I. Am. Crazy.
I’ve known this exquisite truth for years, since I was 8 years old. That’s 10 years living with The Fear; the crazy, tense, jittery body, the terrible churning stomach, the mind destroying obsessive anxiety that rules my everyday life. And I’ve hidden it from everyone; I have to, I can’t let them know I’m insane.
My current obstacle is college, a boring endless round of papers and tests, made almost bearable by the release that comes with drunken nights when I can pretend I’m not me, when I can drink myself into a sexy, confident stranger who can escape her everyday hell. But there’s a price for this escape. Isn’t there always a price for getting what you want?
You might say that I’m self-destructive, one step away from disaster at every moment. I party too hard, I drink too much, I drive when I shouldn’t, I lose my virginity in a one night stand, I contract an STD, I fall in love and get my heart crushed. And none of this makes my anxiety go away.
And then the price must be paid; my anxiety will exact its coin in flesh – with a loaded handgun in my parents’ basement. The fact is, I haven’t been able to leave the house for a month for anything other than work. I’ve retreated so far into myself, into my crazy mind, that I think I will disappear. And I want to disappear, so badly, because I’m terrified of everything. I want to die. I need to end this, to slip into the warm, quiet blackness of death.
And while I’m lying there, sobbing, trying to decide what to do, he calls. After we hang up, I make a choice.