Ariella Garcia is an 18-year-old girl who dreams of leaving her current situation behind and starting a new life. She's fiercely independent, and her love for nature and animals is unparalleled. She's always surrounded by people who care about her...
"Just because I can't explain the feelings causing my anxiety doesn't make them less valid."
- Lauren Elizabeth
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Today was the day that I had been dreading - my dad's return from his trip. I had spent the entire day preparing for his arrival, trying to make sure everything was perfect. But as the time drew nearer, my anxiety began to rise to unbearable levels.
I paced around my room, my nerves frazzled and my palms sweating. I knew what was waiting for me when my father came back - the constant fear, the insults, the beatings. It was a routine that I had grown accustomed to, but it never got any easier.
As I tried to keep myself together, I felt a panic attack starting to take over. I pulled at my hair, hoping to ground myself, but it only made things worse. I collapsed to the ground, feeling like I couldn't breathe.
That's when I remembered a breathing technique that I had learned from a book I was reading. I closed my eyes and focused on my breaths, in and out, slow and steady. It wasn't easy, but with each breath, I felt a little more in control.
Slowly but surely, my vision cleared up and my heart rate began to slow down. I felt a sense of calm wash over me, and I knew that I could face whatever came my way.
With each breath, I gathered the strength and courage I needed to stand up and face my father, no matter how scary it seemed.
But even with my newfound courage, I still struggled with a destructive habit - pulling at my hair during panic attacks. It was strangely comforting at the moment, but it always left me feeling ashamed afterward.
Despite my best efforts, the urge to pull persisted, and I knew that I had to work on breaking this habit. But for now, I had to focus on preparing for my father's return.
I checked every corner of the house, making sure everything was spotless. My dad was always particular about cleanliness, and I didn't want to give him any reason to be angry. My anxiety began to rise again, but I took a deep breath and pushed it down.
I decided to distract myself by reading a book that I had been meaning to finish. The story carried me away, and before I knew it, I had fallen asleep.
But my peaceful sleep was short-lived. I woke up to the sound of the door shutting, and my heart started to race. I quickly composed myself, trying to make my appearance presentable before opening the door.
To my surprise, my father was not alone. Standing behind him was Henry - a man who used to visit regularly when I was younger.
Henry always made me feel uncomfortable, touching me in places I didn't want to be touched and trying to convince me to be his girlfriend.
