Everything is unraveling.
I am a 17 year-old transgender male, and I have suffered from anxiety for as long as I can remember. In my childhood, the seeds of this vicious psychological anamoly were planted, and their thorny stems have followed me into adulthood.
My health has always been my worst trigger. I grew up with asthma and allergies, and I would end up in the hospital often because of it. Ravaged attacks in the nurse’s office, I cried for a solution to a persistent pain that no child could ever understand in their inexperience and mental maturity. When I look back now, I feel unsure of my “asthma attacks” as even being such.
My mother was afraid, and her fear often induced my own during these times. I remember one night going to the hospital because my heart was beating a marathon a minute while I was trying to sleep at night. How could I not be petrified?
Now, I am tormented once again by the snake of uncertainty. It wraps itself around my throat ensuring that I writhe, because if I do not; it is not fulfilling its purpose. I feel like I am no longer living. I have awoken everyday with the same symptoms of numbness in my face, weakness in arms and hands, I constantly feel like I am suffocating—as if instead of breathing I am holding my breath, I spend at least three nights a week worrying that I have some type of cancer, a throat infection, that my lungs are somehow dying, that I am all in all just dying.
At night, laying in bed, I am desperately trying to fall asleep with the sound of my haunting heartbeat filling my ears and deafening me to rationality. I am a vulnerable mess, and all I feel each day is an overwhelming feeling of dread, despite not thinking of much at all. There is always that tightness in my chest, that feeling as if I personally am no longer breathing, as I leave my body, and I watch the physical me’s chest heave in and out.
I want it to end.
All I could ever ask for right now is the peace of mind I honestly was rarely able to grasp at any point in my life.