A feeling of dread spread through me like a poisonous cloud as I followed Bobby toward the thing at Camp Pontchartrain that caused me so many nightmares: the ropes course. It was the sixth graders’ turn on the course, and no one wanted to miss the perilous climb to the top except me. I hated this activity. Every time I tried it, fear of falling and getting hurt took over my mind. But how could you get hurt? The whole thing stood over the edge of the lake. I knew fear wasn’t necessarily bad; how I reacted to it determined if it was a positive or a negative thing. Like if there’s a fire at home, it makes sense to be afraid while evacuating. But for me, I worry about a fire at home all the time for no reason, and that fear turns to panic if I can’t calm down, letting my Beast control my mind. For me, fear was definitely a negative thing.
My stomach churned . . . the first shot in the war of me vs. my anxiety.
The course consisted of rope swings, rope ladders, seemingly unstable bridges, a zip line . . . all high in the air, ropes, and cables anchored to tall posts. The only thing keeping kids from falling to their deaths were their safety harnesses and the calm waters of Lake Pontchartrain beneath the course.
The worse part about this entire experience for me was giving up. Every time I had attempted the course before, I had to quit and climb back down, my fear just too severe. All the other kids would laugh and make comments when I retreated, my cowardice on full display. I knew I couldn’t see into the future, but I had no doubt the same thing was about to happen again.
I slowed to tie my shoe. “Bobby, you keep going. I’m gonna put on my water shoes.”
“Water shoes? Just do it barefoot.”
“You go ahead. I’ll be there in a minute.”
Bobby shrugged. “Okay, see you on the ropes.”
My friend sped off, running toward the shoreline, sunlight dancing across the calm waters in the distance. The course looked like a giant spiderweb of crisscrossing ropes stretching across the lake. Tall wooden posts stood out of the water, holding the whole thing aloft. Surrounding the ropes course was a fence made of some mesh material that went down to the bottom of the lake. Wooden posts held the fence in place, colorful stones embedded into the supports. They say the fence is supposed to keep out the alligators and snakes, but I never really understood that; the snakes could swim through the holes in the fence. As far as I knew, no one had ever seen a gator or snake near the ropes course, so the fence must be doing something.
I stared at one of the posts holding up the protective barrier, the colorful stones shimmering in the bright sunlight. A clear stone, maybe quartz, seemed to glow as I stared at it. For a moment, I thought I heard a faint whisper in the back of my head. But that made little sense. Likely it was just my imagination, one of the many what-ifs that tortured me daily.
Looking back to the ground, I pulled off my sneakers and slipped on water shoes, stuffing the Keds in my bookbag. As I stood, a group of boys, each wearing a purple and white soccer team jersey, formed a line across the trail and harassed anyone brave enough to pass by.
The buzzing returned, this time like a swarm of angry bees—the second shot in the war.
Am I getting anxious? The thought instantly triggered a fear response in the worry part of my brain. My heart pounded in my chest as goosebumps prickled my skin, the buzzing growing louder.
I’m getting afraid. The thought seemed to amplify my anxiety. My ears pounded with an accelerating pulse, and my body stiffened with tension. Is the Beast coming? The anxiety jumped up a level, making the fear even worse. I knew I was trapped in a thought-loop again, the fear and anxiety connected, each making the other stronger as I focused on the problem rather than the solution.
I gotta get out of this loop. Clenching my fists, I tried some coping strategies Dr. Jen taught me.
4 – 7 – 8 breathing: I took a deep breath as I counted slowly to four, then held my breath for seven counts and exhaled for eight counts. Glancing away from the soccer players, I focused my eyes on the ground and repeated the breathing sequence . . . but the counts were getting faster and faster.
It’s not working!
I tried box breathing, breathing in for five counts, waiting for five counts, exhaling for five counts, then waiting again for five counts before repeating. With my heartbeat as a counter, I repeated the breathing exercise. For a minute, I just stood there and breathed, hoping my Beast would stay away. Gradually, my heart slowed, and the buzzing in my head grew a little softer, the anxiety lessening, but I knew the Beast was still there, waiting . . . always waiting.
The kids from the soccer cabin were the worst. After winning the Capture the Flag game last night, they acted as if they ruled the camp . . . and they did. These kids did anything they wanted with their coaches always nearby, ready to get them out of trouble. For some reason, they loved tormenting me, and right now, they stood directly in my path.
I’ll never get past those bullies, I thought.
The buzzing in my head morphed from a collection of bees to a hive of angry hornets; the Beast grew nearer. My heartbeat felt like a blacksmith’s hammer pounding an anvil.
Please don’t see me . . . please . . . please.
I ran for the boy’s bathroom and slipped inside, hoping to hide. Dr. Jen’s words resonated in my head, ‘Avoiding a stressful situation doesn’t help you learn to manage your anxiety. Hiding from the problem doesn’t make it go away. Avoiding stressful situations and hiding from the problem just serves to feed your Beast. Facing things and using coping strategies will starve your Beast. You need to apply the coping strategies and make your Beast go hungry, so you can be in control of your thoughts.
Be in control of my thoughts? I thought. Right now, that seems impossible.
I ducked into the last stall, slamming the door shut behind me as my breathing turned shallow and ragged. Sitting on the back of the toilet with my feet off the ground, I waited, my body quivering. I tried to slow my pulse, using the breathing exercises again, trying not to concentrate on my fears . . . but I was never very good at that part. The pounding of my heart became a little less frantic, but the exercises didn’t help my anxiety.
My skin felt clammy as beads of sweat formed everywhere. It seemed as if the hot breath of some gigantic creature puffed across my body, ready to devour me. Thoughts raced through my mind, each suggesting what might happen. The panic intensified, fueling my fear until anxiety consumed my mind, leaving me unable to think.
The last shot in the war between me and my anxiety landed squarely in my brain.
A thunderous pounding filled my ears as my heart raced. Fear blasted through my mind like a hurricane of jagged things from a dark nightmare. My Beast had arrived with a vengeance, its presence overwhelming. The panic felt all-consuming, a maelstrom of terror that threatened to crush me in its dark embrace.
I wanted to escape, but that was impossible. My anxiety filled my mind with worst-case scenarios. I imagined the soccer players humiliating me in front of everyone. Images of them beating and kicking me filled my mind as even worse thoughts of what they might do surged through my head. My mind shifted into panic mode. The worry part was now in complete control.
Will this fear ever stop? It feels like it’s gonna go on forever.
The door to the bathroom swung open. It banged against the wall with a SMACK! The sound echoed off the tile floors and concrete walls like thunder. My whole body shuddered.
“I think I saw a little weasel scurry in here,” a deep voice said.
Jackson Viles, the soccer cabin leader, stepped into the bathroom, his sneakers squeaking on the cold floors. The high-pitched sound was like a thousand needles to my spine, the shrill noise so penetrating that it felt like it was scraping the inside of my skull, leaving me a little dizzy. My body shuddered from the anticipation of the torture I knew was coming.
“Where are you, little weasel?” Viles said.
Jackson was a mean boy with a streak of violence even some of the older kids feared. Making other people suffer seemed to bring him joy. I knew I was in trouble.
“Are you in here, little weasel?”
The door to the first stall slammed open. My body flinched at the sound, almost falling off the toilet. I cupped my hands to my ears, trying to muffle the hornets, but the sound came from inside my skull, anxiety gnawing away at my mind. Arms, legs . . . everything started to shake.
What do I do . . . what do I do?
The next door slammed open.
“I know you’re here. Just come out, and it’ll go easier on you.” Jackson chuckled.
The other soccer players laughed.
BANG.
The door next to me crashed open. The stall shook, as did I.
The what-ifs surged through my mind, my anxiety showing me how Jack might punish me for being me. I tried to speak, but my mouth felt like a desert.
“Looks like there’s just one stall left.”
Viles stepped up to my stall and stood there. The tips of his fluorescent green and black Nikes poked under the door. Fingers curled over the top of the door and shook it. The lock held.
I shuddered, the buzzing like constant thunder. Sometimes, the anticipation of something was worse than the actual event. That’s how it feels right now. I knew my fate was sealed, and I’d accepted it; I just wanted the bullies to finish their torment.
“I know you’re there, Poole.” Jackson’s voice was that of a growling, vicious animal, every word dripping with the threat of pain. “Open the door, or I’ll kick it in. Then, we’ll really make you suffer.”
I sighed as I turned the latch, unlocking the door with a loud click that echoed off the walls. It swung open with a spine-tingling creaking noise like something out of a nightmare. Goosebumps came to life across the back of my neck as a dark chill slithered down my spine. Before me stood the meanest kid in sixth grade. Though we were the same age, Jackson towered over me, as did most kids my age.
“Why do you have to pick on me?” My voice sounded weak, more like a whimper.
“Because I can.” Jackson moved back, his Nikes scraping across the floor, squeaking. He motioned for me to step out of the stall. “Because I’m the leader of our cabin.” Jackson grabbed me by the shirt and yanked me out. “And because you let me.”
I shook with terror, the Beast making it impossible to think.
“And because there are five of you and only one of him,” a deep voice said from the doorway.
All eyes turned to the newcomer. Leonard O’Malley, the head of the football cabin and team captain, stared at us from the door. His blue and gold jersey stood out in contrast to the white and purple soccer players’ shirts. Leonard was the biggest sixth grader at Camp Pontchartrain and taller than many of the older kids as well. His broad shoulders, good looks, and kind nature made him popular with everyone.
“I think you need to break up this little party.” Leonard’s calm, soft voice made his words seem even more threatening. He took a step closer. “That little guy there isn’t bothering you. It’s time to move along; you’ve had your fun.”
“Why should we?” Jackson asked.
“Because I can have the rest of the football team here in thirty seconds, doing to you what you plan to do to that kid.” Leonard took a step closer. “Is that what you want?”
A coach’s whistle cut through the air, signifying the opening of the ropes course.
“We better get to the lake.” Jackson glanced at his friends.
They all nodded; the excuse to leave was probably a welcome one.
The boys filed out of the bathroom, each glaring at me, some purposely jabbing me with an outstretched elbow or extended shoulder. With my eyes on the ground, I tried to get out of the way, but there wasn’t room. The bullies took turns jostling me or stepping on my feet as they filed out.
The buzzing faded in my mind, the Beast going back to sleep, for now. Fatigue washed over me, a parting gift from the anxiety. I thought of it as an echo of the Beast’s savage attack. Taking a deep breath, I wiped the sweat from my face, then looked up at my rescuer.
“Thanks for the help, Leonard.” I tried to smile, but it came off more like a sneer. “I really appreciate it.”
The football player nodded and shrugged. I always found it surprising—Leonard always had such sad eyes. As the most popular kid at the camp, he had everything, yet he seemed the saddest as well.
“So that you know, I didn’t do it for you.”
“You didn’t?” My voice grew quiet. “Why did you—”
“I just wanted to wash my hands after lunch, and all of you were in the way.” Leonard spun around, turned on the water, washed his hands, and dried them with paper towels. Crumbling the paper into a ball, he shot it toward the trash can on the other side of the bathroom. It went in, of course.
“Well . . . umm . . . thanks anyway.” I wasn’t sure what to say, so I just stood there, staring at Leonard, a confused expression on my face. “I was so scared; I couldn’t even think.”
“Why do you do that? Why do you just stand there and let them pick on you?”
I shrugged. “I don’t know—because I don’t have a choice.
“There’s always a choice. All of us can decide who we want to be and how we want to be seen by others. The trick is having the courage to make that choice.”
“You don’t understand,” I said. “Everything’s easy for someone like you.”
“Maybe it’s you who doesn’t understand.” Leonard poked me in the chest. “My history teacher at school once told me to look inside myself to see who’s hiding in there, waiting to get out. Maybe you should do that too.”
Not waiting for an answer, Leonard turned and headed for the door.
I followed him, glad I’d survived the ordeal, but a distant buzzing deep within the dark recesses of my mind told me this wasn’t over. Something terrible was going to happen, and somehow, I’d be at the center of it whether or not I liked it. And I was sure I wouldn’t.
Slinging my book bag over my shoulder, I followed the larger boy down to the lake, my eyes searching for the next disaster waiting to devour me.