I'm With Anxious

  I’M WITH ANXIOUS

  Suzanne Brown

  I’M WITH ANXIOUS is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and feelings are all in the author’s wild and unruly imagination. Any resemblance to actual events, locations, situations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2018 by Suzanne Brown

  All rights reserved.

  ISBN: 978-0-692-08710-7 k12

  www.sbrownbooks.com

  To my amazing family. There’s no one else I’d want laughing, crying, and freaking out with me on our adventures around the world!

  CHAPTER 1

  It’s 8 AM, and all is not well

  I have to admit that so far this day totally sucks.

  I’m locked out of school, freezing my tush off. The first bell just rang. And I’m pretty sure I just killed my boyfriend.

  Well, I guess he’s my ex-boyfriend now.

  Crap.

  CHAPTER 2

  Earlier that morning before my day went down the crapper

  The first thing I do every day is draw on my wall calendar. I know, wall calendars are so old school, but I like the visual. I have a smiley face on every day of the past eighteen months (and four days) to celebrate the new, happy, positive, anxiety-free me. And I started the hearts six months ago when Dillon and I went on our first date.

  Dillon. Happy sigh.

  He’s six-feet of eye candy. Ocean-blue eyes. Wavy, brown hair. Captain of the soccer team. Sweet. Thoughtful. And the reason I’m going to be nominated for prom queen today!

  I know! I can hardly believe it! Sophomores aren’t even invited to the prom, but Dillon is a junior, and they’re making an exception because we’re like the most loved couple in school. (Even Mama and Daddy love us together. Which totally amazes me because Daddy doesn’t ever think anyone is good enough for his little girl).

  I walk into my closet. I promised to meet Dillon and my besties this morning before they announce the nominations and I have to wear my favorite sweater. It’s light blue, like happy clouds on a sunny day, and it’s spun of the softest cashmere, making me feel like I’m wrapped in a Daddy hug.

  And I can’t find it.

  Eighteen months ago, this would have been a really big deal. I would have freaked out, had a major panic-attack, and probably wouldn’t have made it to school. I know it sounds a little extreme for a missing piece of clothing, but that’s how I used to roll. I used to freak out about every little thing. And I mean. Every. Little. Thing.

  God, I was so pathetic. I know everyone gets anxiety, but I made it an Olympic sport. I didn’t just worry about how to cheat the dress code, or if I over plucked my eyebrows. No. I mutated everything into catastrophic, life-altering, world-ending disasters. KA-BOOM!

  Like when I overheard my daddy tell my mama that his company was downsizing. I didn’t just worry that Daddy would lose his job. I worried that we’d have no money so we’d starve to death in the middle of winter, and our carcasses would be frozen to the couch until the mailman found us in the spring thawing and stinking up the joint. (I still have protein bars and matches hidden under the couch… just in case.) I worried that my twelve-year-old brother, Berg, would get drafted into a war, lose a leg, get a really cool prosthesis, and then I would run it over with the car and crush it to smithereens. I worried that my Mama would get cancer and need my blood to live, but my fear of needles would make me run away from home, and she would die. You get the point. My imagination worried things into a senseless oblivion.

  It was near the end of eighth-grade when my school counselor smiled sadly and told my parents I had Generalized Anxiety Disorder.

  “Oh my God, I have Oh my GAD!” I joked. No one laughed, but I didn’t care. I was just happy to finally know what the heck was wrong with me. I hated worrying. I hated my anxiety. I hated feeling so depressed and angry that on some days all I could do was crawl into bed, turn off all the lights, and hope I disappeared.

  I hated myself for allowing those feelings to win. But most of all, I hated myself.

  So… POOF! I changed. Overnight! Just like in a fairy tale!

  Well, that’s not exactly how it happened. Nothing is ever that easy. Especially when you’re a teenager… and a girl… and a freak. Triple whammy sundae. And not a tasty one.

  I did change. That’s not a lie. But it took a long time. I didn’t want anyone to know that I had Oh my GAD, so Mama and Daddy did lots of voodoo, hippie crap like deep breathing and guided mindfulness with me until I finally found something that clicked. I call it Breathe and Bury. I think about happy things while I breathe in, and I exhale out all the crap. I taught myself to bury my emotions so well that no one has seen me yell, or cry, or freak out since I started high school last year. Not my family. Not my besties. And definitely not Dillon.

  My anxiety is now just a thing buried in my past. It takes a ton of work to be happy every day, but it’s so worth the effort. Negative nellies don’t get the perfect life. You never see the pissed-off girl dressed in combat boots nominated as homecoming queen. Or the vegan chick crying over the mistreatment of cows elected president of her class.

  Nope. It just doesn’t happen.

  No one wants to share pain, or see anger, or feel sad. We avoid these emotions like a flesh-eating disease. (Yikes! She’s sad. I don’t want to catch it. RUN!) Everyone wants to hang out with someone who’s happy and living the dream life. That way we can totally ignore our own crappy, little existence, and pretend we’re living the dream life, too.

  I wrap my fuzzy robe tight around me, making certain all my parts are covered before I open my bedroom door. I’m very private about my privates, if you know what I mean.

  “Mama!” I holler down the hall. “Have you seen my blue sweater?”

  There’s no answer.

  I pad down the hall and into her bedroom. No mama. I continue into her bathroom and find my little brother making faces at the mirror.

  I close my robe tighter around me. Berg is only twelve, and I’m sure he’s stumbled upon a few internet sites that he shouldn’t have, but his sister should definitely not be the first girl he sees naked.

  “Hey, Berg.”

  He doesn’t look my way but swivels his head back and forth. “Does my hair look okay?”

  His short, brown hair is spiked up into a mohawk in front and neatly pasted to his head in back. Usually his hair looks like that picture of Albert Einstein, so I’d have to say this is an improvement.

  “Looks good to me.”

  His mouth turns up into this embarrassed smile where only one of his dimples show. And that makes me grin. I love when he’s happy.

  “You’re wearing your Barcelona jersey.” I arch my eyebrows. “Special day?”

  He shrugs and tries to act all cool. “Not really,” he says, but his dimple deepens so I know he’s totally bluffing.

  “Liar,” I tease. I know that he only wears his favorite soccer jersey on special occasions. I lean against the bathroom sink. “So…who’s the lucky girl?”

  “No one,” he grumbles, his smile widening.

  He’s a terrible liar.

  “Awww, come on,” I beg. “You can tell me.”

  He presses his lips together.

  “Is it Emily?”

  He crosses his arms and frowns at me. I’m not deterred. I’m his big sister. It’s my job.

  “Is it Samantha? Morgan? Alexa? Maddie? Carrie?”

  A huge smile wide enough to ignite both his dimples erupts onto his face.

  “Carrie?” I repeat.

  He tries to frown, but utterly fails, and giggles and nods instead.

  I clap my hands together and squeal. “Are you going to ask her out?” I pause. “Do kids your age do that?”

&nb
sp; He nods. “Brady’s asking Morgan to walk up to Treats after school, so I thought I’d ask Carrie if she wanted to go.” He opens his hazel eyes wide. “Will you and Dillon please meet us there?” He tries to hide his enthusiasm and looks down at the counter and rubs his finger along it. “You know, just in case… you know… I need more money, or something.”

  I smile. I know what he needs. He needs his big sis, and that makes my heart feel all fuzzy and good.

  I smile. “No problemo! Dillon and I will meet you there after school.” I’ll do anything for my little brother.

  “Thanks.” He nods his head toward the closet. “Um, well… Mama said I could use some of Daddy’s cologne.”

  I suppress a smile. My little brother wants to wear cologne. Too cute. I steer him toward the closet, but he wiggles out from under my arm.

  “I can do it. Daddy showed me how.”

  “Okay.”

  I watch him walk into our parents’ closet, ready to spritz his way to manhood, and I suddenly feel that time has passed me by. I’m five-nine, and he’s a whole foot shorter than me, but suddenly he seems all grown up. Asking out a girl. Wearing cologne. Where did my baby brother go?

  “Love you, Little B,” I say.

  He peeks around the door and grins. “Love you, too, Big L.”

  I suddenly want to hug him. But I only have ten minutes until we leave for school and I’m not dressed, so I’ll just have to be nostalgic and ponder the passage of time later.

  I rush out of the bathroom and into the hall. “Mama?” I call out. “Mama?”

  “I’m in the kitchen!”

  I dash down the hall and meet her at the bottom of the stairs.

  “Looking for this?” she asks, her eyes crinkling. She’s wearing my sweater on her head like a turban.

  “Yes!” I throw my arms around her. “You’re the absolute best mom ever!”

  “Ha! Remember that the next time I ask you to scoop the dog poo,” she laughs, and hands me the sweater. k^1^2

  My mom is tons shorter than me, a little wider, and always wears her light-brown hair up in a messy knot. Sometimes I wish she took more care with her hair and clothes like other moms, but I hope she never changes her smile. Because when she smiles… Wow! Her bright blue eyes wrinkle at the edges. Her teeth try to break free from her lips. And I feel like sunshine has warmed my entire body. And I love that.

  “Thanks, Mama. You’re the best!” I yell over my shoulder, and race back up the stairs. I run into my bedroom and close the door behind me. I’m feeling a bit rushed and this is going to be a day that changes everything, so I take a second and focus on my soft blue walls. The color helps calm my emotions. Inhale. Usually I picture happiness as a cute little smiley face fluttering into my body. Today I just picture Dillon, and it works.

  I slip into my dark, skinny jeans and pull on my favorite, blue sweater. I check my phone. Four minutes until we have to leave. Perfect. Because I desperately need one more thing. My lucky earrings.

  I walk over to my desk and sit down. The desk is heavy and clunky and made of some kind of dark wood, but I love it. My great-grandfather built it for my great-grandmother years and years ago. I never knew either of them, but every time I sit down I can feel how much he must have adored her. He even cut a huge heart out of swirled glass and set it on top of the desk.

  My great-grandmother loved keeping up with her friends all over the world, and her favorite postcards are still under that beautiful glass heart. There are ones from exotic places like Morocco and Bangkok, a few from South America, and tons from Europe. But my absolute favorite is of the Eiffel Tower in Paris, France. I love the angle. The photographer was standing under it at night time when it was all lit up in golden lights. Where others saw boring structural supports, the photographer saw something else, and made it look beautiful.

  My mama and my daddy promise to take me to see it someday if I keep my positive, anxiety-free attitude. And stay out of detention. I have to admit it’s a smart move on their part. Attitude I can do. Detention? Well, that depends on whether that moron vice-principal keeps measuring the length of my skirt. Ugh. I can’t help it if I’m tall… and like to wear short skirts.

  I slide open the top drawer of my desk and pull out my lucky earrings. They’re small white circles with dark blue, lotus flowers painted on them. They’re quite simple compared to what I normally wear, but Daddy brought them back from Morocco right after I was diagnosed with Oh my GAD. The lady selling them gave Daddy some mumbo jumbo about how lotus flowers help awaken the light within the wearer blah blah blah find her true self. I don’t believe any of it, and I’m pretty sure Daddy didn’t either, but they’re really pretty and my real name is Lotus, so I wear them when I don’t want to worry. Just in case they do help.

  I close the drawer and inhale a deep breath. It’s time. Today’s the day my life will change forever!

  CHAPTER 3

  Some crappy time before 8 AM

  I think I’m losing my mind. Why else would I be laughing when I just saw my boyfriend playing tongue hockey with someone else?

  Dillon is supposed to be holding my hand as we accept the prom queen and king nomination, not starring in a private screening of Let’s Freak Out My Girlfriend on the auditorium stage. And lucky me I walked right into the opening scene.

  “Lottie!” Dillon’s eyebrows shoot up. “What are you doing here?”

  I guess I’m laughing maniacally. I do that sometimes when I feel my anxiety rear its ugly head. And seeing my boyfriend’s lips going to town on another boy has taken me somewhere WAY beyond anxious. It’s really only a matter of time before pimply guys in white jackets come to take me away. And it’s way too early in the season to wear white.

  “Do you think she saw us?” the boy toy whispers.

  I squelch my hysterics and slowly turn around. I’m thinking I exit the stage, go back out the door, and pretend I was never here.

  “Lottie, wait. Please.”

  I start walking. I pretend I didn’t hear Dillon. I think my ears might be clogged. I may be getting allergies. It is spring. There surely must be flowers growing under the crusty snow somewhere out there.

  Dillon grabs my arm. “Lottie, we need to talk.”

  I make the mistake of turning around and looking into his bright, blue eyes. Those same eyes that lit up only moments before when he kissed someone else. That wasn’t me.

  But we’re all alone now. That boy is gone. Now it’s just me and him on this stage in the auditorium. And I wish this were just a play. Starring beautiful me, and my sweet, perfect boyfriend.

  My boyfriend. Who taught me the right way to eat cheese puffs. (Never lick your fingers until the end!). Who brought me five boxes of popsicles when I had strep because he didn’t know which flavor I would like best. Who drew cartoon heart people on my palms during algebra.

  The pain hits me hard in the gut and my stomach churns, turning this morning’s happy blueberry pancakes sour. I recognize that old, anxiety pressure building, like when you eat something bad and it doesn’t hit you right away but you know you’re sure going to be paying for it later.

  I need to breathe and bury. I can’t let the old Lottie out. I’ve worked too hard to keep her locked away. I struggle to think of happy things. Ice cream sundaes topped with lots of cherries… which, of course, Dillon and his boy toy will be feeding to each other.

  STOP!

  My brain is disgusted with my imagination, and that awful anxiety pressure expands into my chest. I feel as if I’m trapped underwater, and if I dare to breathe watery tears will smother my lungs. So I squeeze my hands into tight fists, and imagine I’m a mighty dam holding back a raging river. I haven’t allowed myself to feel this way in over eighteen months, and I refuse to let a little kissy face ruin the new me I’ve worked so hard to be.

  “I have to…” Dillon starts, and then pauses. He closes his eyes and sighs. A bead of sweat trickles down from his soft, brown hair, and as he wipes it away, his fingers ruffle
his right eyebrow. The tiny hairs stand up and make him look like a little boy just waking up from his nap.

  I’m about to reach up, smooth out that eyebrow, and kiss it all better when his blue eyes pop open and shoot me a look of pure determination.

  Uh oh. I can guess where this is going. Nowheregoodville. Population me.

  I grab both his hands and walk backwards, trying to tug him with me across the stage. “We should go,” I beg. His fingers are so warm on mine that they make my stomach hurt.

  He pulls me to a stop. “First, I have to tell you something.”

  I shake my head. “Nope. You don’t have to tell me anything. In fact, let’s not talk all the way over to the commons so we can save our breath and get there faster. Ok?” I paste on what I hope looks like an encouraging smile.

  Dillon’s face falls. “You saw me kiss him, didn’t you?” he whispers.

  The pain punches me hard in the gut. POW! Just like in the cartoons.

  “I was going to tell you,” he murmurs. “I just…” His shoulders slump. “I’m so sorry, Lottie.”

  My heart beats faster. All my muscles contract, and my pancakes are trying really hard to launch themselves out of my stomach. I swallow. My heart races. I know what’s happening. I’m starting to panic. I’m starting to freak. And I can’t go back down that road again. I’ve worked too hard.

  I close my eyes and inhale a deep breath. I can do this. Sunshine. I inhale again. Daisies. Inhale. I sure wish I had my vape right now.

  I exhale and open my eyes. “We better go now,” I murmur.

  “Lottie,” he says softly, rubbing his thumb gently over mine. “I don’t think you understand.”

  He’s actually very wrong. I do understand. I just don’t want to.

  “Lottie, I think…”

  I know what he’s about to do, and I can’t let him.

  “I know you’re sorry,” I interrupt. “No need to say it again. I said I forgive you, and now it’s all over and behind us, and we don’t have to talk about it ever again.”