How my abusive teachers led to my anxiety

It all started in middle school.

I was an over-achieving little kid who was excited to get more stickers on their tests, signifying high grades. Sadly, I forgot that not all teachers are kind and polite – some are absolutely horrible.

In sixth grade, one of my teachers was not only verbally and emotionally abusive, but occasionally physically abusive. If she did not like you or your older sibling, she would yell, mark answers on tests as wrong (even though they were correct) – she even dropped textbooks on a boy’s hands for getting just one wrong. Any time any student talked out of turn, she would take one particular boy out to the hallway and yell at him for five minutes, even though he was rarely the one talking. Many students left class crying throughout the year and had no idea what was taught that day.

Once, our teacher told us to memorize a phrase so that she would look good in front of the supervisor who would observe our class the next day. She didn’t want us to write the phrase down or on our palms – it just needed to be memorized the second she said it. We decided to take a stand against her reign and wrote the phrase down on our hands before class and when she asked what the phrase was, we all raised our hands and blatantly read off our palms.

Let’s just say she was not too happy.

I was one of the unfortunate students who was instantly hated by her because of an older sibling. She downgraded my tests and quizzes, refused to correct her “mistakes,” yelled and screamed at me, made me cry and hate myself for not being smart enough for her.

In addition to the overwhelming stress surrounding the class, I developed other problems. In the morning I couldn’t eat, for if I did, I would either feel sick or throw up during school. I would then make up for it by stress eating after school. Years later I would realize that the reason I loved doodling and drawing was to distract my mind from panic attacks. I cried when I got home and spent most of the day cooped up in my room, avoiding contact with others.

The next year I found similar abuse with another teacher. Verbal abuse, altered test grades, threats of detention, and so on. It was during her reign that my eating troubles really took hold.

I couldn’t eat in the mornings (her class was one of the first ones during the day), I had terrible stomach pain, and splitting headaches. It was useless even going to her class – I couldn’t do anything. I just wanted to sit curled in a ball in the corner, holding my stomach and pressing my eyes shut.

Those two years cemented anxiety problems into my life that I did not know what to do with. I didn’t want to worry anyone or see a doctor, for fear of what they’d say, so I did my best to deal with it.

The night before my first day of high school I had a panic attack. Dots in my vision, breathing too fast, feeling like my skin was crawling. My parents sat with me until I calmed down two hours later. After they left I cried myself to sleep.

This continued throughout high school. Depressing thoughts, paranoia and social anxiety, and even suicidal thoughts. I counted down the days until college, thinking I could leave my town and all of my troubling memories behind.

High school was terrible for me. Any major tests (midterms, finals, SATs) would result at least in small panic attacks the night before. When taking the tests, it is like my mind would go black. Nothing was there. I could figure out something associated with what the answers was, but rarely the actual answer.

I even took the dreaded SAT once in 10th grade for the sole reason of understanding the stress and pressure while taking the test. While it did help a bit, I still continued to have trouble and even threw up once during a break.

Near the end of high school I started to run into a few other problems that made matters worse. A girl who I had only ever been nice to started to bully me, especially on a school trip senior year. After putting up with her constant digs for over a week, I finally had it. I talked to my friends, asking for help, only to realize one thing – it was either me or her, the girl who had bullied not only me but many other students throughout the school.

Realizing my friends chose the school bully over me hit hard. I didn’t know if I could make it to college. That summer was lonelier than I had ever been. I didn’t know what to do with myself. My parents did their best to keep me occupied and orientation for college helped. Eventually I came to terms with my situation and just waited out the summer until I got to college.

Then when I did I found the friends I needed. I opened up to them about my past, how I dealt with constant problems related to anxiety, that they shouldn’t worry if I’m constantly drawing in notebooks or on index cards because that just helps me.

They not only helped me out tremendously, but they’ve always been kind and understanding and supportive.

Looking back, I understand what Twenty One Pilots’ lyrics “Am I the only one I know, waging my wars behind my face and above my throat? Shadows will scream that I’m alone, but I know I’ve made it this far, kid” mean.

I think much less about the dots in my vision, splitting headaches, and problems with testing. It was my first year in college where I lost the feeling of complete loneliness and self-destruction. With the help of my friends I am working on building confidence and learning to take one day at a time.

Panic attack free, one year and counting.