Content Warning: Panic/Panic Attacks, Anxiety, Therapy, Mental Health
At three, I was given a phone. I became very attached, and as my mental health declined, I was dependent on it. If people interrupted me when I was doing something I liked on my phone, I would snap at them, which ruined a few friendships because I hated my phone being away from me.
When my phone died or, God forbid, was taken from me, I became angry, had little patience, and was nervous the whole time. I would feel constantly on edge, and when my mental health got worse, I was forced by my parents to change things. Most of it didn’t bother me since I would take walks and go to therapy sessions.
Though the second they said I would have limits on my phone, my heart started to race, and I began to panic. Tears welled up in my eyes, and my esophagus felt like it was closing. I grabbed my chest, and it was then that I experienced my first panic attack. It lasted about two minutes, but it was the longest two minutes of my life; a two-minute plank goes by more quickly.
All of that over a stupid phone. I felt like an idiot in front of my parents the whole time. My dad was panicking, not knowing what to do, and my mom was trying to guide me through it. The look of pity in their eyes made me feel like a kid crying over a monster.
It took months for me to be even slightly okay with my phone being away, and to this day, I still use it as a coping mechanism. It isn’t healthy, I know, and if I could go back in time, I would throw out the phone given to me. It made me grow up too fast and become sad, but it is also my haven, my safety, my way of getting to a calm I was supposed to have as a kid.
I was given a gift of knowledge, but the price was my childhood, happiness, and the person I could have been. And that just sucks.
