To all my friends who have known me for a long time knows that I have psychological issues for several years now. And through all those years, I kept on saying I wanted help. But it wasn't until today when I finally, finally accepted deep inside that I needed help.

Yesterday, on my major subject, I was triggered by my lecturer. We were discussing anxiety disorders and I have been on edge ever since the class started.  I know he didn't mean it at all but, well, it dug up A LOT of issues. I have been dreading this subject for about a year now, trying to find a way to convince myself not to have an anxiety or panic attack in school. But, I never really succeeded in doing it (obviously). For years, I have fought these thoughts, these anxieties on my own. Yes, I have always had my supportive friends who have always been there for me whenever I break down but I have always pushed it as something like acting out. I have always wanted to talk to a therapist but I was scared. I was terrified of what they'd tell me, of what I'll say, of what could happen to me. I was scared of the stigma that will be attached to me, I was scared that people will treat me differently if they knew. I was just... scared.

And then, in that class, I blurted out about my PTSD. Everyone who knew me in school didn't know me like that. I have always been the strong one, the smart one; I was never the one who had issues in myself. I don't know what pushed me to say it in class... maybe it was because my then therapist told me that I have to be a bit more open and not push people away, or maybe it was my last call for help, or maybe because I was already anxious that my mind was already numb; but I ended up stating it in class. But what happened next wasn't part of my plans. 

I knew he was just trying to know why, and what happened so he started asking me questions in class. I tried answering as much as I can but the questions he asked me started to trigger thoughts I have been trying to bury. And, just when I was on the verge, he started making jokes. I know that he was just trying to lighten the mood, I know he was trying to make me feel better. But it did not. If anything, it pushed me even further to the edge. So when the class ended, my hands were already sweating nonstop and my whole body was trembling. I knew then that I was on the verge of having a panic attack.

From school, I have to walk about 10 minutes back to the dorm that I live in. I had to cross streets and if you've been to the Philippines, you have to dodge A LOT of motorcycles. And, for those who don't know, my PTSD was because of a vehicular accident that happened in 2010. I was hit by a motorcycle while crossing the street, causing me to go through A LOT of major operations. So, my walk home was next to the most painful thing I have done yesterday. I was literally whimpering whenever a car or a motorcycle passes my by. I was gripping on my book with sweating and shaking hands. I felt like fainting, like my lungs won't expand more than an inch. I was trying not to cry in the streets, trying my best not to break down. And, when I finally got to the dorm, I broke down.

I immediately called my family, crying nonstop, my chest feeling like it was about to burst because of the pain and the lack of oxygen. My head started feeling light, and soon after way hurting like I hit the pavement. My whole body was trembling and I had to grasp my phone tightly to keep myself rooted in reality. I could literally see nothing, both through the tears and through the anxiety. I was panicking. I didn't know why, I didn't know from what. I was just terrified. I was lost in this void where everything is dark and you have that gut feeling that everying is going to stop moving and you'd soon be gone. Not dead, just... gone...

Usually, after a full-blown panic attack, I'd start feeling better. After my attack, I felt so exhausted, both mentally and physically. I quickly finished eating my dinner then soon fell asleep. 

I woke up the next morning, feelings of guilt washing over me. I kept repeating to myself what happened in class and what my classmates saw. I was feeling guilty for sharing that major information about myself. I was feeling guilty of the panic attack that I had the previous night and I was dreading the second part of the lecture today. I didn't know how to face my classmates and my lecturer. And that probably started triggering me again.

On my walk to school, I knew my anxiety attack was resurfacing. I kept rubbing my fingers on my jacket, trying to root myself in reality, trying my best not to break down. I actually survived coming to class. But I was feeling so off that I couldn't focus. Then, while crossing the street, a classmate of mine tried to greet me and grabbed my bag playfully. Now, on an ordinary day, I'm fine with it. I'd even joke around with them. But today, because I was on edge, it triggered me to the edge. My hands then started trambling again and my body just went cold. Then, I went upstairs to class. 

I had a quiz this morning that I ended up flunking. I just couldn't answer anything. My mind can't focus on the quiz, and my vision was starting to blur. My whole body was already shaking and I started having difficulty breathing again. Then a couple of classmates and I went out to have breakfast but I couldn't even hold anything because my hands were trembling so badly. Then we went back to class and I tried to sit it through, which was going fine until we had a fire drill. 

All my close friends knew that I hated crowds which is why I stopped coming to conventions and concerts. My school, as small as it was, had thousands of students. Imagine cramping all the students in a small parking lot during a fire drill all those students. So, my already at-high-anxiety went over the top and developed, again, into another panic attack.

I couldn't stop my body from trembling and I couldn't breathe anymore. My hands can't hold anything because it seemed to have been frozen into that fist that I was making while I was stopping myself from having a full blown panic attack. Then, I knew, I couldn't stop myself from having the attack anymore. I told my classmates I was heading to the clinic to rest but I knew they wouldn't be able to help me so I ran to the guidance office. And then, as much as I tried to compose myself, they saw my trambling hands and immediately talked to me.

The guidance counselor was nice. She sat through my panic attack until I finally calmed down a little. Then, after the attack, I knew. It was too late to not tell them what exactly was happening. I never really wanted to tell the school about my situation because I didn't want anyone in school to know. I didn't want their view of me to change, or their treatment of me to be "special". I wanted them to treat me normally, like nothing's wrong with me. I wanted to be an ordinary student. But now that my classmates have seen me anxious, I knew it was too late for that. I was only thatful that they did not see the ugly side of anxiety and the panic attacks. 

When I finally calmed down, the counselor talked to me. She asked me if I wanted further help. And, at my vulnerable moment, I finally said yes. Everyone who knows me knew that I built overly high walls aroung me and that I push people away. And, probably because I was very weak at that moment, I have agreed to finally let someone help me. I have agreed that she advise my college's faculty about my situation so I can be excused from the lecturer's classes and all other classes that I have this week. She also offered me to talk to my dad about my condition because I never really told him what was happening. I just call him crying, then I end up chickening out from telling him what's really wrong and tell him I'm okay. 

Right now, I don't really know if she had already talked to my dad and my college's faculty members so I guess I'm going to find out tomorrow. Right now, as stupid as it sounds, I am feeling guilty again. I know what I did will be for the better, but I'm guilty for making my family worry again. But I am hoping that what I did will really be for the better. I want to get better, I really do. And now that I let those close to me through the high walls I have built, I'm hoping that things will be better for me. I'm hoping that things will start to look upwards.