Behind These Walls

01

"Don't let your mind bully your body into believing it must carry the burden of its worries."

-  Astrid Alauda

01

If there's one thing that I'd learnt over the years, it was that life goes on.

If somebody died, the world would stop for you but, it would continue for everyone else. It was almost a constant cycle.

When I was initially diagnosed with anxiety, I'd been in my own private hell; one where I felt too much, one where I was consumed by the fiery depths of hell, knowing the reality was that I'd never be normal. And whilst time might have stopped for me, it continued on for everyone else – my parents for instance, refused to accept I had a mental illness. They claimed the concept itself was "ridiculous."

And maybe that was why I was here, leant against a lamppost in an attempt to maintain my heart rate. It was almost the new year and I had decided that coming December, I was going to start changing my life before the new year even begun.

Except, I hadn't anticipated how hard that would actually be.

My thoughts were brought to a halt as I heard a voice behind me. "Clutch onto that any harder and you may snap it in half." He was teasing of course, but I froze.

His abrupt comment had raised my heart beat and it wasn't even due to him being a male (though that was a problematic factor in itself) but how he had managed to sneak up behind me. I turned around swiftly and scrutinised him. Whilst his voice was low and soft, he certainly didn't match this through his attire.

"Are you going in?" he asked a second later and I nodded, unsure.

He was quite tall, seemingly hitting six foot. With jeans, a dark shirt and a leather jacket, he almost looked he wanted the attention on him. However, his facial features contradicted this choice; he had large brown eyes that portrayed nothing but innocence. His features – his nose, cheekbones and jaw – were strongly defined, but not sharp. Just prominent enough. "First time?"

I slowly realised that I hadn't even replied to any of his questions, so I nodded my head. "Yeah," My mouth was dry. "Is it that obvious?"

He chuckled, "Kinda. Although, with the way you're holding onto that lamppost, it kinda suggests that you don't want to go into that coffee shop." Out of context, it might have sounded ridiculous – getting a coffee wasn't what I was afraid of. It was the anxiety support group starting inside that did.

"I just need a few minutes," I muttered, more to myself than him and redirected my gaze ahead once again. He didn't respond, but I noticed him step forward from the corner of my eye, closer to me than before silently as we both surveyed the coffee shop. "Have you been to one of these before?"

He paused. "A bloody lot."

"Do they help?" I asked curiously.

He seemed to mull this over silently, his foot tapping against the pavement. "They do," he said finally. "I probably don't need to go to anymore, but it helps, knowing there are people who understand what you're going through. Don't get me wrong, friends help – but, they'll never truly understand the pain of anxiety."

"I want to get better," I said lowly. "I just don't know whether I'm ready to." I'd known him for a span of two minutes and I was already confessing my own insecurities, but it didn't scare me as much as it should have.

He crossed his arms across his chest. "How about this, I'll go in and sacrifice my own dignity for you by tripping in front of everyone. Hey, you could be my knight in shining armour and save me from the humiliation of getting up on my own."

A smile tugged at my lips. "As if you'd do that."

"I would."

"And why would you do that for me?" I questioned. As I spoke, I unwound my arm from the lamppost. I had been using it as a support system of some sort, especially with the way that my legs had almost given up beneath me. It was something I'd experienced on various occasions, where my legs would shake in public – perhaps it was all psychological, but I'd always have to find something to support myself with.

"First meetings are always the hardest," he replied. "So, as someone who's experienced multiple group sessions, I'd like to help keep yours a memorable one." Although he appeared sincere, I had a way of over-analysing the simplest of gestures.

My palms were clammy and I brushed them against my jeans. "Okay," I finally said. "I'll go in, but don't trip, I can't promise I'd be there to help you up."

He nodded, seemingly satisfied as he met my gaze. His light brown eyes lightened underneath the sun and his lips tugged into a smile. "I'm Theo." He held out a hand, it was slender and long in comparison to my own, but I shook it. Hoping that my hands were no longer clammy and if they were, I hoped he wouldn't point it out.

"Dina," I murmured in response, noticing the darker tone to my skin, in comparison to his. "My name's Dina."

* * *

The first meeting went relatively well.

Unlike what I had anticipated, the first session was merely a way for all of us to talk to each other. The setting, being the coffee shop, meant that it seemed intimate and not all as formal as I'd first pictured it.

We had all ordered a drink as we spoke, which seemed to ease the tension that we were all experiencing. Tricia was the group leader, who confidently spoke about how each meeting would go and discussed the types of struggles we could include. There were around seven of us in the group, but seeing as it was in the middle of the week, I suspected more people would join on the weekend sessions.

Theo sat beside me, silently observing everyone around us. At times, he would assert himself into the conversation and I realised something – he was one of those people who didn't voice himself out a lot but when he did, he was hilarious. His comments were either witty or factual, something I suspected a lot of people liked about him.

The session itself spanned for over an hour and a majority of it involved a few of us discussing our favourite television shows – I'd never expected it to be like this. Though, I'd ensured I hadn't researched anything in the case that I stopped myself from coming. Thankfully, it was significantly better than I'd hoped – Tricia claimed that this was a way in which we could sort out the groups dynamics. Jumping onto the serious talks right away with strangers was never going to work, if we were at least a bit comfortable around one another, we'd be more willing to let on how we were feeling and gain support from the others in the group.

And I knew I shouldn't get my hopes up – because this group wasn't going to solve my anxiety, they were going to help find the root to the problem.

But it was hard to fix something, when the problem was you.

Authors Note:

If you're reading this, thank you. This is a personal story to me, one which took a lot of effort to consider posting hence, the delayed upload but I appreciate anyone reading this. Whilst I don't have a specific aim for this novel - I hope it shows that if you have anxiety, or any mental illness for that matter, you're not alone.

Secondly - this chapter remotely focused on the first meeting which wasn't all fundamental. However, before we continue - I'd like to point out anxiety is subjective in the sense that everybody experiences it differently. So please don't comment things that'll indicate otherwise.

Thirdly, this is more of a reminder but this isn't a love story! It merely focuses on the importance of friendship.

QUESTION: What do you think of Theo?