We're reading To Kill A Mockingbird in class and I've been called on to read and while I can read it aloud perfectly fine all by myself in my room, I bite my lip. I pause and I swallow a couple times and my hands get all hot and sweaty. My nickname Streetlight comes in handy here and my cheeks flush bright red and my breath comes a lot less easily. I put it off for as long as I can, but I start reading before my teacher thinks I didn't hear her. Everyone looks back at me for a second as I stutter to a start and then turns back around, but it feels like they're still staring at me. My sentences come out a little choppy, but it works out okay because now she's said it's time to "Popcorn" read, so I finish the couple of sentences I had to read and pass it on to someone else. No one calls on me after that.

***

I'm in Lit class again and now we've finished our poetry projects and she tells us we're to memorize them and read them aloud, speaking to the audience. I've memorized it just fine, but as soon as she calls on me and as soon as I get up there to the front of the room, my mind blanks. I start to panic and I read practically the whole thing off of my copy of the poem. I fail the presentation, though my poem was an A. I'm told to memorize better and speak louder.

Okay. I'll try.

***

Last year.

I'm eighteen now. Yay! I graduate high school in a few months.

No. No. No one warned me that my parents would no longer call my doctors or the school or anywhere else for me.

"Just pick up the phone and call. It's not that big a deal."

I can't count the number of times my mom has said that.

"You know, you need to call Multicare and get this sorted."

Yes, Mom, I know. I'll do it tomorrow.

Tomorrow comes. I pick up the phone. Dial the number. Look at the screen... and put it back down again. Time for more music.

***

"You're a lazy piece of shit."

Fine. I'm lazy and I'm a piece of shit. Can I go to bed now?

"You never do anything. You can't even call anyone. You haven't moved out yet and you're almost twenty. I'm going to be eighteen and moved out before you will be."

In order to move out, I have to have a good job- probably one where I have to speak over the phone. I also have to have not just my permit, but my license which requires me to call and make an appointment to take both tests. I have to be able to call the phone company if something goes wrong with my phone. I have to have a car and be able to call them and the insurance company.

I have to be able to call people.

***

I hate phones.

I don't think you understand how desperately I wish I could just pick one up and call people. I'd love to talk to my Opa. I wish I could just pick up the phone and call Multicare and get all my payments set up. I wish I could just pick up the phone and call JTV and get that last payment to them sent through. Even the threat of anything going to collection can't get me to pick up the phone and dial their number and call. I can't. I don't think you understand how terrifying it all is.

And nobody sees it. Or almost nobody sees it. Anxiety is... it's a rollercoaster ride. Some days... it's unbearable and I can barely leave my house. Others, it's bearable but I still can't pick up the phone. It gets worse and it gets better... but it's never totally gone. I think the only time I'm not anxious is when I'm with Andrew--which is still a little odd, haha, but it's so nice and I just wish he was over here.

If you came to my work and saw me at the cash register, you'd almost never know I have these problems. I talk to customers, I smile, but if you pay attention (I mean really pay attention) I never look them in the eyes. I don't talk for very long and if I do, I'm usually talking about my cat (sad, but true) because he relaxes me. Even speaking with work 'friends' in the back room, there are little tells. I don't start the conversation, they do. I don't look them in the eye unless it's on accident and then I look quickly down at my food. If I'm wandering around gathering my lunch, I either look extremely awkward or I have my headphones on (almost always the latter). Don't get me wrong, I have times where I get worked up about a subject and I'll tell them what for, but then I walk out of there and wonder if they'll ever speak to me again. There was a day where it was extremely crazy and busy and loud and I walked up to my manager and I was pleading with every bone in my body that they would send me to 31, because that's the liquor shop. My anxiety was so bad that day, I could barely breathe. Thankfully, I was sent right to that register. It was quiet and slow. Nobody else likes it, but it's my favorite. Hm, I wonder why...

But, yes. I hate phones.

I shall end this with: <3 If you actually read all that, thank you. <3