Here's my entire life's story

Hmm, I kind of feel like talking about myself at length in public right now. What better to do than write my life story in that case?

I've had social anxiety as long as I can remember.

I remember being proud of myself for singing "Row, Row, Row Your Boat" with the rest of the class in kindergarten because it was one of the few times I'd ever spoken in class before. I wrote my admissions essay to college about how I had 3 friends in elementary school (though that wasn't 100% true, I had 6 friends, 3 in school and 3 out of school - I had forgotten to count the 3 out of school friends). I missed half of every week in 6th grade because I was constantly nauseous from worry because I wasn't doing my homework (because my teacher was a horrible person and my 6th grade brain thought that not doing work was a punishment for her). I remember writing "I'm getting more outgoing!" so many times in journals throughout the years. I didn't join a club my friend wanted me to join until the next year (and thus missed a year of my favorite club) because I thought joining halfway through the semester was too awkward. I never did join tech though I'd always been interested in doing so. I dreaded college applications because they needed letters of recommendation and I didn't talk to many teachers in the first place and didn't want to impose on those I did talk to. I was convinced my freshman year roommate hated me after our first, stilted facebook chat - we ended up being great friends and we still live together.

In September 2011 (my junior year of college) I got the push I needed to go get treatment, unfortunately I ended up on meds that upped my anxiety like woah. I started having panic attacks, suicidal thoughts, self harming and all that fun stuff they mutter really fast at the end of SSRI ads. I also wasn't in particularly effective therapy, I had a student therapist who wasn't trained to deal with someone with an anxiety disorder (or so it seemed) and thus kind of tried to fix one of the symptoms while leaving the big tangley mess of issued behind it alone. Also the place I was at was completely over burdened so the minimal help my therapist offered was even less because I could see her maybe once every two weeks. She also had a serious case of therapist voice and that wigged me out. After a couple months I did get referred to the Anxiety Clinic on campus where at least they have the training and experience to deal with an anxiety disorder, though the way they go about setting up the initial appointment seems specifically designed to terrify people with anxiety.

Before I actually went to the first Anxiety Clinic appointment though I hit a point where I couldn't deal with my anxiety at home anymore and I went to the hospital in late November. That was the truly best thing for me and I can't overstate how happy I am that I went. I had a great experience; I was put on the right meds, I met people who were in a very similar boat as me, I was able to practice social interactions in a safe place, and for the first time (and just for a day) I understood that people aren't my friends out of pity but because I'm an awesome person. I cling to that last bit with all my might now and if just that had happened at the hospital it would have been worth it. It still makes me cry knowing I went 21 years not knowing what it was like to feel like I deserved friendship, not even knowing I was missing that and it was possible until it happened.

After my breakdown and the build up to the breakdown and hospitalization I dropped my classes for the semester because there was no chance I'd pass half of them and the other half would be a ton of work to catch up and not fail and I wasn't capable of doing that then. I tried to just focus on me but there was so much going on with trying to get everything set for the next semester. I returned to my mom's house for the holidays and sunk into an anxiety/depression funk. That killed any attempts at finishing up plans for the next semester (I was to the point where pills on a regular-ish basis was the only thing I was able to make myself do. Even that I'd sometimes stare at the pills across the room next to my pill-taking-water and have no idea how it was expected of me to get up, walk 8 feet, open the pill bottles, open the water bottle, take the pills, close the bottles, and come back.) I decided then to take this semester off and focus on getting better. It really is for the best anyway, I'm managing my appointments, auditing one class, clubs, and social engagements but I don't think I could do much more right now. It does amuse me though that going to parties can be considered part of the process of me getting better. While my therapists probably wouldn't approve of the occasional consumption of copious amounts of alcohol those situations are helping me function better socially and not be as scared during sober hang-out-with-not-BFFs time. There's even a person I have a crush on and I'm trying to do something about it rather than being frightened and frustrated and just waiting for the feelings to go away. That's super major for me since this time last year I wouldn't have even considered making a move.

Err, this turned out way longer than I was expecting. Thanks for reading all of it if you did. I considered editing it down but I know I'd cut out the emotion, leaving just what actually happened. And that's not helpful at all.