A Childhood Marked by Anxiety

Guest Contributor – Kevin Paull

From as far back as I can remember, I had anxiety and the fear that always preceded it. The fear was always there, which allowed my mind to create anxiety.

I grew up on Long Island, NY, in a town named Merrick. When I was school age (in the early 1960s), Mom would walk with me or drive me to and from school. By mid-1st grade, I was walking to and from school daily alone. Back then, the streets were very safe. However, when I was told that “today you are walking alone to school,” I was petrified.

Petrified of getting lost. (It was a straight walk of eight short blocks, maybe 1/2 a mile.)
Petrified of having to see my parents’ disappointment in me if I got lost.
Petrified of being ridiculed.

Then there were the other fears. Was something scary waiting for me in the bushes? What was that noise? That simple walk was riddled with fears and anxieties.

Most mornings, I’d wake up and fear getting dressed. Would my clothes match? Were my socks from the same pair of socks? Did I miss a buttonhole on my shirt? Was my hair parted properly?

When Dad was around in the mornings, he would dress me down (pun intended) if I didn’t appear to his standards. I was always nervous about this impromptu inspection. I looked up to my father. I craved his attention. I was mostly ignored by him, except when he had something to criticize me about. He never had time for me. He was always working. Even just playing catch with a baseball was too time-consuming.

Surviving School: Fear, Bullying, and Isolation

I was also shy, quiet, and introverted. I was teased, picked on, bullied, and beaten up by other school kids for all my years of lower education.

I feared leaving the house. I knew what was going to happen once I got to school. Why did I keep going every day to a place where I was miserable? As a young child, I’d say to myself while walking, “Don’t go today, stay away,” and yet somehow, I’d end up there every day because I was a good kid and knew I had to go. I feared my parents getting that call from the school. “Where was Kevin today?”

Home was a safe place for me. I felt protected at home. School wasn’t safe. I felt vulnerable all the time. Some teachers were nice and watched out for their students. Others just looked away, as if getting teased, bullied, and beaten was just part of growing up. It was seen as “a rite of passage.”

I learned rather quickly not to trust other kids and not to trust most adults. I looked at people I didn’t know with skepticism. I believed people were out to hurt me.

So, I became a loner. I had one friend.

I observed much more than I spoke. I didn’t want to be ridiculed for something I’d say. I’d never raise my hand in class. If called on, I’d just say I didn’t know—even if I did. It lessened the chance of being teased. For me, it was the safer move.

I had trouble concentrating and had trouble seeing and reading. Glasses fixed the sight issue but opened me up to additional remarks from other kids: Four eyes. Blind as a bat. Glasses like Coke-Cola bottles.

In my 20s, I was diagnosed as dyslexic. No wonder I could never comprehend what I read or the assignments I was given.

Back then, there was no such thing as a learning disability. You were either a normal student who progressed through grade school, or faculty and parents had discussions about putting you into remedial learning classes. This is where they put all the developmentally challenged students because they did not know what to do with us.

It was around 5th grade when I looked through the window on the door of the remedial class and saw kids wearing helmets or seat-belted into chairs. I thought, “There’s no way you’re putting me in there!” So I started cutting out of school.

Alcohol Becomes My Solution

Somehow, I graduated and was sent to junior high school. This required taking a school bus each day. The teasing, bullying, and beatings got worse because now they were happening within the enclosed confines of the school bus—not just in the schoolyard or classrooms.

As a young boy, I hated life. These feelings followed me through high school as well.

While in junior high, I discovered that I could use food as my solution to my problems. The more I ate, the better I felt. And most of it was closet eating—hiding everything so no one at home would say anything. Then the inevitable happened. I started gaining weight. A lot of weight.

My solution was now becoming my problem. People were noticing my weight gain, and again, it gave the other kids more and new ammunition to use against me.

Somehow, I graduated from junior high and high school. By this time, I weighed over 300 lbs. My parents constantly threatened to send me away to military school. My self-esteem and self-worth were non-existent.

That summer, I was sent away—but on a cross-country teen tour that lasted six weeks. It helped. I was with other teens and chaperones who were nice, caring, and friendly. And with their help, I lost over 50 lbs. Over time, I lost all the excess weight, and today, I’m a healthy 170 lbs.

But I still had the fears and anxieties. And then I was introduced to alcohol. That magical elixir that quieted the voices in my head just enough so I could function.

Alcohol: My Best Friend and Worst Enemy

Alcohol didn’t make me more social. It didn’t make me more comfortable around people. It didn’t remove the fears or anxieties. It just lowered the screaming voices in my head that told me, “You’re no good!” just enough so I could get through the day.

I became a daily drinker. I became a day-and-night drinker. I drank at work. While driving. While doing yardwork. While balancing the checkbook. While feeding the dog. While doing everything.

Alcohol became my master. But I still saw it as my best friend.

Then, in a few years, Jack Daniels became magical again—but now, every time I opened a bottle, I’d watch something disappear from my life.

Finding AA and a Higher Power

Eventually, I reached my jumping-off point. I realized I couldn’t live with alcohol any longer or live without it.

Six months later, I joined AA. But I didn’t do the work. I stayed dry for 22 years on sheer willpower—angry and pushing people away. The only thing that kept me from drinking was the words of a man in AA who said:

“You can’t drink no matter what! And what the fuck don’t you understand about that!”

At the end of those miserable 22 years, my sister, also in AA, suggested I try again. And I did. This time, I went with a new attitude.

I went to meetings. I listened. I read. I got involved. I joined a group and got a commitment. I found a sponsor. I did the work. My life changed.

33 Years and Counting

I recently celebrated 33 years without a drink. And I realize today that it had nothing to do with me. All the credit goes to my Higher Power.

It works if you work it.

And today, I’m trudging the path of happy destiny.