Showing posts from July, 2017


My Freshman year was the year a seed of mistrust was planted towards the male species.

At this point, I was old enough to recognize odd things about some men in my church and other men I knew through my parents. Mom never specifically said to avoid them, but I never got a good feeling in my stomach when I was around them. She even had to sit me down and warn me away from some of my cousins who were known child molesters, but my extended family members were too cowardly and afraid of offending each other to actually turn these disgusting male cousins in.

All my life, my mom has had a mistrust of men (the reason behind this mistrust I didn’t learn until I was a senior in high school). The only men she trusted in her life were Dad, Grandpa, and some of her brothers. I don’t blame Mom for my mistrust in men, but it definitely attributed to my own development. However, the real reason behind my mistrust of males in general is hardly ever—outside of my family—has A) men noticed me and B) trea…

The Freshman Bullies

Gag me. Freshman year of freaking high school.

Worst year of school in my entire life.

Okay, that’s a lie. It’s the second worst. My worst occurred within college, but I’ll tell you about that later.

Remember how I said my friend group started branching out and making more friends? Well, it continued. And again, I only really liked my original group. The new coming members didn’t really acknowledge my existence, and I only got invited to things because I was a part of the “originals.” (Yes, that is what my original friend group started referring themselves as).

If people thought I was quiet in junior high, they had no idea what they were getting this freshman year. A brick wall, a thousand feet thick, and guarded with knights in shining armor.

I made some acquaintances who were kind to me, and there was this one girl in my orchestra class who started becoming my friend. We knew each other in junior high orchestra, but we didn’t talk much. She started sitting next to me in class…

Junior Hell

Another awful aspect of Junior High that contributed to my anxiety was lovely self-esteem issues. In elementary school—at least, when I was in elementary—we didn’t care what we looked like. Sure we would complement each other when we looked nice, but no one cared if you were fat, skinny, dumb, smart, athletic, or nerdy. For the most part, we were all really nice to each other.

Then Junior Hell hit, and suddenly cliques began to form, and if you didn’t fit, you were a social outcast.

My friends from elementary were social hits and butterflies, so I survived there. But I didn’t really make a whole lot of friends outside of my original group. I made a few, but they always ended up moving.

Also, puberty began. And I had AWFUL acne. Like, embarrassingly awful. My mother—the saint she is—got me into a dermatologist immediately. But, due to my awful skin, it wasn’t until High School my face decided to actually battle away the plague.

So here I am, anxiety ridden twelve to thirteen year old m…

My Origin Story

Every strong, lead character has an origin story, right? A past which has molded and shaped them into the brave hero/heroine, and makes them loveable and relatable?

Once I discovered I had an anxiety disorder, and therefore understood I wasn’t legitimately crazy and with a LOT of help from my counselor, I was able to identify my origin story.

Way back when, in the monstrous hell of junior high, is where my anxiety began to seed itself into my psyche.

Elementary school was fine, I didn’t care about grades, and I had awesome friends. But the minute those hormones hit, the changing of a girl into a woman, definitely sent things into a frenzy. Granted, every tween and early teen deals with an identity crisis and who they are meant to be.

Funny thing is, I didn’t suffer from an identity crisis…or at least, not in a traditional way. I still had my amazing friends from elementary—so that was nice—but I was also incredibly shy. I would walk around …

A Little Explanation

All right, here goes. I’ve been book blogging for several years now, but the other day I felt the inspiration to elaborate on my story.

My name is Natalie Carroll, and I suffer from Anxiety and a mild form of PTSD.

This blog will simply be about how I handle life. The reason I call it, “My Story, My Crazy,” is because before I knew I had an anxiety disorder, I thought I was going insane. There was no reason why I should be panicking over such dumb things or getting ridiculously stressed over the smallest task.

I don’t have any other hope for this blog other than maybe giving someone comfort that they’re not alone, and someone else knows exactly what they’re going through. (And, I think this will be therapeutic for me).

I will try to keep each entry short, because who wants to read a novel blog post? But, the formatting will go as well, as I write. I will also attempt to post once a week, but I’m still a senior college student, so forgive me if I miss …