Hello, my name is Anxiety, and I shall be assisting you with your Nervous Breakdown.
I want to kill myself, in a non-suicidal way. Not sure if it’s possible to want to eradicate yourself and not be the least bit destructive, but that’s how I feel. About two and a half weeks ago, my anxiety spiked up to record-breaking heights while I was sitting in one of my GED classes. Instead of being able to comfortably complete my practice tests and essay on my own table, I was sandwiched between Pink Hair and Lip Ring, and I suddenly felt nauseated and claustrophobic, about to unleash gastric juices on both myself and my papers, maybe even Pink and Lip (a first, despite my initial anxiousness during the first couple o f classes). I tried to persevere and finish answering the questions and writing out the essay, but I couldn’t fight off the nausea. Rather, I broke out in a cold sweat, started biting at the eraser of my pencil, and kept sitting up and lowering myself in my seat, frantically looking out the window of the classroom as if the answer to my problems lay just outside. I couldn’t take it anymore, so I filled out the test in a haphazardly fashion (without reading the questions nor the passages), wrote redundantly so as to make the essay look decent in size despite its lack of substance, handed in my papers, and ran off to the creepy little girl’s room downstairs. Nothing, not even a slip of spit. I wanted to slap myself right there and then. So I went back upstairs, but instead of reentering the classroom (I finished an hour early, hence an hour break), I sat myself up near the edge of the second floor (no, I wasn’t trying to kill myself) and allowed the chilly night air to caress my cheeks as I watched the little stray cats do their business around the campus, thinking that I just needed a breath of fresh air to calm my nerves. Eventually, I did return to the class about forty-five minutes later, but as soon as I slid in to my seat, the feeling came back full force and I knew I wouldn’t be able to make it through the second half of class, so I asked about the homework that was to be assigned that night as well as permission to leave, and left. I attempted one more time, thinking it was just nerves. And to my surprise, we have even more students than before (perhaps because the GED exam is on the last two weeks of April), and I pretty much repeated the same thing I did last time, except instead of Pink, there was another girl. I haven’t been back since, but not for lack of trying.
It’s just frustrating you know? Like in a situation where you are trying your hardest to make it, but all odds are against you. I’m not trying to be dramatic, believe me there are others in much more difficult circumstances, but I don’t have much time. There are about six more classes before the test, and I’m afraid that if I can’t make it to the last of the classes, I may be missing out big time and thus, fail the test. And as a result, be unable to apply to community college in the fall which will set me yet another year back, academically; something that I cannot afford to do. Not that I can afford college on my own anyhow, but even getting an AA would help me earn just a bit more than what a GED can get me.
I think what bothers me most if the fact that I can’t fight my anxiety on my own, and I do not have the financial means to get anti-depressants (not that they worked much for me despite making me into a poster child for anorexia), and I know what it is that is triggering both my depression and anxiety simultaneously but can do nothing to alter the problem. I’m even getting on the nerves of my mother who is starting to tire of my “phases” and claims I do nothing but sleep and read despite the fact that I usually help her when I’m okay. It’s kind of a slap in the face you know? Like when I help, everything is fine, but when I can’t, everything is my fault. I’m a lazy good-for-nothing who can’t even hold a job because I’m too unreliable in my moods and actions. And it’s not just me imagining it, or having feelings of “worthlessness and misplaced guilt,” or some shit like that.
How the fuck am I supposed to live the rest of my life like this when nothing is ever permanent? Some months, I’m fine. I remember everything, get along with everyone, do chores, errands, attend classes, and visit bookstores and other places that involve my being in the company of people. Other months, I can’t remember a thing, everyone and everything bothers me, I can barely sit or stand in a bus without wanting to vomit, and I just want to stay in bed and read, but even that I cannot accomplish because I am too tired and in so much physical pain and mental apathy . Even as I write this now, I am distracted and my anger is numbed to the utmost degree. My words are like sand that is visible one moment, and slipping through my fingers the next. I don’t know what the fuck to do with myself anymore. I’m so disgusted for even writing this shit down that I want to throw myself against a wall and beat the depression and anxiety right out of my skull. If that doesn’t warrant me a trip to the white room, I don’t know what does.
