It was the worst.

I’m pretty sure I actually had a panic attack yesterday in my math class. Keep in mind, I don’t have math anxiety. I’m feeling overwhelmed with the workload, to the point where I’m thinking of dropping the class. But bad enough to lead to an anxiety attack? My heart was beating pretty quickly, almost fluttering, and not in a good way. I was dizzy and hot and sweaty. I was just so worried. I slack off, yes, but you don’t quite understand what a proud person I am. If I can’t do something, like pass a math class I took in middle school, then I’m a failure. Withdrawing from a class… It’s insane.

I really, really want to miss tomorrow and Thursday, just stay home, sleep, do nothing but look at cute clothes online. But that’s just one more fabulous little thing that’s sure to get me anxious. I’m worried that if I miss another class, any class at that, I’ll be dropped. I’ve already missed two of each of them; that’s pretty much the limit.

I’ve only ever freaked out this badly when I thought a spider was on my hand. But this was something truly different.

I’m afraid of becoming my brother.

So I talked to Casey for a while and realised that I’m basically running myself into the ground. I am the person who has to be able to do something. I fall apart when I can’t. I have to be better than my cousin, or my brother, or the girls in class that always got more praise just because they were more vocal about how smart they were. Granted, one of my best friends went on and on in this little tirade about how much of a genius I am without making an effort (take that, Angela!), but still. I have this complex or something. I can’t let anyone down, ever.

I constantly feel like I’m on the edge of this precipice, and if I take a single misstep, I’ll plummet. If I do or say or think the wrong things, I’ll be smashed to smithereens.

I will drop math. The course load was too much in too little time. I jumped from an average of four hours of homework a week to thirteen over the summer. And remember, I was an AP student.

But the pressure isn’t all my own. Back around April and May, I was doing really well and about to graduate, and my mom had this recurring nightmare that I wasn’t going to get to graduate. I’ve failed two classes due to not turning anything in, and I was behind five credits for the longest time because the counselors at my high school were fucking idiots. I basically went through three years of hell and uncertainty before I was able to graduate.

Now, here I am, having panic attacks over failing a class. Surely that isn’t normal. Normal people don’t get heart palpitations when they think they’ll have to withdraw from a class.

Gods, I’ve basically ruined myself mentally. I’ll take on the biggest work load I can find, slack off, and panic at the last minute when the fact that I haven’t turned shit in is the reason why I have to admit failure. Failure! I am a fucking failure. F. A. I. L. U. R. E.

This isn’t normal behaviour, this much I know. It’s almost like a god complex, meets OCD. I already know that I’m more than a little obsessive compulsive. I count, constantly. It’s like a comforting mechanism. I actually dislike odd numbers. I mean, I have a mild obsession with multiples of 10. When I get out of the shower, I have to step on the bath mat exactly ten times. I can’t touch certain doorknobs with my bare hand. I always have to sit near an emergency exit or in a corner (although the former is mostly by accident and is kind of a running joke). I’m a hypochondriac, just a little bit. I get close to a panic attack when I have to speak to a large group, or people that I really don’t know.

How did I manage to survive a speech class for a year?

Oh, gods, I have to give a debate in Politics…

Maybe one of these days I’ll see someone about my anxiety. For now, I have the internet, and WebMD to further my hypochondria.

I should have been asleep two hours ago. Doubtlessly some of my stress comes from sleeplessness.

Fuck.