When I was in my early teen years, about 3 years ago, I was a very very very sad person. My self esteem and confidence were non existent. I always had a cloudy mind, and I could never understand why. I felt alone, even though I had friends. I blame my social anxiety and panic attacks  for these horrible feelings.

I remember watching a vlog uploaded by the infamous YouTuber, Zoella, in which spoke about how she experienced panic attacks. Listening to her experience and her expression of how she felt during everything, I realised that I experience the same things. I would suddenly start breathing so rapidly, that I would need to clench my chest and just lie down. When I’m in crowded places, my legs become weak and I feel like fainting. And I had to deal with all of these all by myself.

None of my friends understood what I was going through. Honestly, I don’t think that they considered it to be a big deal. I never thought of telling my family, because I was sure that they definitely would not get it, and it would be embarrassing. I held my poor mental health condition as a secret from my family for about a year. But how long could I hide it for?

I was dying inside. I was mentally trapped. But life moves on. I was forced to focus on my academics, sports and extra curricular activities. When my school announced the finalisation of our Model United Nations, I was chosen as the International Press head. MUNs are very crowded, and I was so not mentally capable of dealing with it. So I told my brother and mother (not my father because he was out of the country at that time) that I did not want to attend it. They pestered me for a reason and eventually, I gave in. I told them everything.

I told them about how I feel and what I go through every day. And they laughed. They laughed at me as my face was drenched in tears. They tried to understand later on, but they couldn’t. So they ignored it.

It’s almost been 3 years since that incident, and I have never gotten closure. I was deliberately left alone by my family. Every time I hear the word “anxiety” or “panic attack” when I’m with them, I get horrible flashbacks of me trying to receive an ounce of support from my family. I still cannot use those 2 words in front of them, I don't know if I ever will be able to.

I was vulnerable, and was on the verge of going down an irreversible path. People always say to speak up about mental health, and that family and friends are always there for you. But speaking about my problems did not help me. It troubles me to this day and is the only regret that I have.