When I finished primary school my mother enrolled me at a prestigious
Catholic middle school in Medan. I don’t know how we could afford it, but my
mother probably presented a ‘poor family certificate’ issued by the
neighbourhood administration to the school. My primary school was much smaller and
friendlier than this new school. My new schoolmates were a bit rough and the
teachers were very strict and quite tough towards the students. I felt like a
fish out of water. I had always been an anxious child, and this new environment
drove my anxiety up the wall. Especially because I had a very severe overbite
and could not close my mouth properly, and you know how cruel kids can be to
somebody who looks ‘funny’. If that was not enough, my first name caused gasps
and giggles whenever I had to introduce myself. I was so anxious that every single
muscle on my body was tense, each tiny nerve was as taut as a guitar string. I began to walk like a robot. I literally had
to order my legs to move because all I really wanted to do was hide in the
corner of the class. Everyday I got home from school totally exhausted. I went
straight to bed and would wake up at 5 in the afternoon (the school finished at
around 1). Every morning I dragged myself to school, and from time to time it
got too much and I told my mother I did not want to go to school that day.
Fortunately, she always allowed me to stay at home. I recently found out that these
were symptoms of SAD (Social Anxiety Disorder). Knowing that explains a lot.
Most of my classmates were nice enough to leave me alone.
Some were even good friends to me. Some were rather mean and talked about me
(as if I could not hear or could not understand them), one or two called me
names in my face (one boy approached me and said, “Hey girl, you’re pretty.
Like a monkey.”) I remember one incident in particular. One of my classmates –
rather pretty, very good at sports, good at other subjects, very popular – imitated
my walk. She did it in front of me, but without involving me. She walked like a
robot and pretended to hit the wall at the far end of the class. Then she
laughed and laughed with her friend. It hurt, a lot. If you say that it is
silly to feel hurt because of this, then you are in the same group as my
mother, who used to say, “Why are you upset? You shouldn’t be upset. Just beat
them up.” That was why I stopped telling her anything. God bless my mother, she
had a rough childhood and was involved in many fights. (She told me that she
carried a bicycle chain around as a teenager.) I wasn’t like her but I was
tough, too. I cried alone, and I still dragged my feet to school day after day
after day. I managed to finish middle school without harming myself. During
high school my mother found a professor of orthodontics who was able to fix my
teeth (yes, it took no less than a professor). Little by little I felt better.
I even managed to become a teacher and teacher trainer.
I cannot remember what I did yesterday or last week, but I
remember those incidents from 30 years ago. How come? Perhaps because I didn’t
do or say anything to defend myself. Perhaps because I never told anyone. Well
I am doing something about it now. And I am telling the story now. This is my
therapy. I am also hoping that I can help others to identify their condition.
It is not normal to be anxious all the time. It is not a weakness and it is not
just your imagination. The celebrity that I read about overcame her condition
through drama classes. A counsellor that I read about overcame her condition
through therapy and medication. I find relief through writing. This morning
when I started writing I was feeling upset. Now as I am finishing this blog I
can feel the pain drifting away. Those events are no longer stored in the
painful memory box. They have moved themselves to the ordinary school memory
box. I am even beginning to find my classmate’s imitation of my walk amusing.
I am sure that there are a lot of good resources
out there and I will certainly keep looking for other resources to help me
understand more about SAD. It makes a big difference when you know that what
you went through or are going through is a known and manageable condition. I
still have a long way to go but I am grateful to be where I am now. I know I
don’t walk or move very gracefully, but I hope I don’t walk like C-3PO anymore.
