That’s something you’d associate more with the CIA or FBI, and less with the life of a 10th-grade boy living in the suburbs...
I was in a constant state of anger and panic, even when I was laughing with friends. There was always this seemingly irrational fear harassing my every move.
I wouldn’t sleep for 3-4 days straight. Often I would end up in places with no recollection of how I got there. What I had (and still have) is PTSD. What I didn’t have then was my voice. I didn’t know how to explain to someone what was happening.
I couldn’t tell myself what I was experiencing was not crazy, or what I was even feeling.
What I learned not long ago is that underneath anger is usually fear and pain. I was hurt, not broken. It’s taken years to heal, and I continue to every day.
It’s ironic though, I didn’t think people within my community would understand. But I gained a voice and now I can hear theirs too.