social anxiety

It’s been 2 years, and I’m still on the road to recovery

1 year passed and I still didn’t know what was wrong with me. I carried this burden on my shoulder, cried myself to sleep every night, thinking “why am I like this”. I thought that this was normal. Until my exam results dropped from As to Fs. Not 1, but all. No one noticed anything until this happened.

I was 13, turning 14 then. 2 days before my 14th birthday, I tried to kill myself. I was on the ledge, and for the first time I felt the coolness of the air, the wind, and how beautiful the night sky looked. I never felt so close to wanting to be in the air, flying like the birds, being free from everything. I got dragged into the Child Guidance Clinic and got diagnosed with major depressive disorder, generalised anxiety, social anxiety, and depersonalisation.

My parents didn’t want to believe what I was going through. They became mad. Everyday they vent their anger on me through verbal abuse, it was tiring and it didn’t make anything better. Every night was a torture, and every night was a chance for me to escape this. I never wanted this, did I?

I’m 16 now, the suicidal thoughts hasn’t stopped, but I’m sitting here, alive today, still fighting against everything I have. Still, my parents “hate” me. They say that I’ve wasted every single day thinking of negative thoughts and wanting to die.

But no. I haven’t wasted my time, if i have survived the day.
To everyone out there, to me, the road to recovery is to believe in yourself first. Even if the world doesn’t believe in you, you have to believe in yourself.

It’s been 2 years, and I’m still on the road to recovery.

It isn’t my fault

The past two years of my life have been really hard for me. I’ve been struggling with social anxiety since I’ve entered secondary school. Things haven’t gotten easier because I didn’t seek help when I needed to and chose to bottle up my feelings instead. This would result in random outbursts at my peers or family and they never understood why I acted this way or another. I’ve had bad friendships and felt insecure about myself and felt unworthy because of the things people would say or do.


They call me stupid, ugly, bimbo, and criticise me because of my religion. As this carried on, I’ve started to feel just terrified of all the people in this world.


Around the end of the year, I attended a camp and experienced my first two panic attacks. It was then I realised I needed help. 


I decided to tell my mother and sister about my anxiety, and even though they didn’t really understand at first, I think they are beginning to understand me now and I am currently seeking help. 


It’s a hard thing to talk about but I’m glad I did. And even though I’m not okay yet, and I still am uneasy, I trust God that with time, I can learn to overcome this and be happy again. Because I deserve to be happy and it isn’t my fault that this happened.


I don’t like who I am

Raising up my hand to answer questions in school was always scary for me. Terrifying, even. I thought I was just shy, and so did everyone else. I’m 18 now, and I suffer from social anxiety and depression.

It’s difficult for me to speak up. To my friends, my classmates, even my own family. I can’t order food without panicking or crying, and loud, overwhelming crowds send me into hyperventilation.

What is simple for others is sometimes difficult for me. While friends my age are travelling, doing amazing things and enjoying life, I’m lying in bed feeling useless and guilty about myself.

I’m fortunate. I am. I have a loving family and a few close friends, a roof over my head and I never have to worry if I’ll have enough money for tomorrow. So why can‘t I function properly? Why can’t I just be happy and normal? Do I even have the right to be so sad, so anxious?

My mom used to be so proud of me for being the top student in the level. Now she praises me when I answer the door instead of asking the delivery person to leave my items outside when I order food.

I learn things much slower than others. I’m negative. I stutter and cry often. I think things would be so much better if I weren’t here, if I weren’t me. I don’t like who I am. But… I’m still a person, aren’t I?