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Having anxiety disorder means that sometimes you’re not able to do what you want. Sometimes you have to sacrifice things for your mental health. Sometimes it’s the other way around, but it’s not always for something you want. There are times where you have to sacrifice your mental health for necessary everyday things like answering the phone, going to the store, and even driving to places that make you deeply uncomfortable.
I wasn’t exactly sad that I was missing PAX East this year. While I did enjoy video games from time to time, and while I did support my boyfriend and what he did, conventions weren’t my scene. Okay, that’s somewhat of a lie. I really wanted to go, I just hated the method of transportation: flying.
Yeah… no. Being stuck in a small space in the air for an extended amount of time is absolutely terrifying. That single fear has made me turn down several opportunities. I couldn’t go to Playlist Live, I couldn’t collab with several major makeup brands, and I most definitely couldn’t go to any PAX.
Just driving the boys to the airport gave me heart palpitations and sweaty palms. I wasn’t even going on the plane, why did I have to be such a baby about it? I wasn’t even brave enough to go inside the damn building to see the boys off. I parked the car in one of the loading zones in front of the entrance and got out to say goodbye.
“You sure you’ll be fine?” asked Mark, who went to get the luggage out of the trunk.
“Yeah, don’t worry about it,” I replied, ignoring the disbelieving looks from Matt and Ryan. At least they saw me for what I was: a mess.
“Just call me if you need anything,” Mark told me. Things I’ve heard before. Things I probably wouldn’t do unless I was actually dying.
“Okay.” Empty promises.
The tension had gone down slightly over the last couple of weeks. Mark was okay with letting Jack live at my place, but Jack was still weirdly silent and tiptoeing around everything. I wondered how they would survive the weekend together. I wondered if any fans would notice the bad energy. I wondered if they would know it was my fault.
After getting out their luggage, Mark closed the trunk. “Okay, well. Our flight takes off soon, so we’d better get going.”
I went to hug my boyfriend, who was surprised at the gesture. He wrapped his arms around my shoulders, giving me a little squeeze.
“I’ll miss you,” I told him sincerely.
“I’ll miss you too, babe.”
I let him go and then I hugged Jack goodbye. Again, he was strangely quiet, but I didn’t know what to say to him either. I couldn’t really say anything without fearing that Mark was going to give him shit about it. I didn’t want to send him off onto another fight with Mark. I was already worrying before they even left.
~
Almost as soon as I got back to Mark’s empty house, I got a phone call. At first, I thought that one of the boys had forgotten something, but then I looked at the caller ID. It was Sophie, which was a little shocking. I rarely spoke to her outside of YTU, and I did not have the energy or courage to answer, so I left my phone face down on the counter and went to tend to Chica.
The afternoon was spent playing with my boyfriend’s dog and then editing my latest video in my boyfriend’s room. Chica sat at my feet, chewing on a bone. That was the only noise throughout the house, aside from the voices of myself and Jack on the computer.
Watching back the footage of me and Jack was rather entertaining. You wouldn’t think that there was something else going on behind the scenes. You couldn’t tell that we were feeling guilty or sad. In fact, this was a side of me that my audience rarely saw.
The Bella Santiago in this bleaching/hair dyeing tutorial was smiling. She was enjoying herself, she was laughing with her friend. She wasn’t ranting about politics or equality, or sweating from getting so fired up. I couldn’t remember the last time I was so upbeat in a video. It was strange.
“Now, I haven’t bleached or styled hair in a while. So if you end up bald, then forgive me.”
“Should I be worried, then? You’re actually Googling how to do this!”
“Shhh, no te preocupes, I just have to refresh my memory.”
The whole video was just banter. Two friends laughing together and having fun. Of course, the Internet was going to take it differently, but we had that coming regardless. There was always going to be someone who hated me for being around Jack and someone who wanted me to replace his current girlfriend. That’s just how this life was. There wasn’t much that could be done about it.
I kept editing until I had to take Chica outside. It was nearly dark by then, and I had a sudden spike of energy. I was scrolling through my phone, rapidly going through my Twitter feed. I was singing to myself too, something I was listening to in the car on the way back from the airport. Then I saw a promoted tweet for Demi Lovato’s latest single, Stone Cold. I was humming that to myself for a good while. Then, I figured, I had the house to myself, and Mark had a guitar and keyboard here somewhere.
I brought Chica back inside and then got right to work. I dashed through the house, grabbing lights and a camera. I set them up in front of the couch in the living room, all while warming up my voice. Finally, I grabbed the guitar from Mark's room and practically ran downstairs to my recording area.
Ironically, I didn't start with Stone Cold. I was playing a different song, Airplanes, on the guitar, and next thing I knew I was singing it.
“Most of my life, I sat on my hands
I don't make a sound
Getting it right, I made all my plans
Lost, never found”
Somehow I always found a song that I could relate to. It was the only way I could express my feelings without outwardly talking about them. I didn't know how to name my emotions either, according to Helena, so singing songs was a healthy outlet.
“Airplanes cut through the clouds
Like angels can fly, we'll never die
Sirens cut through the night
Like screams set on fire, rising up high
I've got something to prove, nothing to lose
In this city, in this city, oh”
When I finished that song, I was in a different mood. I set the guitar aside and went to stop recording. Thinking, I pulled my phone out of my pocket and looked through my music. I had to find something. Anything for me to attach whatever I was feeling to. I started tapping my foot anxiously, and nearly jumped when I found the song I needed. If I could sprint while carrying expensive camera equipment, I would have. I was careful but quick going back up the stairs to where the keyboard was in Mark’s room.
“Okay, okay, okay,” I whispered, my mind buzzing so hard I couldn’t properly focus. “Okay, okay, new shirt, new shirt, okay, okay…”
I yanked off my grey tee shirt and put on a black crop top. Then I went over to make sure the camera was recording and that the lights were on. Everything was set, so I took my place at the keyboard and played the song.
I sang. I made it through a Little Mix cover before I started shaking. Then I made it through my Demi Lovato cover and everything was fine until it wasn’t. We all know that was bound to happen.
~
“Bella Santiago, age twenty three, admitted to psych after having a two hour long panic attack and a psychotic episode,” reported a nurse to a doctor.
Surely I had to be sedated. There were two people talking about me right in front of my face and I didn’t feel the dull ache in my chest or the flipping of my stomach. I just lied there in bed and listened, keeping my eyes fixed on my feet. I was itching at my arms incessantly but I was generally complacent and well behaved.
“How are you feeling, Ms. Santiago?” asked the woman in the white lab coat, Dr. Starr.
Hmm, tough question. Too much pressure. My eyes widened as if she had asked me to murder someone.
“Well, let’s check your pulse,” she said, probably reading my ugly, unstable body language.
Hesitantly, I gave her my arm and she placed two fingers on my wrist. Fast. Panicky. Why couldn’t I be dead?
Once Dr. Starr saw my arm and the redness, she ordered for the nurse to prep me for some tests. Then she asked me if I was allergic to anything, or anything that could have caused this “rash.” I played dumb and said no. They were already prepping the medical stuff, so it was too late to mention that it was an anxiety thing. When situations got really drastic, I just scratched at my arms as if they were very itchy. It was rare, and for some reason, this was a drastic situation.
“Now, is there anyone you want us to call in the meantime?” Dr. Starr asked me once her medical talk with the nurses was over.
Mark. But he’s been in Boston for twenty four hours. He hasn’t had much time with his fans or his friends. I couldn’t take him away from that or have him worry. He was probably still mad at me too.
“No,” I replied shortly.
Dr. Starr tilted her head. “No family? Close friends?”
“I have no friends, and my family want nothing to do with me,” I mumbled, now pickin at my nails.
“Well, your family must be wondering where you are…”
“They haven’t wondered for five years.”
Uncomfortable silence.
“I see,” the doctor concluded. “Well, Ms. Santiago, can you tell me what were you doing before this happened?”
Here we go.
“Singing,” I replied. “Then I started panicking. I thought I was dying, or that I completely lost it.”
“Have you been hospitalized for panic attacks before?”
“Yes.”
“Okay. Well, we’re going to be monitoring you for the next couple of days.”
I could only hope I would be out of here by Monday. I wasn’t even sure how bad I was anymore. Surely they wouldn’t make me tell them who to call. I wasn’t suicidal, I didn’t intentionally harm myself. This had happened before, and I was alone, then too. This wasn’t anything to worry about, right?
The nurse didn’t let me go on my phone. If it wasn’t for the TV, then I really would have lost it. I couldn’t be without some kind of distraction. I couldn’t even figure out what exactly made me go here. According to the people here at the hospital, I had a psychotic episode. Or maybe I told them that. I couldn’t really remember.
Blood was drawn from me a little bit later. Me, being me, I cried. Test results stated that I had no type of skin rash. It wasn’t until Dr. Starr got me out of bed and to a psychiatrist’s office within the hospital did I actually reveal that it was due to anxiety.
“How often does this happen?” the psychiatrist, Dr. Francis asked. “Have you ever gotten these itches treated before?”
“No, it almost never happens,” I replied. It was getting easier to talk to people around here. Maybe it was the sedation. Or the fact that he was qualified to handle me made it more comforting. “Last time I was in the hospital, I was itchy too, and it was because of anxiety.”
“Okay, well I can prescribe something for that. Maybe a low dosage since it happens rarely,” he said, writing on a clipboard.
Oh no, medication talk. I never wanted to take medication… says Bella, who has never had a mentally stable day of her life and wonders why.
“May I ask, why you didn’t have anyone call someone for you?” Dr. Francis had questions I did not want to answer. Why couldn’t he asked me about my maladaptive behaviors or something?
I hesitated. “I don’t have anyone.”
“No parents or siblings? A boyfriend, perhaps?”
I shook my head, avoiding eye contact.
Dr. Francis sighed. “Forgive me for being forward, Ms. Santiago. But I have a daughter who watches Markiplier.”
God fucking shit of a fuck.
“I’m not in danger of killing myself or harming myself or anything,” I said. “I don’t think there’s any reason to notify him. He’s on the other side of the country right now, anyway.”
“Do you feel like you would be bothering him if you told him?”
“He’s just so busy, and we just got over a fight we had. I want everything to stay perfect.”
“What exactly is he busy with right now, Bella?”
“He’s at a convention in Boston. He’s doing YouTube stuff, and I don’t like to interrupt him. Like, it’s just me and my anxiety again. It’s just repetitive and kind of unnecessary.”
Dr. Francis asked me more questions, and the more I talked, the more I realized how crazy I was sounding. Turns out, I wasn’t buying makeup because I loved makeup. I bought things to fill the sense of emptiness and dissatisfaction in my life. I sang excessively because I couldn’t bear the thought of facing my actual feelings head on. I wasn’t constantly tired from walking around campus, I was just severely depressed. I didn’t want to tell Mark I was in the hospital because he was busy, it was because I was depressed I felt like I wasn’t worth his time.
It’s not like I wasn’t aware of all of this, it was just a tough pill to swallow. And now because of it, I really did have to take pills. I had to make friends with a little lady called xanax.
When I went back to my room, the nurse let me go on my phone. I was cooperative and unproblematic, so I got a small privilege. I sent out a tweet talking about how productive I was the last couple of days, which wasn’t really a lie. After that, I checked my text messages. All of them were from Mark.
“We landed! How are you?” Sent at 3:04PM.
“Had a meeting, then went to dinner with the gang!” Attached was a picture of Mark, Jack, Matt, and Ryan. They were sat at a table in a restaurant with Bob, Mandy, Wade and Molly. Sent at 10:11PM.
“You’re awfully silent. Everything okay?” Sent at midnight.
Now it was time to lie. Well, sort of.
“Hi! Sorry for not replying!! I spent literally all day filming! I made three whole videos! I went to sleep right after haha hope you’re having fun at pax!!” Accompanied by several emojis so nothing seemed fishy.
I wasn’t lying. I did spend a majority of the day filming. I didn’t feel as nervous as I normally would have, thanks to the xanax. I had next to no problem giving my phone back to the nurse, not even waiting for a response from Mark. He was probably too busy to answer me anyway.
I'm so emotional the episode was so good and the op & ed were so beautiful. Like based on those alone i can tell this season was created by people who understand the source material! I'm so so excited to see the rest of the season, i really hope cloverworks keeps up their attention to detail 💖💖💖
