First, I must apologize to my one or two faithful readers for not updating my blog as often as I’d like. As is predictable with the start of a new quarter, I have become incredibly overwhelmed and increasingly absent of time. It is not solely due to a lack of time, however, but also a lack of inspiration and laziness. With that said, I will try to make more of an effort to post.
It did not take much time to come to the conclusion that becoming a sheriff’s deputy was not for me, as the application process itself was so overwelming and scary that I simply did not know what to do with myself. Oh, how I wonder how I would have reacted with a gun pointed at me and little babies desperate for me to save them—I can’t even walk into the building to drop off an application!
Even after realizing that school was a much better route for me, I procrastinated and put it off for several weeks before I took any action. At the time, my boss was on vacation and, because we were short on staff, I had to work two weeks with only one day off. During this time, however, I finally found the courage to email one of the admissions advisors at the local university. The advisor I emailed was a good friend of both my mom and dad and my boss. On one hand, I was rather embarrassed of my situation and nervous about what her reaction would be, specifically because of the social circles we were both involved in. But I was also somewhat comforted with that knowledge as well.
Writing the email was relatively easy. I was as detailed and forthright as possible, because I figured that being honest and detailed would lead to an easy road to get into school. After sending the email, she responded by the next afternoon and her first words were, “THANK YOU very much for your detailed email. It helps me understand your situation much better.”
Her name is Donna, and she was my academic advisor and one of the primary reasons that I am in school. Her response consisted mostly of her encouraging me to come up and speak with her; I knew that would be a new hurdle I’d be forced to jump over. She also encouraged me to join a free, volunteer-based class that she and several other teachers offer during the summer. The program is to help acclimate students with college, build self-esteem, and to learn about managing time.
After several days, I again garnered the courage to call and make the appointment. The appointment was only a day or two later. I was incredibly nervous. I allocated several minutes in order to be able to enter into the building without turning around and deciding on a new endeavor, as well as to find her office. After finding the student services area on the small campus, I was asked to sit down. Donna came out several minutes and asked, “Are you my appointment? Come on back.” We walked back to her office and we sat down. She said, “Why are you here?” This question was a shock to me, because one of the main reasons I sent the email was so I could elaborate on my story through written communication rather than through oral, as my oral communication skills, at least at the time, were horrible, which was mostly due to the intense anxiety I still felt.
I explained that I had emailed her and she said, “Oooh, OK!” We had a brief conversation and she asked me some questions. It did not take long for me to realize that I really did not have much of a choice on whether I was going to go to school or not. Donna is an incredibly blunt person and did not “sugar-coat” anything (some may consider this a fault, but I consider it a positive characteristic). She, once again, encouraged me to join the summer class and explained it in relatively good detail. I told her I’d have to think about it, but it was starting in only a couple weeks.
After I got home, and because I was unable to articulate my thoughts and questions at the time, I emailed her several more questions and asked some questions about the volunteer class. I asked if I could just decide on the day of the class if I wanted to come and she said that was fine, but she seemed rather unhappy with that question.
As soon as my boss arrived back in town, I delightfully told her about my progress. She, too, encouraged me to go to the volunteer class, but I still wasn’t sure. I actually had another friend who would also be starting school, and she was going to go with me to the class. At that point, I was ready—that, in and of itself, really changed my perspectives on going to school. HOWEVER, she moved out of state like a week before the class started. I was obviously pissed and upset, so my apprehension about going to school quickly returned.
The night before the class was to begin, I was rather nervous and I did not believe I would really go, although I told everyone I would. As the time drew nearer, I have no doubt that my neighbors could feel my nervous shacking—it must have been like an earthquake. But, again, I garnered the courage and began my new journey. I arrived at the school with really no idea what to expect: more specifically, what my reactions would be, if I would throw up or start crying, or any other of the negative possibilities I could think of. I arrived about 10 minutes early and found the room. The door was open, the lights were off, and no one was there, so I grabbed a seat outside of the room and just sat there. When the class was about to start and no one was there, I slowly walked back out to my car to double check the room number and realized that I was waiting outside the wrong room.
Now, not only was I going to have to enter into a class room after about 10 years, but I was going to have to enter into a class room with a bunch of people I did not know about ten minutes late. I walked into the class room and sat down, and she quickly made an example of me. Essentially, she said how she would like people to arrive on time. Surprisingly, I blurted out that I was at the wrong room and apologized for being late. Then, she further made an example of me and said, “Oh, that’s OK. How did you find out what room we were in?” And went on to explain to the other students that the information desk had all of the information for the campus.
During the entire two hour discussion and lecture, I was nervous. I am positive that any color my skin had, even after not being in the sun much for the last couple years, disappeared. Afterward, she asked to speak to me, so we went to her office. I was visibly nervous and we talked some more about degree requirements such as math, as I had not even applied to the university yet. I asked if I placed into MATH 101, “Would I have to take 3 math classes?” She said “yes,” and I knew a couple tears must have come down my face, or she knew they were about to. Being that she is a psychologist, she is academically trained to watch people and their reactions. She told me to take three deep breaths and she animately showed me how to do it. It was actually rather funny.
After leaving, I went home and went back to bed. I probably slept for much of the rest of the day. The “volunteer” class actually had numerous requirements. One of the requirements was to write a one page paper after reading a chapter of the book. This one requirement was about to kill me. I was so scared and clueless about how to write an academic paper–and even then I loved to write. I told everyone how nervous I was about a one page paper and how stupid it was for me to be so nervous about it; most people agreed.
In the end, I made it through the class and actually had fun. Believe it or not, I was the most vocal of all of the students in the class—yes, the one with severe social anxiety disorder spoke more than anyone else in the class. The papers became easier and easier, and she was able to give me some specific feedback on areas that I’d need to work on for academic papers. The transition from my casual writing to that required in academic was actually not difficult at all. In the end, it has made me a better writer.
This post is outrageously long, I’m sure, and it’s rather late. I’m tired and I forced myself to write this, as it has been weeks since I’ve updated. I know it did not turn out the way I wanted, but I hope it’s at least coherent. Next post, I’ll describe my first quarter in college and the experiences it provided. Thanks for reading!
Filed under: College, Introduction, Personal, Social Anxiety | 0 Comments
Tags: admissions, advisers, advisors, anxiety, College, fear, late, lecture, quarter, school, university, volunteer
At work, I was incessantly asked whether or not I was in school. It seemed my very presence beaconed the question, from perfect strangers, “Are you in school?”
I had created a myriad of responses to the question. One of the more common and most simple was, “No, not yet. I’m waiting until I’m ready. Soon.” I rarely discussed my past educational “difficulties” and my serious anxiety issues, as, many times, these were perfect strangers.
The responses ranged from “that’s smart” to the more condescending, “If you don’t go to school, then what are you going to do with your life? You have to go to school!”
My boss was the person who nagged (err..encouraged) me the most about going to school. It was uncommon for a single day to pass that we would not discuss my educational aspirations.
After several years of having my low-paying but reasonable job, I decided that I was ready for a change. A friend of mine had become a dispatcher at the sheriff’s department. It had always been a dream of mine to become a police officer, although I was fully aware that I would have some serious explaining to do. I started talking to him about my prospects and what he could do to help me. I was excited now because it appeared that I had an “in” at the department.
My boss was supportive of me trying to become a deputy. She offered to help me with my application, references, and anything else she could do to help. Even after talking to my boss, my friends, and the new dispatcher, it took several weeks before I was even able to go to the sheriff’s department to “shadow” him in his job. I felt this was a necessary step, as it would allow me to become more comfortable with the environment and meet some of the people I may potentially work with.
Even after shadowing him while he dispatched, it took several more weeks before I was able to develop the strength to pick up an application. I was an absolute nervous-wreck about this step alone and I was genuinely curious how I would be able to handle the application process.
After picking up the application, I went straight to work to talk with my boss and show her what I had done. I asked for the information I’d need and asked her if I would be able to send her the finished product before I submitted it. After several days of eagerly awaiting her responses, and trying my best to prepare mentally to drop off the application, I was ready.
I did not sleep at all the night before; I was incredibly nervous. Instead of going to the sheriff’s department, I went to work to get my application “finalized” by my boss. She was encouraging about applying and she was still ready to help in anyway she could, as she knew how much I wanted it to become a reality.
After leaving, I went to get $20 out of the ATM and got gas in my car, in preparation of driving to the sheiff’s department. As I pulled up to find a parking spot at the sheriff’s department, it seemed as if I had been hit by the largest bus imaginable. My heart was racing, I was sweating, and I was sure that I was going to vomit at any moment.
I got out of my car and walked up to the department. As I was passing all of the windows of the law complex, and after becoming more and more nervous, I literally said, out loud, “Fuck it. I’ll go to school instead” (please pardon my language). I promptly turned around, walked as fast as I could to my car, hopped in, and drove away.
I drove back to work and walked in. My boss asked, “Did you do it?” … “No, I was too nervous.” She was visibly disappointed, but she did not seem angry. Regardless, I was obviously not ready for such a position, so I felt incredibly relieved.
The next day, I went to pick up some dinner. As I checked my wallet to ensure I had money, I realized that I had $20 in there. I thought, “No WAY. NO WAY!” I went to my dad and told him that I thought I’d driven away from the gas station without paying for my gas.
I immediately called the gas station and explained the situation. They told me that they did not see anything about me driving away without paying and told me not to worry about it, but worried I was. I picked up my dinner and then decided to stop by the gas station—just to double check. I explained to the woman working the window and she literally laughed at me. An older gentleman came to the window and said, “Yeah, you did drive away.” He took the $10 and gave me a receipt, but I still requested that he meet me in the back. I asked him if he had filed a police report or anything; he had not.
My nervousness lead me to drive away from the gas station without paying for my gas on my way to drop off an application to become a deputy. I cannot even imagine what I would have said had I been pulled over. What do you think the reaction of the police officer would have been when I said, “I’m actually on my way to drop off my application to become a deputy?”
Filed under: Humor, Introduction, Personal | 2 Comments
Tags: anxiety, application, car, cop, cops, deputy, drive off, gas, job, police, sheriff, Social Anxiety
Blogging
When I started blogging, I had many intentions and many goals with my blog—some selfish and others selfless. I honestly believe I have an interesting story to tell and that story has the ability to inspire and help others. Because writing is such a passion, I want to become better—the best I can possibly be—and I know the only way to become better is to actually do it. Above all else, however, was that I wanted my blog to be cathartic: I wanted to reap the benefits of writing your thoughts, feelings, and ideas down.
In some ways, I believe that blogging has, in fact, been cathartic. In other ways, however, I believe it may have backfired.
I have spent much of my first several weeks of blogging “setting the foundation” of my life. Doing so has required that I remember details and situations from the past. As you may know, my “past” wasn’t great. By writing those posts, I remembered many details I never would have “remembered” otherwise. And many of those memories are depressing. I suppose, though, that the memories still existed and I will never be able to “get over it” unless I finally deal with it. Perhaps it is time.
Being that I am a business student, I have learned an interesting philosophy: “What you measure will almost always improve.” I want people to read my blog. I want to know that I have the opportunity to help others—to give hope. Because of that aforementioned “philosophy,” I will check many times each day to see how many people have viewed my blog. When I’ve had very few visitors, I become somewhat “upset.” In reality, I realize that this is rather silly. I realize there are millions upon millions of other blogs. I realize my blog is new. Finally, I realize the odds are seriously against me in terms of becoming a successful blogger.
I never, ever want blogging to feel like a job. I really enjoy writing for my blog. I love knowing that others are reading what I write. I love having this outlet to vent my frustrations and to tell my story. However, in a way, I already feel pressure to post, as I know that is the best way to gain new readers and retain the old ones.
None of this to say that I will not continue blogging; I am just in a bit of a “rut” right now—not only in blogging, but in life. In terms of blogging, however, I’m not sure what to write about next. I can tell you about my first job that lead to my current position, but I fear it is not interesting. I feel I need to tell that story before I can begin to write about college, though.
Expect another post soon! I know this one is simply grasping at straws…
In other news, I have started a “new” blog on Blogger: http://idroppedout.blogger.com. It’s actually the exact same as this blog. On one hand, I really like the simplicity of WordPress.com. On the other hand, however, I dislike the limitations. Don’t fret, though, because I will continue writing for this one and cross post to that one!
I’m just experimenting.
Filed under: Personal | 5 Comments
Tags: blogger, blogging, past, readers, the past, wordpress
Don’t hate your friends.
Did you know that confining yourself to your bedroom for several years can really wreak havoc on your social and communication skills? It’s so true. And it is incredibly hard to “relearn” those skills.
Before anxiety took control of me, socializing was not a problem for me. In fact, I was as “social butterfly.” I enjoyed meeting new people, talking to people, and having friends. I enjoyed going places, trying new activities, and being around other people. I did not constantly fear being judged by others. I was never afraid to “be myself” and speak my mind.
When I began to leave my house again, even with family, I would have serious issues even talking. I could not articulate a full sentence. I would stutter. The words I needed to say did not seem to exist. I have no doubt that others believed I had the vocabulary of your average turtle.
Even after my anxiety began to subside, it took me ages before I was able to enter stores and actually purchase something. Eating in a restaurant was a seemingly impossible task. Even when I would go into a restaurant, I would require someone else to order for me.
Not having friends never really bothered me until more recently. Although I would become bored, many of my friends resided online—usually thousands upon thousands of miles away. I could spend hours talking to these people. Whenever I felt I was being judged, I could simply hit “ignore” on my messenger client or leave the chat room. I spoke with these people on a daily basis.
Today, however, I long for friendship and camaraderie—in real life! When I become bored, lonely, or sad, I wish I had someone—anyone—I could call to talk to. Without being judged and without fearing their reactions. Without them laughing at me.
I’m envious of people who were able to go to high school, experience the “high school life,” and to build those life-long cliques and friendships that only seem possible in high school. When I’m around people who have recently graduated high school who are with their large group of friends, I often feel disdain and contempt. I wonder why I could not have the same experience; why I had to be so unlucky and make such bad decisions.
I fear that it’s too late to develop those friendships, because building friendships is incredibly difficult—at least for me. It seems I have so many acquaintances, but taking that relationship to the next level seems impossible. I do not know how. And I don’t know where to learn.
While I have been on break this past several weeks, I have created a challenge for myself: try out new activities and try to build rapports with people, even just as an experiment.
It started out well, but it has turned into a disaster. And now I don’t know if friends are all they are cracked up to be.
Besides my goal of writing a book, becoming a billionaire, beating the odds, and becoming the President of the United States of America, I have one more goal and, right now, it seems the most far-fetched: I want friends. Good ones. Friends who won’t judge me, laugh at me, or betray me.
(Admittedly, this did not turn out to be what I wanted it to be. It did not go where I wanted it to go. For some reason, I am unable to articulate my emotions without being too specific. Perhaps it’s not time yet… But I’ll post it anyway)
Filed under: Personal, Social Anxiety | 5 Comments
Tags: anxiety, depression, fear, friend, friends, friendship, social, Social Anxiety
Nothing puts you on edge like hearing things in your wall.
At random intervals, I hear these noises. They come from one of two walls and the noises are never simultaneous.
You know that sound when a person with long hair flicks their hair back and its hits a wall? In one wall, it sounds something like that. Now, in the other wall, it sounds like someone, or something, is having a seizure and convulsing. It is loud.
And it is unnerving, especially when you are trying to fall asleep and something has a seizure right above your head.
I don’t think there are ghosts. And, because no one ever lived in this house before us, I’m rather certain that the previous family did not hide a baby in the wall.
I’ve wondered if there are actually two creatures in the wall and they are using these sounds a way of communicating. And it sounds sexual.
It is possible that I have schizophrenia and these sounds do not really exist at all. Or it is possible that the electrical outlets are preparing to start me on fire. Either way, it is starting to really get on my nerves.
Truth is, I don’t know if I should call an exterminator, a psychiatrist, or an electrician.
Any advice?
Filed under: Humor | 9 Comments
Tags: electrician, insane, mice, mouse, psychiatrist, psychologist, schizophrenia, wall
After receiving my GED, my life did not change as dramatically as I expected. I truly believed I would have the confidence to face life’s challenges, but I was wrong. In reality, my enhanced confidence only lasted until the “congratulations” stopped coming; then, life returned to “normal.” At this time in life, I was leaving the house more than I had previously, and my anxiety had subsided some, but it was still present and persistent.
I had the expectation that receiving a GED after studying for a mere four months and after dropping out of school in the sixth grade would garner the respect of those around me—at least the same amount of respect I would have had I actually gone to middle and high school. I thought everyone else would see how remarkable my accomplishment was, but I was wrong. Or perhaps it was not as much of an accomplishment I believed it was.
While preparing for the GED examination, I received my driver’s permit. I practiced often, but, because my fear of the police and my fear of killing someone persisted, I forced myself to learn how to drive on dangerous country roads. On these country roads, there are few other drivers and rarely do you ever see law enforcement.
Several months after receiving my GED, and now 19 years old, I finally had the confidence and perceived preparedness to take the test!
In Ohio, you are required to do a maneuverability test. This test requires you to maneuver your vehicle through a group of cones. You are required to do this in both forward and reverse. The entire purpose of this test is to replicate parallel parking (without sacrificing other vehicles), and it is considered the most difficult portion of the exam by most test-takers.
Because I was over 18 when I received my permit, I was not required to go through a driver’s education program. In driver’s education programs, they prepare you for the maneuverability portion of the exam rather extensively.
Some may consider it a downfall, but I feel it is necessary to “over-prepare” for everything—especially tests. And this was a test. However, it is nearly impossible to practice “the cones” unless you are in a driver’s education program, so I asked one of my brothers to grab several cones and we’d try to set up something at least similar to what would be required on the exam. This actually ended up being a disaster, because I made the mistake of informing my brother that Ohio State Highway Patrolman are required to do this at high speeds. He simply had to try it, so we spent a majority of our time trying to repair broken cones that he’d run over in his effort to be amazing.
The day prior to taking my driver’s license examination, I started to learn the techniques needed to pass the maneuverability exam. In reality, the only “technique” I devised was to go as slow as the car possibly could—and usually slower. The “idling speed” was simply not slow enough, so I’d ride the brake. In fact, if my speed actually measured on the speedometer, that was entirely too fast.
I arrived to take the test the next day. My nervousness was evident to everyone, as I had several people ask me why I was so nervous. I was irritable and angry, and I could have snapped at anything.
I was not a licensed driver, so I needed my brother to be in the vehicle with me when it was my time to take the test, because I was required to move the vehicle up to the cones. After arriving, he exited the vehicle and the examiner entered after doing a series of safety checks on the vehicle I was in (you never know when you’ll need your horn). I told her, up front, that I was incredibly nervous and she told me not to be. She was actually apathetic.
The first thing she had me do was the maneuverability test. I could see my brother watching, but I ignored him and continued my trek through the cones even slower than snail’s pace. I was bound and determined, but my confidence was dwindling, as I’d seen the previous examinee hit four cones.
I was on a mission and I succeeded: I passed. But I was not done yet. Still required was the actual driving portion of the exam, in which I would be asked to drive on one of our community’s busiest and most congested streets.
I performed incredibly well until I nearly hit a pedestrian (it was his fault). My good fortune allowed me to miss the moron. If I had hit him, I would have surely received a “failing” grade on the exam!
In the end, I received a 100% on the test. I was incredibly proud and instantly felt more independent and less like a prisoner.
Later that day, I stole my mother’s car for my first independent drive. I was nervous, and, because of my nervousness, my foot was shaking so much that it was impossible to apply consistent pressure to the accelerator, so the vehicle would speed up and then slow down at a rapid pace. I nearly developed motion sickness. Plus, I got lost in an area I’d been a thousand times before—and there’s really only one road.
I got my first job the very weekend after receiving my driver’s license. It was this job that allowed me to turn over a near leaf. But that’s a story for another day.
Filed under: Humor, Introduction, Personal, Social Anxiety | 6 Comments
Tags: anxiety, drivers license, driving, education, exam, GED, license, manueverability, Ohio, Social Anxiety, test
Just give me my GED, dammit!
After taking the GED examination, I was more than a little confident in my failure of the exam. Ironically, it was my “best” subject that I was sure I had failed.
The exam itself was not necessarily as bad as I had expected. The GED examiner really made the atmosphere comfortable and, I suppose, exciting. I knew I had done everything I could to prepare, besides working on essay writing more, and I knew that this exam was the only solution to the serious pickle I’d gotten myself in. You do not usually hear about people dropping out of middle school and making it far in life, but I’m bound and determined to be the exception to that proverbial “rule.”
The other examinees were an interesting bunch—that’s for sure! When taking an incredibly important test, it is usually an excellent idea to try to be on time. Apparently, however, some did not believe the test was as important as I did, as one person showed up hours late for the exam. She was turned away.
The other examinees consisted of the young, the old, and the weird. One particular woman, who had obviously had an incredibly tough life, was not the least bit shy. When the examiner told everyone about our breaks, she specifically asked about whether she would be able to go outside and smoke. She told us that she had quit many times; in fact, she had quit for more than 10 years. Each time she quit, however, she would take up the habit again (obviously). She had tried the patch and myriad of other products to quit, but the addiction was too tough.
I could not help but question whether nicotine was her only addiction. Really, she resembled methamphetamine addict. She obviously did not care much for herself, as her hygiene was obviously lacking. Being that I’m a “dental fanatic,” one of the first observations I made about her was her general lack of teeth. For me, that would be an utter nightmare, but it was relatively obvious that she was unable to obtain proper dental care. Even with her downfalls, such as talking way too much, I admired her, as she made one of the best decisions she could have possibly made—and that is to get a GED.
She made the decision to pursue a GED because she was unable to find a good job. She said that she would work at various places, but, because she lacked a high school education, she would eventually have to “leave.” I’m sure by leave she really meant “fired,” and there’s a good chance that it had nothing to do with her educational shortcomings. Either way, it certainly could not hurt her to pursue this endeavor.
She also solidified my desire to obtain my GED and pursue higher education for this single reason: I did not want to end up like her. I wanted a better life; I wanted to make better decisions. Nothing I have said above is an attempt to degrade this woman, and I truly hope that she has been able to change her life. She is an unfortunate example of how poor decisions can adversely affect your life. However, she did one thing many others do not: She tried to find a solution. She made an effort to change things.
I forgot the results were on their way.
It generally takes 4-6 weeks before you receive the results of your exam. If you pass, you receive your diploma. If you fail, you are, I assume, given your scores for all sections (to help you prepare) and told which sections you failed.
Because it takes so long before you receive your results, I simply forgot about the exam. The fact that I genuinely believed that I had failed a portion of the exam did not help so much; it was as if I wanted to forget about it. I was disappointed about my dismal performance on the essay and wished I’d prepared better. I was more worried about having to wait months to take that section again, as well as having to tell Sheri and my other tutors about my failure. I did not want to disappoint them.
One morning, I was awoken by my father telling me I had received mail. Judging by his general excitement, and knowing that I never received any mail except from the army, I knew exactly what had arrived. I was tired, however, and apparently did not care enough to actually get up at that moment; instead, I wanted to sleep some more. My father was pissed that I did not immediately jump up to go get my mail—and he made his disdain rather clear.
Twenty minutes after being rudely awaken, and after realizing I was unable to go back to sleep, I decided to go downstairs and get my mail. I asked my mom, “Where is it?” She got out of her chair with something in her hand, walked up to me, grabbed me for a hug, and said, “You got it! I’m so proud.”
She was nearly in tears and her pride was evident. I was irritated, however, because I don’t like being touched and I was still in that “waking up” stage of the “morning” (afternoon). It was almost as if I was experiencing sensory overload and, at any time, I was going to explode.
Naturally, my first question was how they even knew I’d passed. I assumed they had opened my mail, so I was rather pissed and I was fully prepared to press charges. My mom quickly pointed out that it said “diploma enclosed” on the front of the envelope. I was a little peeved that the GED people decided to stamp that on there.
Perhaps the postal employees take special care of envelopes with “diploma enclosed” clearly printed on it with red ink. Or not.
My scores were better than expected. In all, I received a relatively high score in all subject areas with mathematics being the clear winner. My hard work certainly paid off, as I received a “79 percentile rank” in the mathematics portion of the exam. I think that translates into being in the top 21 percent of graduating high school students, but I can’t be sure. The scores are not the easiest thing to interpret. (In order to determine scores and such, they test high school seniors.)
My writing score was disappointing, but I obviously did better than I expected. I received a 33 percentile rank. Prior to actually taking the exam, I expected to receive a much higher score. Even though I passed, it really messed up my average—and that seriously irks me!
Several years later, when I was considering going to dental school, I emailed the Ohio State GED Administrator. I told her that I did not perform as well as I’d hoped on the writing portion and that I was curious if I would be able to retake only that section.
Her response was surprising and did not give me much faith in my fellow humans! She told me that my score was actually above average and a good score. She told me not to worry about it. She also told me that you are not allowed to retake any part of the exam if you passed it, unless you retake the entire exam.
Note: Perhaps it is silly to say this again, but I want anyone who reads this to know that I am still very interested in hearing what you have to say about my blog. Suggestions, questions, etc. are encouraged!
Filed under: Introduction, Personal | 14 Comments
Tags: anxiety, depression, drop out, dropout, GED, GED prep, GED preparion, GED results, middle school, preparion, results, Social Anxiety
“I know I failed.”
After becoming incredibly depressed at the very real prospect of failing at this game we call life, and after going on an all out emailing frenzy, I had finally talked my mother into contacting Sheri for tutoring in order to prepare to take the GED examination.
- In case you’re unaware of what a GED is, it stands for General Educational Development. It is seen as the equivalent of a high school diploma by most employers, universities, and people. It was originally used for veterans who left school to go to war, but it is now available to non-veterans.
It took months before my mom would actually call Sheri. I believe she was under the impression that I was not serious, and that, perhaps, it was like many other areas of life where I’d simply give up. However, I was serious: I knew that a GED was the only possible solution to the pickle I had gotten myself into.
An appointment was set up approximately two months after the initial contact. I had no idea what to expect. I was nervous, scared, and still relatively lost. I knew exactly what I needed help with: MATHEMATICS. In elementary school, math was actually one of my best subjects. I remember taking a math test that consisted of a measly 3 questions—3 really “hard” questions. After grading the test, my teacher stopped me as all of the other students were walking into the library. He gave me a high-five and congratulated me for being the only person to get all of the questions correctly.
This experience with my 5th grade teacher created a “paradigm” shift: I actually started trying in school. No longer did I slack and not care. He had given me the confidence I needed in order to do well. For the rest of that school year, I was receiving awesome grades—As and Bs. After receiving my report cards, I think my parents suspected that a serious mistake had been made. I have no doubt they wondered, “Who the hell does this report card belong to?”
The date of my “appointment” arrived and I was ready to pursue my GED. I demanded that my mom walk into the tutoring center with me, although she was reluctant. This was one of the first times I had left the house since succumbing to social anxiety, so I was incredibly nervous about meeting new people and being judged. It’s not often you meet someone who left school in the 6th grade, so I’m sure judgments were made.
Sheri was there to help me on my first day, as well as her sister. I was immediately bombarded with pre-tests from a generic GED preparation book that I already owned. It quickly became clear to her that the only subject I really lacked any competency in was math, so we immediately began going over the basics: addition and subtraction. During the four months I would be at the tutoring center, I ended up learning math from addition to basic algebra and the annoying geometry. (I did at least know how to do addition, in case you’re curious.)
I worked with a variety of trained educators. They were all amazing. They wanted the best for me, but they quickly realized my self-esteem was simply nonexistent. One particular teacher, Mr. Bates, worked with me the most. Really, besides myself, I owe my successes to him. Because he had been out of school for a significant period of time, he also lacked skill in math and told me it was one of his worst subjects. Initially, I was curious how they expected this man to teach me math, but it actually ended up being a blessing in disguise. It actually required us to work together to solve math problems. We worked on most of the problems together, looking at the book when we were confused. We actually helped each other learn! Truthfully, his motivation to become better at math actually added to my motivation. I’m sure it quickly became clear that I was highly committed to earning my GED; my motivation had to be obvious.
Usually, I would only be working on a couple hours sleep when I’d go to “class.” You see, my alcoholic brother was living with us at the time. He insisted on keeping me awake. Because he drank so much, he would have to urinate often. And, because he is unable to do anything quietly, he would stomp around like an elephant, slam doors, and, when he was drunk, he would often provoke me by yelling and calling me names through my door—at all hours of the night!
After coming home from “class,” I would usually take a nap and immediately begin studying. I would work as many math problems as I could, from the myriad of math books I had. In all, I probably spent 6 hours a day (including my time at the center) studying. That is commitment, but I obviously had nothing else to do.
I had spent only four months with Sheri and her staff in order to make up for 6 years of education I simply did not receive, but I worked harder than you can imagine. My math skills were quickly improving. In fact, Sheri, who has a Ph.D., was trying to teach me algebra; however, I was actually better than her at it. You see, I had significant computer programming experience at that time, so algebra really clicked with me.
Even though I was 18 years old, while I was preparing to take the GED examination, I finally developed the confidence to pursue another endeavor: my driver’s permit. As you may have read, I had a strong fear of killing someone by making a mistake while driving, so I had never received my driver’s license. Even after earning my GED, it took many months before I was able to actually go take the driving test.
It’s time to take the exam!
Because my aforementioned brother never fails me (uh, can you sense the sarcasm?), I knew that sleeping the night before my exam would be difficult. I decided to take some Tylenol PM, as my sleep schedule was so messed up, and my general nervousness about taking the most important test I’d ever have to take, there would be no way in hell I would be able to get any amount of sleep that night. I was correct, however, in assuming I would not be able to sleep, because not even my brother, ever so drunk, would be able to shut up and allow me to sleep. I struggled for hours to fall asleep, and, even when I’d make progress, I’d be taken several steps backwards when he’d get up to urinate and then yell at me “through” my door. In the end, I only slept for two hours that night.
I had to be there at approximately 7 o’clock. However, I did not fall asleep until after 5 o’clock. I was going to take this exam on two hours sleep, no breakfast, and nausea like no other. The nervousness was simply surreal. I was relatively confident, but I was worried my nervousness may prevent me from obtaining maximum performance.
My mom dropped me off at the high school. It was now all up to me! I had a serious fear of schools because of my previous experiences there, so even walking into the building caused my level of anxiety to skyrocket. It was a much easier journey when armed with the fact that school was not in session at the time.
After I found the class room, I quickly shuffled to an empty chair, trying not to look at anyone else. I was hoping that, if I did not look at them, they would not look at me. I think I was actually embarrassed about even being there. It was a diverse crowd, but I did not speak to anyone. There is no doubt that people noticed how nervous I was. I was shaking, looking over my shoulder, and really dying to get the hell out of there. There were people of all ages there, but, naturally, many of the examinees were older, and there were only a couple of other males there. A couple of them were actually “chipper” about being there—really pissed me off, that.
The examiner walked into the room. Gladly, I had known her my whole life; in fact, she was also Sheri’s sister! She was awesome, hilarious, and really set the mood. She was lenient, allowing us to take breaks after each section. She issued the examinations. Much to my dismay, she chose to issue the “writing skills” portion of the exam first. I was really, really hoping to do the math section first, as that was what I was most nervous about.
I absolutely flew through the multiple choice part of the writing skills examination. The essay portion, however, proved to be a lot more challenging. Because my writing skills were strong, I spent minimal time actually studying how to write a proper essay. I knew you needed an “opening,” three supporting paragraphs, and a conclusion. Another challenge was that I was used to typing, but the essay portion requires you to write by hand—with a pen!
The essay question was something like, “Name something you collect and why you collect it.” I don’t collect anything. When I was younger, I collected pennies, but there was no way I was going to be able to come up with 3 supporting paragraphs on why to collect pennies. No way.
I ended up settling (no pun intended) on Indian artifacts. However, I could only think of two reasons “I” collected Indian artifacts (I didn’t collect them at all). Because I’m an absolute idiot, I decided quickly to move away from the scratch paper and onto the exam paper. Then, I ended up writing an entire paragraph that I did not like. What did I do, you ask? I drew a line through the entire paragraph. The graders probably laughed when they read my essay. It actually wasn’t so bad apart from lacking much content and having an entire paragraph with a line through it. I was sure I failed.
I breezed through all of the other subjects. The math portion was actually easy, although there was a lot more graphing than I expected. The interpreting literature section of the exam was annoying, as were the science and social studies. But I expected that.
After finishing the exam, I called my mother to come pick me up. I believe I was the first person done, and everyone else seemed to be struggling. My mom arrived and, naturally, asked, “How did you do?” I said, “I failed the writing portion, so I may need you to bring me back in a couple months. And the people were weird.”
Next up: The RESULTS!
Filed under: Introduction, Personal, Social Anxiety | 4 Comments
Tags: alcoholism, anxiety, education, exam, examination, GED, general educational development, Social Anxiety, tutor, tutoring
