Anxiety Kicks 10-Year-Old’s Butt

I remember being about ten years old when I was in line for an achievement certificate. I still have that certificate.

It sits in a file on my desk, and sometimes when I page through it looking for pertinent identity proof items, I see it and doff my proverbial hat. I almost respect that certificate because it sent me on one of the most epic (and I am talking epic in a bad way) experiences of my life.

At just ten years old, I already knew I didn’t entirely fit in. It wasn’t that I preferred playing cars over barbies (guilty as charged) or that I had developed an abstract art form that seemed to scare other kids off(why, I don’t know — I promise, I painted nothing creepy) — it was something else.

It was because something inside told me I didn’t fit in. I wasn’t possessed or anything, don’t go thinking that. But my inability to fit in was all me — it was all my fault. Even when other kids did try to include me, the “something” inside me held me back.

I would feel like the other kids didn’t understand me or didn’t want me around. I avoided playing with other kids because I hated anyone noticing me. I didn’t quite know what was wrong with me until that certificate arrived. And much hullabaloo came with it.

My parents, who were overwhelmed with pride, seemed to be checking the calendar days…