Why do I have anxiety? I want to say it’s always been my closest friend even though I never really understood where we were first introduced.
It must have started back in grade school with butterflies in my stomach. When I was around 12 we moved from a place I never thought we would leave. A place full of family and familiaraity; to what seemed like a whole new world. It was the last year of elementary school, I had amazing friends and a sense of what it was like to be a happy kid. I can’t blame my parents for wanting to move to a new city, and maybe it was the age but trying to fit in where people made you feel like you didn’t at such a coming into your self age riled up those butterflies.
I don’t remember much from that first year in our new world. I wasn’t alone, I have a few young sister’s and we have a lot of memories from that new house, in that new world, with all those southern people, full of yes ma’am, no sir, sweat tea, beaches, sunshine, gated communities, Friday night football, and judgement.
It’s like when you aren’t from the south, especially when your a Yankee the southern can smell it. That indimidated me for a very long time. I talked different than everyone else, I looked different than everyone else, and I had different morale beliefs instilled in me by my parents. Church is a really big thing in the south, they’re are more church steeples than Win Dixies and Piggly Wiggly’s combined. My parents didn’t bring us to church, maybe on Christmas Eve once or twice back home but down in the south all my church visited were of my own free will and usually because I had spent night with a friend and part of the deal was I had to go to church Sunday morning. I have faith and believe in God but off of my own life experiences.
This may be where the rebellion started to show through. I tried to fit in, I wanted to be one of those girls everyone wanted to sit with at lunch, you know the girls with the pretty hair, that get all the attention for being so beautiful. My perpetual resting bitch face and hatred for being transported to this humid ass hell hole must have ruined that for me. I never was Miss Popular, I didn’t sit at the cool table, and it hurt. The friends I did end up making we sort of in the same situation as me. They were from different states usually, they looked different, acted different, and looking back they may have been from broken homes, but I didn’t care who was I to judge.
My parents may have been a little relaxed with the trust they extended to me during my upbringing. I was the oldest, the emo one, the first to experience life. Looking back I had this one friend from about 13 years old untill about 23 that honestly I don’t know how we didn’t end up on the back of a milk carton. She was two years older than me, when your 13 and your best friend gets to experience big milestones first like 16, 18, and 21 you get treated like your older and I liked it.
It was also around this time that my body started changing. Now this friend lets call her Red, she was a bad bitch to a 13 year old. She smoked Newports, wore a ton of make up, and always had boy drama. She was everything I was looking for. Now I lived on what you would call the good side of the tracks, even though there was no railroad tracks deffineing the determination from the two, Red lived on the wrong side of tracks which is where I’m going to stop for now. Join me next time as we explore the dark side…