So, yesterday I went to the doctor for my physical. No this isn’t focused around my physical but a certain moment in my physical where I chose to want to better myself instead of lying.
I personally hate physicals, I mean they’re so…. no thanks. But this one was different, it was really important.
After the eye and hearing test, the nurse came into the room my mom and I were in and asked me to fill something out.
During this physical, I really hoped that there would be something that I could say or write down to tell them about my mental stability. I mean they test you on everything, shouldn’t they test how you’re feeling inside?
I’m too afraid to talk about it out loud to people, my family especially. I mean, how do I just come out to my family saying, “I don’t like being social, it just makes my heart palpiatate and sweat and I hate that feeling. And sometimes, I just feel like life is hopeless and you don’t love me anymore. My mind isn’t ok.”
I just can’t picture having enough courage to tell them that.
But I was waiting. I was waiting for this paper. The one the nurse gave to me.
My anxiety hasn’t been better. I keep having these panic attacks, which I didn’t even know were panic attacks until a few days ago. I thought the shortness of breath, heart palpitations, sweating, and overcoming worry was just me being paranoid about my anxiety. But I guess not. Well, my anxiety is highly aware in school. It really isn’t getting better.
In fact, I had anxiety about going to the doctor. Not because I’m scared of the doctor or anything. But, because I’m anxious of what my teacher will say when the office tells her that I have to leave early. I mean leaving for a doctor or dentist’s appointment is really easy in my school. Your parents just show up, the office looks you up on a computer to know what class you’re in, and then the office person uses an intercom to contact the right classroom to let the teacher know a student has an early dismassal. It’s not complicated at all. Yet, I still had anxiety over the whole issue, because what if I miss something in class? What if the teacher is mad? What is everyone looks at me while I leave? My anxiety was so bad over it that I literally had a dream about it happening, and the way that I suddenly jolted awake proves that it definitely wasn’t a happy dream. That’s how bad my anxiety has been to me.
That piece of paper was my salvation.
It asked me the questions that I’ve always wanted to discuss with a professional.
And I checked the boxes.
It asked if I ever felt hopeless sometimes.
I checked the box.
It asked if I have ever contemplated life being better off without me in it.
I checked the box.
It asked if these issues made life somewhat difficult, not that difficult, or very difficult.
I checked the box that said very difficult.
Because I don’t want to lay a burden on myself anymore. I don’t want to hide from help anymore.
I mean I’m not sure what checking those boxes meant, the doctor just took the paper away. They can’t immediately conclude the results because there were other questions on that paper.
I’m just hoping that I started something for myself. That this is me finally asking and looking for help.
This is me stepping on that first step towards help.
I’ve accepted the fact that I’ve had anxiety, that I’ve had a mental disorder. It wasn’t easy at first but I did it. And now I’m finally starting to want to get help.
Once I left the doctor’s office I started having anxiety over the decision I just made. Does this mean my life is going to change? Should I have just lied? Should I have just kept it all inside? Should I have not checed those boxes?
But then I immediately crushed all those questions by reminding myself that if I did lie and if I did in fact not check the boxes that I checked than I would feel even worse and even more helpless.
Coincidentally (everything happens for a reason and this reason isn’t coincidental) 2 days ago I read this article focusing around kids with mental disorders who seeked help and “Wouldn’t know where they would be without it.” That quote was from a 13 year old. 13. In that moment I figured out maybe it’s time to ask for help.
I’m still really worried about that paper. Where it is right now, what’s happened to it. If they’re going to contact my parents about it. If they’re even going to do anything about it.
But I just never thought that I would ever communicate for help or tell a professional up front about my mental condition. So right now I just want to cherish that I did something as small as checking checkmarks on a piece of paper. To you, that might seem small and lame, but it’s a big step for me.