Tonight, I found a wonderful anxiety and stress forum website...it's like ehealthforum something or other. I was straight up STUNNED by how so many people in the world have what I thought was so damn odd. My friends and family certainly think I'm a lot of work and have an odd thing...we even joke about it sometimes. I don't mind, it helps.
My "anxiety nausea" as it is called. It's what I hate most about myself. It has hindered me so much in my life, caused so much unnecessary worry and shit to my life. And what scares the fuck out of me is that it's always unexpected.
It also terrifies me that it was far worse this year than last year. It's absurd. And what's worse is I do not know the cause.
Something tells me that next year will be better, I will not have to burden something with this. We all have our own rooms.
Going back and forth from school has always frazzled my nerves. I fear about absurd things.
All of this and much more is why I turned to writing so LONG ago. 
I knew I had a knack for it in about 2nd grade, then started writing stories and poems in like 3rd and 4th grade. 4th grade is when I really started to get on a roll, and in turn, got into shitloads of trouble for raunchy stories. Great anecdote today though!
Anyway...what else was I gonna say? Did I mention that forgetfulness is common among those who are anxiety ridden/have ADHD like me. I also have a little bit of OCD. My mom thinks so. No, she KNOWS so. And frankly, so do I.
Thank GOD for writing. This all began I believe when I was 9 and a member of my family was killed...my uncle. Very few people know this. I didn't know him that well, but nonetheless, it haunted me to my very core. I remember the night I found out---I remember it down to the gory details. The phone call, meandering through my brothers' room as my mom was on the phone next to the bathroom. The funeral. Wake. The restaurant scene we were at afterwards. The restaurant name itself. Maybe there has been a subconscious kind of thing that was planted within me when I was 2 or 3 though, when my brother died. I never want to talk about that either today. I can't even look at the single picture we have of him. 
His birthday was always a very tense time...I cry every year on February 13th. Which is one of my good friend/suitemate's birthday! I need to put up a stiff upper lip! Honestly, I find this a blessing because now I can really CELEBRATE on this day. Instead of feel sad. I know I'll get texts from Mom and Dad on the 13th when I'm at school and it'll make me sadder. I'll hide it, I won't cry when people are around. It's mortifying. I hate being perceived as a drama queen. 'Cuz let's face it, I am. 
Anyway...
Soon after this, I started having dreadful nightmares about killings and murders and whatnot. It only worsened. Especially when I was in 6th grade and a woman was murdered in the apartment building across from my school. 
It shattered me. I would get this god-awful gnawing, sinking feeling in my stomach that would jolt me awake screaming, sweating a cold sweat, darting out of my room like a speedy little rat.
I would be clammy, cold and terrified. My mom just yelled at me, but my dad was merely annoyed. He would stay up with me in the basement. We would watch old movies or he would lay at the foot of my bed. Soon enough, sometimes in middle school I had to cope on my own. I was supposed to be maturing. But I wasn't very much, frankly.
Around 5th grade is when I developed my fear of traveling. To change. Unfamiliar things. I would be up all night vomiting whenever we went anywhere. I would have my night terrors when it was time to go to bed. A crying panic attack. 
Tragically, the last one I had was recently. This past summer. In Paris fucking France. It was very mild. I just stayed up pacing, like Sylvia before she committed suicide, after she borrowed those stamps.
My family would all mock me in the morning as they usually do.
To this day my brothers mock me for my stomach problems they would pretend to writhe in pain and squeal, "I have a SOUR STOMACH!"
It was pure mortification. No one got my supposedly bizarre problem that was taking over my life.
I do have a sensitive stomach though, that's fundamental. But of course it's insanely worse, to the point of debilitation, when anxiety mixes in. And then nausea. 
I've been to loads of therapists. None did any good. I think I may need a psychiatrist. 
These herbal stuff isn't exactly strong enough.
But I felt myself getting easily addicted to that stuff they prescribed when I was in the hospital earlier this year.
Mom thinks it was the flu, a virus that had gone untreated and grown progressively worse.
I know the truth. It was a panic attack. Anxiety.
More and more each day I face my anxiety head on. 
It has fucked me up a lot, not gonna lie. I have to be very cautious with many things.
Although most of the time I am FINE.
It doesn't mean I do not look into the future, fearing though.
This website has helped me loads. I have felt so alone for years, and so fucked up.
But I don't think I am that much. I am STUNNED by how many people have the same problem I do. It's nuts. And some FAR worse than me.
Much worse. I am thankful I am not as severe as that.
I am sever though, I believe. I throw up very often. 
Ironically, I am a very content person generally. 
I literally laugh at everything.
I find humor in EVERYTHING AND ANYTHING.
There is so much I want out of life. I KNOW what the fuck I want and what exactly I'm gonna do to get there. I suppose anxiety has helped with that. 
Tomorrow, back to school after a month and a day. Crazy.
I am terrified due to the change, yet again. I don't think I'll get much sleep tonight. But you know what? Whenever I feel like this my friends ALWAYS ALWAYS ALWAYS help. Their presence and the laughter alleviates my pain. 
As Mom says, I need to get out of myself much more. What can I say though? I'm a writer I'm very much in my head.
An OCD, ADHD anxiety-ridden writer who has drunk far too much on many occasions and loves smoking weed and hookah (even though I don't do it as much as I would like to haha). I am a fucking stereotype. 
I don't want to be a troubled writer, but my "issues" are not associated with my writing whatsoever.
Maybe though, because I have the MIND of a writer. And this is a MIND problem. Not physical. It's hormonal I think. Adrenal glands or some shit.
I'm so fucking grateful I'm not DEPRESSED though like some of these people on this website. At times in the past I was, I'm sure like everyone. 
But writing is so therapeutic. This, reading, and watching shows that make me laugh are foolproof methods to heal myself. And taking hot showers or baths. 
I'm not gonna lie, there were so many times I just wanted out (and gave it a go and consistently failed) because of all of this. I just can't live in constant fear of this.
I can't live with it period.
I can't go on always being terrified, never knowing what to expect. I want to be sedate and euphoric forever.
I've written many a poem/story about this shit.
I hate being the "damsel in distress".
I don't want my friends to find me difficult. Nor my family. But too late.
Please God, help me to not fear what is to come and what problems arise.
Paradoxically, I have no sleeping problems. No insomnia in the least. I usually go to bed rather early at school actually. 11:30-12:00 usually.
I am still on my fervent search for inner peace. I don't know if I will ever find perpetual tranquility, but I pray that I DO. I pray to God that things only go up from here and I remain cautious and have a plan. And never let me anxiety get in the way of any plans I have.