I Am Not My Body: My Story

I am locked in a dark place, nowhere to turn, surrounded by demons. All I want is a glimmer of light, to see what is around me. But how do I escape? Where do I find light in a world where darkness rules? I am afraid for my life, waiting for the worst to happen. This may sound like the opening to a horror novel, but what I am describing is real. These feelings run through my mind on a weekly, if not daily, basis. What am I afraid of? Life itself.

Let's back up a little bit, to when I was seven years old. I didn't talk to anyone outside of my immediate family. Not my friends, my babysitter, not even my grandparents. These were all very friendly people. Why wouldn't I talk to them? Wrong question. Why couldn't I talk to them. I could hardly stop talking when it was just my siblings, parents, and me. The ability was there, but was the desire there?

That summer, at seven years old, my mom dragged me to Johns Hopkins for a study on generalized anxiety disorders, which is where I was diagnosed with selective mutism. Selective mutism is one of many forms of an anxiety disorder. The thing is, it is not selective. To select something means to choose something. I didn't ask to not talk to people. The desire to communicate was very strong, in fact. But something inside of me was telling me to keep silent. That's where the anxiety comes into play. My mind was telling me that it was wrong to talk. My seven year old brain accepted that without question.

As I'm sure you are all aware, the brain is a very important part of the body. Without it, one would not be able to feel, think, react. But when people think of mental disorders, they say it's just a bunch of garbage. Or that it is something one can get over. It will go away with time. You can't get over a mental disorder, but you can get through one.  For me, it took years of psychiatrists, therapists, and medications to get where I am now. I went from being a little boy afraid of his own voice to a man who has worked various customer service jobs, teaches Sunday school and Cub Scouts, and absolutely loves meeting new people.  

But what happens now? I am still on medication. I still see a psychiatrist. What has changed? Me. I have changed. I now understand that I can be what I want to be, to not be afraid. I will not be constrained because a part of my body tells me to shut up and hide. Don't get me wrong. The anxiety is still there. The fear still tries to manifest itself, but I push it back into the dark corners of my mind where it belongs.

This topic has become very important to me. In the past, it was easy for me to accept that I was different. While everyone else was up on their feet dancing, I was the wallflower trying to avoid eye contact. I'm still a wallflower, but I now beg for eye contact. I justified everything I did by telling myself it was normal for someone with anxiety to act in such ways, to hide and remain silent. But I am not anxiety. I am a 25-year old college student working to afford gas, just like the guy next door, or the girl down the road. My body tries to tell me what to be, but I am not my body. I am me.