Are you Okay?" from my mother, or the constant badgering from my father to do chores or feed the cat. My only hope is that one day I will be able to tell them, whether it be ten, to twenty, to thirty years from now. I hope that I can let them know before we truly cannot see each other again.
(A note before we begin, please do not share this with the class. I wish not to even write about this, but I have to, and if you must read it then fine, but no other eyes is my only request.)
I've struggled with anxiety and paranoia for the past four or five years. It's not something I talk about, I keep it to myself and I've done fine as masking it for since it has ever started. As the years went on, however, it progressively got worse, and up until a few days ago, no one ever knew. I was simply Kevin, the kid who just wanted to help other people and didn't really have any problems of his own. I never told anyone, especially my parents, because I could handle it on my own, and that's all that ever mattered to me, being able to handle it on my own. I decided a long time ago that if it ever got to the point where I was physically unable to hold off from expressing it out, I would ask for help, and that day came as few days ago.
I regret not telling my parents about any of it when it started, but that is mostly to blame on me not even knowing that I was suffering from anxiety or paranoia at all. Had I known when it started, and had I told my parents, maybe I wouldn't be in the condition that I am today, currently shunning away friends and especially family in fear that if they know what I hide then I'll be outcast-ed or shunned. The worse thing I've ever known to feel is pity, and that is the one reason why I never told my parents once I found out. I completely dislike being pitied, or for people to feel bad for me. I don't want that. I can guess that all I've ever wanted was someone to offer help to me. I never would want any help, but the thought of someone wanting to help me would help me in it's own right.
I regret not being closer to my mother or father, I always kept a safe distance away from them socially, although I love them and I know they are always there for me, I always had my fears and suspicious, and watch what I say around them in fear of them taking it a wrong way. I keep going back in my head to a day where I was feeling really down, and I knew why, and my mom knew that I was down but she didn't know why I was. All she wanted to do was help me, and I shouted at her, telling her that I was fine and that she needed to stop butting into my life when I didn't want her there. Even writing these words hurts my heart because when I finished shouting at her, and when I finally calmed down after that outbreak, I couldn't move with how sickened I was with myself, that I would ever say such a thing to my own mother. Perhaps it is because of that day I try to keep a safe distance from others socially, so that they don't see when I'm in a bad mood, so that I don't shout at them for trying to invade my life, and feel like I did back then, again.
I've always regretted not telling my parents anything about what has gone on in my life, but I still refuse to talk to them about it. I know that they would support me, that they would do whatever they could to help me fix my endless anguish, but I cannot bring myself to face my parents and tell them that I need medication, that I need a therapist, that I need help! I've only ever wanted people to want to help me, for people to simply feel compelled to help me because they cared about me, and not because they pity me or feel sorry for me. Any help offered, I always deny, because I still want to handle it on my own, but I know that there are those with me that I can turn to for anything I need, and they know that when I am in need of help I will come to them. Sadly, my parents aren't any of the people I can go to, and my main regret is that it's my fault they can't be those people. When I am off to college, and I wont be living with them anymore, I'm not sure how I will be able to handle the lack of constant "Are you Okay?" from my mother, or the constant badgering from my father to do chores or feed the cat. My only hope is that one day I will be able to tell them, whether it be ten, to twenty, to thirty years from now. I hope that I can let them know before we truly cannot see each other again.