rachelr52
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    • rachelr52

      Oh man, where do I start? The sound of the toilet flushing, or the toaster’s “ding!” when toast was ready, or even laughter if it was too loud. Somehow just forgetting how to breathe. Or the world exploding for no reason. Drive-through car washes. Most Disneyland attractions, because I thought they all had ghosts in them (I shouldn’t have started the day at The Haunted Mansion). That stupid board game Perfection. Eye contact. Spiders… though, to be fair, I’m still scared of spiders.

    • rachelr52

      I’ve had anxiety and depression since I was very young. By the time I finished high school I had been prescribed more medications and seen more doctors than most adults I knew. The only thing that saved me was talking about it, honestly, with the people I cared about — sharing my story, and hearing theirs in return. Knowing that I was not alone was a beautiful feeling. My college offered a class in solo performance, where you wrote and performed your own one-person show. I signed up and wrote about growing up anxious and depressed and medicated. I put everything I had into that project (the requirement was a 10-minute piece, but I had maybe an hour’s worth of extra material by the end of the semester). I told a packed house of absolute strangers the truth that I used to be ashamed of. It felt terrifying, and completely necessary.  My favorite thing about this whole project was the part that wasn’t recorded. After the performance many of those strangers approached me to share their own stories; I wasn’t alone, and they weren’t either. That made all of it so worth doing.

    • rachelr52

      I’ve had anxiety and depression since I was very young. By the time I finished high school I had been prescribed more medications and seen more doctors than most adults I knew. The only thing that saved me was talking about it, honestly, with the people I cared about — sharing my story, and hearing theirs in return. Knowing that I was not alone was a beautiful feeling. My college offered a class in solo performance, where you wrote and performed your own one-person show. I signed up and wrote about growing up anxious and depressed and medicated. I put everything I had into that project (the requirement was a 10-minute piece, but I had maybe an hour’s worth of extra material by the end of the semester). I told a packed house of absolute strangers the truth that I used to be ashamed of. It felt terrifying, and completely necessary.  My favorite thing about this whole project was the part that wasn’t recorded. After the performance many of those strangers approached me to share their own stories; I wasn’t alone, and they weren’t either. That made all of it so worth doing.  (Link to performance)
      http://youtu.be/dbbTW5E_RMQ

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