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Finally, we each had our interviews with one of the board members, a man who ran a Fortune 500 company who’d quizzed us repeatedly about our backgrounds, our interests and why above everyone else should receive the scholarships.
And then we’d waited with bated breath until one day my phone had dinged while we were sitting at the Ledge.
“Thayer.” I said urgently, smacking her arm
She was laying on her back, shirt rolled up under her bra and sunglasses on as she worked on her tan.
“Hmm?”
“I have an email from RCA.”
“Shut up.” She replied, sitting up abruptly and ripping the sunglasses off her face. “What does it say?”
“I don’t know. Did you get one?”
She checked her phone, her shoulders drooping slightly as she shook her head. “Nope.”
“Maybe I should wait until you get yours to open mine.”
“Are you insane? Open that email up right now!” She exclaimed.
And like the other times, there was no warning before the wave of anxiety was upon me, suffocating me.
The physical symptoms began to swarm, the blurry vision almost blinding me as the anxiety tore through my body until the negative drowned out the positive ones. Thewhat ifsswirled around my brain like a tornado.
What if neither of us got in?
What if I did, but I went to Switzerland and failed catastrophically?
What if this was it? What if there was nothing greater waiting for me and I spent the rest of my life cleaning up after other people?
My throat constricted and I couldn’t breathe.
The letter dropped to the floor.
“Hey.” Thayer’s soft voice broke through the wall of panic, and a gentle hand came to rest on my arm.
I opened my eyes, having not even realized I’d closed them to begin with, and met Thayer’s open gaze. She’d been concerned this would trigger another anxiety attack, and here it was.
She squeezed my arm, rubbing it up and down my forearm reassuringly.
“Breathe. It’s going to be okay. Focus on my hand.”
Having witnessed a few of my anxiety attacks, Thayer knew how to help.
Telling me to breathe. Having me focus on something real in the room.
And my least favorite, waiting for it to pass.
I turned my head so she couldn’t see the stricken look on my face as I tried to calm the racing beat of my heart.
“Hey, none of that.” She said, grabbing my shoulder and turning me back towards her. “There’s nothing for you to be ashamed of.”
This was my fourth anxiety attack in the last six months and with each new one, fear wedged deeper into my brain and made a home for itself.
I knew there wasn’t anything wrong with me.
That this was an uncontrollable biological response to the stress of maintaining perfect grades and extracurricular activities so that my UIC application was perfect.
