Three Pillars Education: 10 ways to Improve Respect & Discipline in School....: "10 Ways to Improve Respect and Discipline in Schools.
1. Hire administrators and teachers that couldn’t care less about being politically ..."
The goal of this blog is to share ideas supporting an effective anti-bullying national program. I also passionately believe that our ability to provide quality education to kids cannot happen until the pillars of Respect, Discipline and Courage have been restalished in our public schools. Educators, parents, and community leaders must all come together and stand strong to attain a nourishing, safe and thriving school community.
Tuesday, August 16, 2011
10 ways to Improve Respect & Discipline in School.
10 Ways to Improve Respect and Discipline in Schools.
1. Hire administrators and teachers that couldn’t care less about being politically correct.
2. Eliminate warnings, negotiations and rescheduling in the discipline protocol. The only warning is on day one when the student receives their student manual.
3. Forget about teaching to the test. Teach to the focal point of passion.
4. Expel the 5 % of the kids who couldn’t care less about school and who daily impede upon the educational opportunities of others.
5. Celebrate the quality, heart and passion of teachers and mean it.
6. Tell the parent that comes in looking to find fault in everyone as a cover for their child’s imperfections…to take a hike….then have the SRO escort them out of the building.
7. If a student does not do their homework, prepare for class or study…give them what they deserve…..an “F”.
8. Expect all students in American schools to speak in full sentences, look you in the eye, do the multiplication table through 12, spell properly, exude manners, and speak English.
9. If you pass everything, you play. If you fail anything, you sit.
10. Manual labor should be the standard form of discipline for not doing your homework. Let them get used to what it will be like in 10 years if they don’t carry through with their education.
1. Hire administrators and teachers that couldn’t care less about being politically correct.
2. Eliminate warnings, negotiations and rescheduling in the discipline protocol. The only warning is on day one when the student receives their student manual.
3. Forget about teaching to the test. Teach to the focal point of passion.
4. Expel the 5 % of the kids who couldn’t care less about school and who daily impede upon the educational opportunities of others.
5. Celebrate the quality, heart and passion of teachers and mean it.
6. Tell the parent that comes in looking to find fault in everyone as a cover for their child’s imperfections…to take a hike….then have the SRO escort them out of the building.
7. If a student does not do their homework, prepare for class or study…give them what they deserve…..an “F”.
8. Expect all students in American schools to speak in full sentences, look you in the eye, do the multiplication table through 12, spell properly, exude manners, and speak English.
9. If you pass everything, you play. If you fail anything, you sit.
10. Manual labor should be the standard form of discipline for not doing your homework. Let them get used to what it will be like in 10 years if they don’t carry through with their education.
Monday, August 15, 2011
Bullied: What does she see in me?
Chapter 6
What does she see in me?
Here I was back in school in the spring of 1985 ready to try something new. I was in possession of my business degree from ’83 supported by that 2.01 GPA. However, after attempts at engineering, retail management, sales and an attempt at making the Professional Tennis Tour, it was time for something new. I was ready and focused and I was going to do it. I was going to be a Biologist. The reality was I had never followed through with anything after the age of ten. I struggled with commitment, trust, relationships, winning, and losing, just to name a few. However, I was a fighting survivor of Bullying and I plugged along. Surprisingly, I enjoyed that semester. I made some friends, performed in school and actually laughed at times. Of course, I always had my little yellow pills when things got a bit too tough.
The fall semester began on a very high note. I was excited for the first time in years and jumped into my classes believing that I would do well. Sitting in Microbiology the first day, I noticed a very beautiful girl sitting ahead and to the left of me. I could not keep my eyes off of her. I knew, however, that a girl like this would never go for a chump like me. I had joined the Biology club in the spring and was now an elected officer of the club. About three weeks into the semester, three girls stopped me in the hall and asked if they could join the club. One of them happened to be that gorgeous girl from Microbiology class. My eyes were glued to her as the three girls asked questions about the club. Her name was Kathleen. She was stunningly beautiful, with a nervously curved smile, pale green eyes and long slender fingers. What was impossible to not notice and is still mentioned by so many to this day was her hair. I had never seen a woman with so much gorgeous thick hair and it was intoxicating.
We ended up in the elevator by ourselves after the other girls had moved on. We connected immediately and just started talking and listening. Immediately, I noticed that I was not a nervous wreck around her. I made sense when I spoke to her and I didn’t dry heave as I did with other girls that I thought I liked. By the time that we left the science building and had walked half a block a decision was made. I was going to marry this girl. There was only one problem. Kathleen was gorgeous, bright and talented…and I was me! So I decided to conduct an experiment.
The kids in our department met in groups many nights in the library. A few days later, I “accidently” bumped into Kathleen and told her that we had a study group planned for that evening and she was welcome to join us. At seven o’clock I was seated at the table on the third floor of the library trying to figure out how I would explain the lack of any other participants. As my mind was scrambling, two students from the Middle East sat and started talking. This was great! Now it looked like a study group. As we were talking, she appeared. All three of us stared although I tried not to gawk. As she sat down the other two guys proceeded to talk incessantly to her. Now I was looking at the possibility of a wasted opportunity. However for whatever reasons, after just a few minutes, the two guys excused themselves and headed out.
Here I was now alone with this woman who I couldn’t stop thinking about since our first talk in the elevator. After just a few seconds, my guilt-driven tongue spilled the beans. “There is no study-group, Kathleen; I set this whole thing up”. Kathleen looked at me and just quietly stated, “I know…and you are the only guy in the department that calls me Kathleen. I like that. The others all call me Kathy”. Then we started talking about everything and anything for the next four hours. I walked her to her car, we smiled, and then I just walked to my car. As I searched for my keys, the biggest most legitimate smile came upon my face and the feeling inside was the best I had felt since I was nine years old. She likes me….me… little, plain, lowly me!! As I drove home that night, confusion and emotions of sadness and ecstasy scrambled my thought process. After so many years of struggling within an empty worthless shell……Was it actually possible that I had some value as a human being?
What does she see in me?
Here I was back in school in the spring of 1985 ready to try something new. I was in possession of my business degree from ’83 supported by that 2.01 GPA. However, after attempts at engineering, retail management, sales and an attempt at making the Professional Tennis Tour, it was time for something new. I was ready and focused and I was going to do it. I was going to be a Biologist. The reality was I had never followed through with anything after the age of ten. I struggled with commitment, trust, relationships, winning, and losing, just to name a few. However, I was a fighting survivor of Bullying and I plugged along. Surprisingly, I enjoyed that semester. I made some friends, performed in school and actually laughed at times. Of course, I always had my little yellow pills when things got a bit too tough.
The fall semester began on a very high note. I was excited for the first time in years and jumped into my classes believing that I would do well. Sitting in Microbiology the first day, I noticed a very beautiful girl sitting ahead and to the left of me. I could not keep my eyes off of her. I knew, however, that a girl like this would never go for a chump like me. I had joined the Biology club in the spring and was now an elected officer of the club. About three weeks into the semester, three girls stopped me in the hall and asked if they could join the club. One of them happened to be that gorgeous girl from Microbiology class. My eyes were glued to her as the three girls asked questions about the club. Her name was Kathleen. She was stunningly beautiful, with a nervously curved smile, pale green eyes and long slender fingers. What was impossible to not notice and is still mentioned by so many to this day was her hair. I had never seen a woman with so much gorgeous thick hair and it was intoxicating.
We ended up in the elevator by ourselves after the other girls had moved on. We connected immediately and just started talking and listening. Immediately, I noticed that I was not a nervous wreck around her. I made sense when I spoke to her and I didn’t dry heave as I did with other girls that I thought I liked. By the time that we left the science building and had walked half a block a decision was made. I was going to marry this girl. There was only one problem. Kathleen was gorgeous, bright and talented…and I was me! So I decided to conduct an experiment.
The kids in our department met in groups many nights in the library. A few days later, I “accidently” bumped into Kathleen and told her that we had a study group planned for that evening and she was welcome to join us. At seven o’clock I was seated at the table on the third floor of the library trying to figure out how I would explain the lack of any other participants. As my mind was scrambling, two students from the Middle East sat and started talking. This was great! Now it looked like a study group. As we were talking, she appeared. All three of us stared although I tried not to gawk. As she sat down the other two guys proceeded to talk incessantly to her. Now I was looking at the possibility of a wasted opportunity. However for whatever reasons, after just a few minutes, the two guys excused themselves and headed out.
Here I was now alone with this woman who I couldn’t stop thinking about since our first talk in the elevator. After just a few seconds, my guilt-driven tongue spilled the beans. “There is no study-group, Kathleen; I set this whole thing up”. Kathleen looked at me and just quietly stated, “I know…and you are the only guy in the department that calls me Kathleen. I like that. The others all call me Kathy”. Then we started talking about everything and anything for the next four hours. I walked her to her car, we smiled, and then I just walked to my car. As I searched for my keys, the biggest most legitimate smile came upon my face and the feeling inside was the best I had felt since I was nine years old. She likes me….me… little, plain, lowly me!! As I drove home that night, confusion and emotions of sadness and ecstasy scrambled my thought process. After so many years of struggling within an empty worthless shell……Was it actually possible that I had some value as a human being?
Wednesday, August 10, 2011
Bullying Scars for Life
Chapter 5A
Bullying can scar you for life. After graduating from high school my life followed a hypersensitive crumbling path. The next eight years are a medicated blur, and yet, simultaneously, a calculated demonstration of survival tactics. Most of the names are forgotten but not the pummeling pain of existence. Just thinking about those days causes me to be physically debilitated as I try to transmit the daily trauma across these computer keys.
I was living in an apartment with one of many different roommates I would have as I scraped towards a college degree. I awoke on this Tuesday in October of the fall of 1980. My first class was at 8:00 and as usual my intention to be prepared had not come to fruition. I showered and consumed my usual two bowls of Captain Crunch. I chewed on the right because two teeth on the left were hurting bad. I hadn’t made it through a dentist appointment in over four years. Fulfilling the minimum hygienic expectations, I then initiated the survival techniques for the day. The pistachio supply was adequate and positioned in all the key locations; a handful in the two front pockets of my jeans, half a bag in my coat inside pocket, and another bag for backup placed under my passenger seat. This was going to be a distinctly tougher day as I had not been able to get my hands on the yellow pills for quite a few days.
Driving towards school, the radio was set on a golden oldies station as I drifted into my safe world of daydreams. I found some peace while I drove since I was in control and it was a place where I could be the person I always wanted to be. Today, I found solace as an amazing tennis player wowing the world with win after win at Wimbledon. Pulling into the school lot, I longed for that John Denver song to just go on and on so that the crowds would keep cheering. As I headed pass the baseball field towards the campus, I transformed myself and was now invisible. This was the absolute key to surviving for the day. I had given up on directing every neuron and fiber towards the cause of looking cool. I wasn’t anything but a piece of dirt that wandered through each day wondering why was I of such little significance in this world.
I took the usual path working my way through the halls passing hundreds of students. They were not peers since there was no relationship or connection. I glanced at the pretty girls, envied the guys they were talking to, and wished so deeply that I could just be a part of all this. As I passed my class room I glanced in, considered entering for a second and then proceeded on by. Like a ghost, shy of any typical frightening intentions of a ghoul, I slipped quietly into the school library. The girl behind the desk was gorgeous. For days I had worked on fooling my internal guards so that I could say hello to this beauty.
As I approached the desk, it started. The symptoms were always centered on my left side. The muscles around my mouth started quivering as I began to bite down hard on my lips. The corner of my mouth started to twitch. The tongue began pushing against the bottom part of my mouth and then slashed across the inside of my teeth. The elbow flickered and the fingers moved almost uncontrollably. Popping a pistachio I chewed feverishly as I got the next nut under my upper lip. It was too late. I was in overdrive and was escalating out of control. As my mind maneuvered feverishly to control my anatomy, the physiological elements finished me off. Breathing rapidly increased, the left leg was gripped by a vise, and the foot felt heavy. The throat muscles tightened as all parts of my mouth moved incessantly. The panic set in as I emptied my last sources of energy to avoid collapsing. I was now a moment away from dry heaving. At this point, I knew there was no way I was going to move forward. Now my only chance of avoiding total embarrassment was to get out. So I did.
I walked around the perimeter of the campus to avoid as many people as possible. As I hit a quiet stretch, I could feel myself slowly settling down. No one was around which meant there was no one to impress… which meant I could return to my safe point of invisibility. Another day at school had been attempted with a recurring result. No classes were attended, no schoolwork was completed and I headed home elevated in stress and depleted in self-worth.
In order to reset my vitals to a functioning level, I had to separate my mind from reality. I got back to the apartment, slouched onto the sofa and turned on the TV. Cable had not yet come to pass so I had to settle for the soaps on one of the three network stations. After an hour, I was feeling better, but was quite aware that phase-two of surviving the day was soon to arrive.
I worked about five days a week at Sears in the paint and sporting goods department. It was time to now get prepared. The problem with this job was that I had to talk with many people during each shift. The bigger problem was that I was paralyzed with fear that I would dry heave while interacting with co-workers and customers. Over time certain foods seemed to be more effective to help me keep cool. Lately, I found that popsicles had become short-term tranquilizers. It just happened that we had a refrigerator just behind the warehouse doors in my department. So before clocking in I went next door and picked up a box of assorted flavored popsicles. Quickly, I noticed that my body and mind was still ultra-tense. As customers asked questions my symptoms were returning. The throat tightened, the mouth muscles went spastic and my left side stiffened. I was good for about four minute intervals before I had to get to that freezer and take a bite of my popsicle. Think about the level of tension that existed over the four hour shift.
After two hours I was drained. The department manager called me over to discuss inventory paperwork. When I was in this state, I felt like I was choking if I couldn’t get to my relief valve. As Tom spoke to me, I couldn’t decipher a thing that he was saying. My mind was totally zoomed in on avoiding a dry heave. Both legs grew heavier and more painful by the second. My mouth was hyper as I tried to survive and acknowledge Tom’s directions. Finally, exhausted I collapsed to my knees placing my head in my arms. Tom was bewildered and asked what was wrong. Holding back tears, I mumbled that I was fighting a flu. The strangest thing was that whenever I gave up, the pressures would cease and I always felt a few moments of serenity. Tom sympathetically released me and I slowly weaved through the stock room to the punch clock. By the time I got to my car, I was numb in a similar way as the night before and the night before that. When I arrived home, I turned on the TV. Two hours later I began to drift off, sadly aware that I would go through all of this again when the sun rose tomorrow.
Bullying can scar you for life. After graduating from high school my life followed a hypersensitive crumbling path. The next eight years are a medicated blur, and yet, simultaneously, a calculated demonstration of survival tactics. Most of the names are forgotten but not the pummeling pain of existence. Just thinking about those days causes me to be physically debilitated as I try to transmit the daily trauma across these computer keys.
I was living in an apartment with one of many different roommates I would have as I scraped towards a college degree. I awoke on this Tuesday in October of the fall of 1980. My first class was at 8:00 and as usual my intention to be prepared had not come to fruition. I showered and consumed my usual two bowls of Captain Crunch. I chewed on the right because two teeth on the left were hurting bad. I hadn’t made it through a dentist appointment in over four years. Fulfilling the minimum hygienic expectations, I then initiated the survival techniques for the day. The pistachio supply was adequate and positioned in all the key locations; a handful in the two front pockets of my jeans, half a bag in my coat inside pocket, and another bag for backup placed under my passenger seat. This was going to be a distinctly tougher day as I had not been able to get my hands on the yellow pills for quite a few days.
Driving towards school, the radio was set on a golden oldies station as I drifted into my safe world of daydreams. I found some peace while I drove since I was in control and it was a place where I could be the person I always wanted to be. Today, I found solace as an amazing tennis player wowing the world with win after win at Wimbledon. Pulling into the school lot, I longed for that John Denver song to just go on and on so that the crowds would keep cheering. As I headed pass the baseball field towards the campus, I transformed myself and was now invisible. This was the absolute key to surviving for the day. I had given up on directing every neuron and fiber towards the cause of looking cool. I wasn’t anything but a piece of dirt that wandered through each day wondering why was I of such little significance in this world.
I took the usual path working my way through the halls passing hundreds of students. They were not peers since there was no relationship or connection. I glanced at the pretty girls, envied the guys they were talking to, and wished so deeply that I could just be a part of all this. As I passed my class room I glanced in, considered entering for a second and then proceeded on by. Like a ghost, shy of any typical frightening intentions of a ghoul, I slipped quietly into the school library. The girl behind the desk was gorgeous. For days I had worked on fooling my internal guards so that I could say hello to this beauty.
As I approached the desk, it started. The symptoms were always centered on my left side. The muscles around my mouth started quivering as I began to bite down hard on my lips. The corner of my mouth started to twitch. The tongue began pushing against the bottom part of my mouth and then slashed across the inside of my teeth. The elbow flickered and the fingers moved almost uncontrollably. Popping a pistachio I chewed feverishly as I got the next nut under my upper lip. It was too late. I was in overdrive and was escalating out of control. As my mind maneuvered feverishly to control my anatomy, the physiological elements finished me off. Breathing rapidly increased, the left leg was gripped by a vise, and the foot felt heavy. The throat muscles tightened as all parts of my mouth moved incessantly. The panic set in as I emptied my last sources of energy to avoid collapsing. I was now a moment away from dry heaving. At this point, I knew there was no way I was going to move forward. Now my only chance of avoiding total embarrassment was to get out. So I did.
I walked around the perimeter of the campus to avoid as many people as possible. As I hit a quiet stretch, I could feel myself slowly settling down. No one was around which meant there was no one to impress… which meant I could return to my safe point of invisibility. Another day at school had been attempted with a recurring result. No classes were attended, no schoolwork was completed and I headed home elevated in stress and depleted in self-worth.
In order to reset my vitals to a functioning level, I had to separate my mind from reality. I got back to the apartment, slouched onto the sofa and turned on the TV. Cable had not yet come to pass so I had to settle for the soaps on one of the three network stations. After an hour, I was feeling better, but was quite aware that phase-two of surviving the day was soon to arrive.
I worked about five days a week at Sears in the paint and sporting goods department. It was time to now get prepared. The problem with this job was that I had to talk with many people during each shift. The bigger problem was that I was paralyzed with fear that I would dry heave while interacting with co-workers and customers. Over time certain foods seemed to be more effective to help me keep cool. Lately, I found that popsicles had become short-term tranquilizers. It just happened that we had a refrigerator just behind the warehouse doors in my department. So before clocking in I went next door and picked up a box of assorted flavored popsicles. Quickly, I noticed that my body and mind was still ultra-tense. As customers asked questions my symptoms were returning. The throat tightened, the mouth muscles went spastic and my left side stiffened. I was good for about four minute intervals before I had to get to that freezer and take a bite of my popsicle. Think about the level of tension that existed over the four hour shift.
After two hours I was drained. The department manager called me over to discuss inventory paperwork. When I was in this state, I felt like I was choking if I couldn’t get to my relief valve. As Tom spoke to me, I couldn’t decipher a thing that he was saying. My mind was totally zoomed in on avoiding a dry heave. Both legs grew heavier and more painful by the second. My mouth was hyper as I tried to survive and acknowledge Tom’s directions. Finally, exhausted I collapsed to my knees placing my head in my arms. Tom was bewildered and asked what was wrong. Holding back tears, I mumbled that I was fighting a flu. The strangest thing was that whenever I gave up, the pressures would cease and I always felt a few moments of serenity. Tom sympathetically released me and I slowly weaved through the stock room to the punch clock. By the time I got to my car, I was numb in a similar way as the night before and the night before that. When I arrived home, I turned on the TV. Two hours later I began to drift off, sadly aware that I would go through all of this again when the sun rose tomorrow.
Bullied: Life throws Curveballs
Chapter 1: Life throws Curve Balls
I’m not sure when it specifically started; the fear, panic, and doubt. I just always remember myself as an uptight kid that was afraid of everything and most everybody. Some have told me that this wasn’t the case, that I was happy, gregarious and personable. However, my home had been rocked by a meteor when I was only one year old. My dad, Leo, was diagnosed with Hodgkin’s disease. He struggled with it for four years but passed away in March of 1965 at the age of twenty-seven. I was only five. My only memories of dad were of him being sick. So by the time he did die, I was a nervous wreck. I became obsessed with death at a very young age, always thought my mom would be taken away and dreaded getting too close to people.
Fear ruled my life. I was afraid of storms, heights, fast cars, other kids, walking to school, not being accepted and success. I was a severe hypochondriac and always felt that I would die young just like my father. By the second grade I was a nervous ball of energy that had to win every possible competition in school. You see if I didn’t win, I wouldn’t be liked and nobody would want to talk to me. When we participated in the SRL reading program, I had to read faster and get through each color series faster than the other kids. The reality was that I was smart and could read and comprehend at a high level. However, when the sisters (nuns) brought out the books, my heart would pound and I would fire on all cylinders to be the first to get signed off.
The sad part is that the accomplishments never made me feel any better. I couldn’t figure out at the age of six through 12 that it wasn’t about the achievement; it was about the core feelings inside. Through all these elementary years I just could not relax. My mind always seemed to come up with a weird way to remain uptight. One of the most common daily ventures happened during my walk home from school. As I was walking, I would listen for cars approaching behind me. As they got closer, I would rev my internal engine and play a type of Russian Roulette. If the car passed me before I reached a targeted point, then I would die on the spot. So I would walk faster and faster with my heart pounding and sneak past the point just ahead of the death sentence.
You can imagine how this persona of poor self-image and lackluster confidence set me up as the focal point of teasing and bullying. I dripped with a desire to be accepted and tried every possible venture to acquire acceptance. The more I tried the more I was laughed at and teased. These years were highlighted by being picked last in sports, sitting at home alone while my brother was invited out to play, and constantly being reminded that I was skinny, greasy, and my nose was twice the size of my face.
I’m not sure when it specifically started; the fear, panic, and doubt. I just always remember myself as an uptight kid that was afraid of everything and most everybody. Some have told me that this wasn’t the case, that I was happy, gregarious and personable. However, my home had been rocked by a meteor when I was only one year old. My dad, Leo, was diagnosed with Hodgkin’s disease. He struggled with it for four years but passed away in March of 1965 at the age of twenty-seven. I was only five. My only memories of dad were of him being sick. So by the time he did die, I was a nervous wreck. I became obsessed with death at a very young age, always thought my mom would be taken away and dreaded getting too close to people.
Fear ruled my life. I was afraid of storms, heights, fast cars, other kids, walking to school, not being accepted and success. I was a severe hypochondriac and always felt that I would die young just like my father. By the second grade I was a nervous ball of energy that had to win every possible competition in school. You see if I didn’t win, I wouldn’t be liked and nobody would want to talk to me. When we participated in the SRL reading program, I had to read faster and get through each color series faster than the other kids. The reality was that I was smart and could read and comprehend at a high level. However, when the sisters (nuns) brought out the books, my heart would pound and I would fire on all cylinders to be the first to get signed off.
The sad part is that the accomplishments never made me feel any better. I couldn’t figure out at the age of six through 12 that it wasn’t about the achievement; it was about the core feelings inside. Through all these elementary years I just could not relax. My mind always seemed to come up with a weird way to remain uptight. One of the most common daily ventures happened during my walk home from school. As I was walking, I would listen for cars approaching behind me. As they got closer, I would rev my internal engine and play a type of Russian Roulette. If the car passed me before I reached a targeted point, then I would die on the spot. So I would walk faster and faster with my heart pounding and sneak past the point just ahead of the death sentence.
You can imagine how this persona of poor self-image and lackluster confidence set me up as the focal point of teasing and bullying. I dripped with a desire to be accepted and tried every possible venture to acquire acceptance. The more I tried the more I was laughed at and teased. These years were highlighted by being picked last in sports, sitting at home alone while my brother was invited out to play, and constantly being reminded that I was skinny, greasy, and my nose was twice the size of my face.
Wednesday, August 3, 2011
Bullied: Panic Attack
Chapter 5
Panic stricken….
It started midway during the first semester of that freshman year. I had held things together academically and would eventually post a 3.9 GPA. However, I knew that I was losing grip in many ways. Again I had made friends quickly but they slid away as my nightly “Poor me” speeches and over the top efforts to please pushed them away.
On a chilly November morning I headed to my African History class with that anxious, sad, isolated persona that I had grown to accept. Jumping on the campus bus I grabbed a seat and looked around wishing so desperately that I could capture some of the confidence and self-worth that circulated among my fellow passengers. Something was different on this trip. My head was foggy. I couldn’t sit still. Everyone and everything seemed to take up more space as mass and molecules closed in on my space. I noticed my breathing, the pressure upon my chest. I was gasping for air. The muscles in my arms and legs tightened. I felt like I had gained a hundred pounds. “What the hell was going on? I had to get out now! At the next stop I shoved my way by irritated students and jumped off the bus.
The weird feelings continued and seemed to incapacitate me more. Looking around I spotted the signs for the infirmary. I walk/ran trying to look composed as I approached the medical building. Fumbling through the doors, I released all my weight upon the receptionist counter spouting, “I need help…I think I’m having a heart attack”. Nurses responded quickly and got me to the back. They started asking questions calmly as the recorded my vitals. Almost instantly I could feel myself starting to calm down. My head began to clear but my anxiety was still through the roof. After several minutes of questions, a visit from a doctor, they hooked me up to an IV. Almost instantly, I felt better as a peaceful feeling bubbled softly through my veins.
I sat in this room for several minutes really enjoying the peace and quiet. Finally, a woman with a nice smile entered. She pulled up a chair next to mine and introduced herself. I can’t remember her name but she said she was a doctor, a psychiatrist. She asked me how I was doing and then asked me to explain what had happened that led me here on this day. After listening quietly she started to ask questions about how I was feeling about school, life and myself. I was quite comfortable with her and as I started to share my thoughts, I was overwhelmed with emotion…and started to cry, to sob uncontrollably. Everything just came out about my low self worth, anxiety, depression, and fears. This conversation never introduced cause, only affect. Therefore, bullying was never part of our discussion.
The doctor explained to me that I was physically fine but that I had probably experienced a “Panic Attack”. She didn’t get into much detail, but asked that I come in once a week to talk. Then she wrote out and returned with a prescription for Valium. Take one of these little yellow pills whenever you feel anxious, she said. Then she walked out. Twenty minutes later, I left clear-headed with a bottle of pills rattling in my pocket. Little did I know that I would need to hear that rattle for so many years to come.
Panic stricken….
It started midway during the first semester of that freshman year. I had held things together academically and would eventually post a 3.9 GPA. However, I knew that I was losing grip in many ways. Again I had made friends quickly but they slid away as my nightly “Poor me” speeches and over the top efforts to please pushed them away.
On a chilly November morning I headed to my African History class with that anxious, sad, isolated persona that I had grown to accept. Jumping on the campus bus I grabbed a seat and looked around wishing so desperately that I could capture some of the confidence and self-worth that circulated among my fellow passengers. Something was different on this trip. My head was foggy. I couldn’t sit still. Everyone and everything seemed to take up more space as mass and molecules closed in on my space. I noticed my breathing, the pressure upon my chest. I was gasping for air. The muscles in my arms and legs tightened. I felt like I had gained a hundred pounds. “What the hell was going on? I had to get out now! At the next stop I shoved my way by irritated students and jumped off the bus.
The weird feelings continued and seemed to incapacitate me more. Looking around I spotted the signs for the infirmary. I walk/ran trying to look composed as I approached the medical building. Fumbling through the doors, I released all my weight upon the receptionist counter spouting, “I need help…I think I’m having a heart attack”. Nurses responded quickly and got me to the back. They started asking questions calmly as the recorded my vitals. Almost instantly I could feel myself starting to calm down. My head began to clear but my anxiety was still through the roof. After several minutes of questions, a visit from a doctor, they hooked me up to an IV. Almost instantly, I felt better as a peaceful feeling bubbled softly through my veins.
I sat in this room for several minutes really enjoying the peace and quiet. Finally, a woman with a nice smile entered. She pulled up a chair next to mine and introduced herself. I can’t remember her name but she said she was a doctor, a psychiatrist. She asked me how I was doing and then asked me to explain what had happened that led me here on this day. After listening quietly she started to ask questions about how I was feeling about school, life and myself. I was quite comfortable with her and as I started to share my thoughts, I was overwhelmed with emotion…and started to cry, to sob uncontrollably. Everything just came out about my low self worth, anxiety, depression, and fears. This conversation never introduced cause, only affect. Therefore, bullying was never part of our discussion.
The doctor explained to me that I was physically fine but that I had probably experienced a “Panic Attack”. She didn’t get into much detail, but asked that I come in once a week to talk. Then she wrote out and returned with a prescription for Valium. Take one of these little yellow pills whenever you feel anxious, she said. Then she walked out. Twenty minutes later, I left clear-headed with a bottle of pills rattling in my pocket. Little did I know that I would need to hear that rattle for so many years to come.
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