From my earliest memories, I remember being nervous or on edge or always thinking something was going to go wrong. I was scared of so many things: dogs, sirens, helicopters, not knowing where my brother or my Dad were—you name it and chances are I could find some way to be afraid of it. Despite being known as a very outgoing, bubbly person, my internal thoughts were filled with dread. Overwhelmed and consumed with the concept of uncertainty I would think, “What if…?” and my thoughts would run rampant. If I thought about the unknown for too long, I would become paralyzed, burdened with feelings, caught in this spiral of pure terror. I overcompensated in order to feel “normal.” But what is “normal” really?
My upbringing was pretty standard, some would even say it was fortunate. I grew up on a cul-de-sac in the suburbs of San Diego. I had friends, danced, went to church: all very middle-of-the-road. Yet, I was consumed with these unwarranted ongoing thoughts that something bad was going to happen. It was like I was waiting for something bad to happen so that when it did, I was mentally prepared. But in truth, I was never ready for bad things to happen. I mean, who is?