My sophomore year of college was enriched with family, friends, sorority sisters, successful academic achievement, and a loving boyfriend. A terrifying new element was suddenly added one evening. I was lying in bed and began to sweat profusely. My heart was racing and I could not stay still. I had an overwhelming foreboding that something terrible was about to happen to me and I couldn't escape it. I called my dad to explain my symptoms and he suggested that I go to the hospital. I wanted to go there alone because I could not bear the thought of anyone seeing me in a helpless, hopeless state.
At the hospital, the doctor thought I might be dehydrated. But even though he gave me fluids and medication to help me sleep, I lay awake crying all night. Never had I felt so out of touch with myself. How had I changed from an independent, secure, and adaptable young woman? I didn't want anyone to judge me, so I didn't want anyone to know.
I went through my days smiling on the outside, crying on the inside. People surrounded me yet I felt completely isolated. I slept very little, ate very little, and thought very little about anything other than how pathetic I was. Though a small part of me understood the anxiety I was feeling, the other part of me thought I was crazy. In fact I was sure of only one thing: I was alone in my condition. It wasn’t long before I discovered how wrong I was. |
