ANXIETY, THE SEQUEL
For those of you just now tuning in, here's Part 1 and the Introduction to my little miniseries on my experience with depression and anxiety.
To recap, the first two years of college has been where most of my anxiety exists. It exists for various reasons, many which I'm still fairly clueless about, but the symptoms are fairly consistent: irregular breathing, nausea, dizziness, shaking, and blacking out. I am blessed to be able to say that the worst of these episodes are behind me, and that I haven't had a bad reaction in several months. However, I still want to share my experiences from these years in college because 1) it's a real problem worth sharing and 2) it's important to laugh at your problems every now and again to make sure they don't get too big in your head.
So, without further ado, let me tell you a tale of my gruesome encounter with the cafeteria floor.
It was a Monday or a Wednesday. I can't remember which and it really doesn't matter, I just know that I had just gotten out of my Print Production class and was making a bee line for the caf for some dinner. Print Production was an anxiety in itself, but that's for another time. I had just gotten a good grade and was feeling dandy, so when anxiety decided to show up I was extremely perplexed and at first tried to ignore the symptoms. I was already fairly deep in the line at the caf and wasn't about to turn around and leave. So I waited and pondered that the room was growing more and more like an old man's ear: fuzzy and unable to distinguish between noises.
By the time I realized I needed to deal with the problem, I was putting a plate on my tray and going through the line. I honestly have no idea how I ended up with food on my plate, because I really couldn't see much and didn't care what was happening.
I remember blindly heading for the salad bar in a dazed quest for English peas and cucumbers, which I courageously retrieved before finding somewhere to sit down. Thankfully I could always rely on my friends to sit at just about the same table every mealtime, so I took my seat and went to town on some cucumbers, which were about the only thing I felt I could stomach at the moment.
I munched steadily on those cucumbers, hoping stupidly that a few disks from a green water sausage would raise my blood sugar enough to snap me out of my wooziness (not my brightest moment). After a few minutes I started feeling worse, and by then my friends could tell something was up. I told them that I felt like passing out and that I was going to lay under the table and elevate my feet on my chair for a few minutes until I felt better.
This was not my finest moment. There I was, laying down on the carpet of AU's cafeteria floor, with my head amongst the feet of my peers and my feet amongst the head of my peers. It was there that I made constellations of the varied gums stuck to the roof of the table, and it was there that I contemplated my friend's choices in laces as they passed me cucumber chips from their Asgardian height.
It seemed like a long time before I felt my wits begin to return, and I didn't want to keep my friends at the table for any longer. Slowly sitting up, I said that I thought I felt well enough to try to walk back to my dorm. My friend Matthew, who is roughly of the size and disposition of a bear, kindly offered to carry me and my backpack across campus. I was already pretty embarrassed by the whole situation, and thought to spare myself from the attention of being carried to my dorm.
In the end, Matthew offered to take my arm and my backpack and walk me back to make sure I was okay. I felt immediately improved as soon as I got outside and away from the cafeteria crowds, though I still have no idea what triggered that episode. The moral of this story is twofold: 1) if you think your blood sugar is low, for heaven's sake don't try to fix it with cucumbers, and 2) always try to make friends with large teddy bears. Shout out to Matthew Adams: thanks for being a friend sophomore year, the world needs more grizzly bears like you.
