“Anxiety is an invalid excuse,” I repeat to myself as I mentally prepare to enter my classroom. The moment I touch that doorknob it’s over.
The battle with my own demons and the debates in my own mind, it is all over. It means I have won. But at what cost I ask and doubt my actions in the foreseeable future.
Is winning rather important to me so facing those looks full of judgment would be the adequate price?
The moment I enter that classroom their looks will burn and numb my skin within every glimpse they catch. The never-ending 10-second walk to my seat in the very back would feel like crossing a bridge over my deepest fears and terrors.
The whispering I hear, pounding in my ears, making a din so loud thinking such craze is life ending. The shivers and panic that would spread throughout every single atom of this body of mine while the professor is handing me my exam.
Entering the realms of this kingdom of pure devastation and self-destruction, as it seems to me, would mean I have finally won the battle fighting as long as my mind can remember and recall.
“Are you going in or what?” – My thoughts are interrupted by a familiar voice. I look up to see my classmate, Marc, standing there with a slight smirk on his face and a tiny little sparkle in his rather arid and grueling eyes.
“I think I’ll skip class today” – I mumble in the quietest tone of voice ever, locking eyes with the floor which seemed the most stable thing around me at that time.
Gaze full of hesitation and confusion brushed my skin as Marc slowly opened the classroom door and went it. I grabbed my backpack and ran to the closest bathroom not paying any attention to the pupils around me, probably asking themselves what is wrong with this epic lunatic running through the school halls.
I lock the dirty, graffiti-covered door behind me and collapse on the floor. My thoughts and voices in my head were so loud, I had a significant hardship remaining indifferent to them.
I became absorbed, oblivious to the passage of time. Whilst searching for my pills in the most deranged and hectic way ever, the raw reality of life hit me and opened my eyes like that first sniff of your black morning coffee.
I live in a world built on fantasy. Poisoning myself with pills, synthetic emotions in the form of medication, mind-altering chemicals and an ability to conquer psychological warfare packed up in a tiny little square of pure “happiness”.
My life, or the majority of it, is just one big hoax. I haven’t been able to put my feelings into words for as long as I can remember. Nobody knows what is wrong with me, heck even I don’t know what’s wrong with me.
Everything is perfectly fine, but beneath the surface is the real nightmare, the one that deprives me of sleep. After a moment or two, the Xanax pill I took finally kicked in.
A relief, rush of euphoria and calm sensations hugged my body. I stood up dusting the grime and dirt away from my school uniform and I opened the door. My class hadn’t started yet, I still had 5 more minutes left.
I checked myself in the mirror, satisfied with my reflection I left the gross school bathroom. I felt okay, I felt normal for a change. With an abundance of confusing confidence, I opened the classroom door and went in.
Each and every one of the students was minding their own business. Nobody was staring at me with bizarre gapes, making faces or calling me various names. It was all in my head.
Anxiety is an invalid excuse, it is not the reason to skip class or cancel my girls’ night out. Although I had a significant help from my emergency pill, I still won. I still won the battle against the dark side of my own self. And the prize was an irreplaceable feeling of victory and defeat.
A rather superior emotion of satisfaction, fulfillment, and contentment. “It was worth it” – I think as I sat on my seat and waited for the professor to come in. I am worth it.
A professional writer with over a decade of incessant writing skills. Her topics of interest and expertise range from psychology, to all sorts of disciplines such as science and news.