I remember clenching my jaw in agony, my mind tearing through me. It cut in half every blood vessel, leaving internal bleeding. It sheared every muscle, leaving me unable to move. My nerves were engulfed, leaving my limbs twitching and eager to move, but instead, paralyzed. There was no help for me but a small, white, bitter-tasting pill that left me feeling like an old corn husk; dried out and worthless. Every night, I would lay curled up on my bed, touching barely anything, but still feeling poisoned by the safest surfaces.
These episodes, deemed by physiatrists “panic attacks” occurred nightly, and refused to let up until I eventually dozed off late in the night. Doctors told my parents that these feelings were self inflicted, and stemmed from a secret- one that I was not ready to tell.
When I was very young, only in second grade, another student took advantage of my blissful naivety, using me for her own pleasure and abusive fetishes. For two years I was used unrelentingly by a girl two years older than me.
In the years after, I constantly popped the pills provided by my doctor, and after my attacks grew worse, I found that no amount of Xanex, Prozac, or any other pill could help me; I was on my own. Frankly, that is exactly what it took to overcome my abuse: Being by myself. I was forced to deal with my horrid past on my own, and without help. I had only me, and that was the only thing I could put faith in.
I am now fourteen years old, and I believe in me. Believing in yourself can inspire, or heal, anything. If you use this belief right, you can accomplish all your goals, and not one goal will be too difficult to accomplish.
After a while of feeling better, I forgot what happened. Until one day, it came flooding back: I was weaving in and out of shelves in the local bookstore with my best friend, Belinda. Then, I saw her, that famous face from my past. My breath left me, and quickly I hid behind one of the shelves. My best friend looked at me like I was a crazy person.
“Oh my god, Be, it’s her!” I said, tears beginning to stream down my face.
Immediately, she became very concerned. “Are you going to be okay?” She asked.
I took this into consideration. I turned my thoughts over, flipping them around, inside and out, and up and down. I was going to win this; I was believing in myself. I wiped my tears away, and stood up, proud. I was me, and no one was ever going to change that. No matter my age, no matter how much fear and pain I faced, I had me, and that was something I was and am willing to believe in.
“Yeah, I’m okay,” I said as I wiped my tears away.
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