11:00 a.m.

The CBSE website was supposed to open at 11.

It is now 11:37.

I have refreshed the page so many times that even Google Chrome is judging me personally. At one point my laptop froze and I genuinely whispered, “Please don’t do this to me,” like it was a dying character in a movie.

The website keeps showing:
“Error.”

Thank you. Very helpful. Revolutionary information.

Mumma has walked into my room at least 19 times pretending she “just came to keep clothes.” Sure. And I’m Shah Rukh Khan.

Papa suddenly cares deeply about internet speed.

“WiFi theek chal raha hai?”
“Roll number ready rakho.”
“Laptop charge pe lagao.”

BRO I KNOW.

Meanwhile my relatives have unlocked Olympic-level timing.

“Beta result aaya???”

No aunty. The Education Ministry called and said they’re waiting for my permission first.

And why does result day make the whole house feel like India vs Pakistan finals? Everybody becomes weirdly serious. Even my younger brother was sitting quietly in the corner eating Kurkure and staring at me like I was about to get voted out of a reality show.

I tried distracting myself for some time. Opened Instagram. Biggest mistake of my life.

People had already started posting:
“Hard work pays off”
“Proud of myself”
“98.6%”

Brother ewww.

I immediately closed the app because suddenly I was convinced I had failed every subject including English, which is embarrassing because this diary entry itself is in English.

By 11:42 my body had fully betrayed me.

Hands sweaty.

Heart beating way too fast.

Leg shaking like crazy.

Stomach doing cartwheels.

I kept getting random thoughts every two seconds:
“What if I fail math?”
“What if everyone scores better than me?”
“What if my result doesn’t load and technically I remain academically unborn forever?”

And the worst part is that waiting somehow feels worse than the actual result.

Because when you don’t know what’s about to happen, your brain becomes Netflix. It starts creating dramatic storylines nobody asked for.

Suddenly I was imagining:

• becoming “the disappointing cousin”
• deleting WhatsApp forever
• avoiding eye contact with society
• running away to the mountains and starting a peaceful goat farm

All before a PDF even loaded.

Apparently this whole panic mode is called the fight-or-flight response. Your brain thinks something huge and dangerous is happening, so it releases stress chemicals like adrenaline and cortisol.

Which is honestly so dramatic because no tiger is chasing me.

It’s literally marks.

But your body doesn’t know the difference. So your heart races, your palms sweat, and your brain starts overthinking every life decision you’ve ever made since Class 3.

At around 11:51, the page finally loaded for TWO seconds before crashing again.

I almost screamed.

Mumma from outside:
“AAYA??”

ME:
“NO IT LEFT AGAIN.”

By then the entire family had gathered behind me. I could FEEL people breathing near my shoulders. Why do Indian families watch results together like it’s a public event? Please let me fail privately if needed.

Then finally.

FINALLY.

The page opened properly.

My marks appeared.

I just stared at the screen for a solid five seconds because my brain stopped processing numbers. Everything went weirdly silent for a moment.

And then?

Nothing dramatic happened.

The world didn’t end.

Nobody fainted.

The ceiling fan continued spinning peacefully.

Mumma just said, “Achha hai,” after causing me emotional damage for four hours straight.

Honestly, after all that panic, the actual result felt almost anticlimactic.

But those few minutes before checking it?

Actually terrifying.

I think I aged emotionally by at least 12 years before noon.

Honestly, I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve said this out loud or screamed it inside my head. It usually happens after yet another conversation with my parents that ends in a lecture, a misunderstanding, or sometimes just silence. Every time I try to talk to them about what I’m feeling, it somehow turns into something else. One moment I’m just saying I’m tired, and the next they’re telling me I’m lazy or wasting time. The conversation derails, and the real reason I started talking just… vanishes.

After a while, I started avoiding these conversations altogether. Not because I didn’t want to talk, but because I wanted to avoid the drama that followed. But here’s the thing, as teenagers, we do need to talk to our parents. We need support, we need someone to tell us that it’s okay to be confused or tired or unsure. We need their affirmations. But whenever we try, something goes wrong. It’s like our words and their meanings get lost in translation.

When I say, “I’m tired,” I don’t mean I’m physically lazy. I mean I’m mentally exhausted, with school, friends, choices, expectations, and sometimes even with myself. When I ask for privacy or space, I’m not hiding anything; I just need time to be alone with my thoughts. But it somehow becomes a question of trust. And avoiding them doesn’t help either. It leaves me with guilt. Like I’m letting them down. Like they’re angry at me. And slowly, the frustration and guilt mix together and make me feel like I’m not enough. Like I’ll never be good enough in their eyes.

But deep down, I know they aren’t wrong either.

They grew up in a completely different world. One without constant pings from social media, fewer choices to make, and fewer people to compare themselves to. They had struggles too, just of a different kind. Maybe that’s why it’s hard for them to understand what it’s like to be us, trying to find ourselves in a world that keeps changing every second. They didn’t have to make five life decisions by the age of 17 or live under the constant pressure to ‘do more’ and ‘be more.’

Sometimes I feel like they want to help, they just don’t know how. And we need help too, but not in the way they’re used to giving it. So when they check our phones or tell us we’re on the wrong track, it feels like an attack. And we start saying “It’s alright” even when it isn’t, just to end the conversation.

And the gap gets wider.

But I don’t think it has to stay this way forever. We’re not against each other — we just see things differently. Same world, just looking at it from different sides. 

And maybe the only way to come closer is to start talking again. Like really talking. Not arguing. Not saying “you don’t get me.” Just calmly explaining what’s on our mind. And actually listening too (even if it’s kinda hard). We can also try saying things in a way they’ll understand like writing it down, talking when things are chill, or even sending them a meme or video that can sometimes explain what we feel better than we can.

It won’t be perfect. It won’t be instant. But it’s a start.
Because I know, even if they see south and I see north, we’re still looking at the same sky.

And that has to count for something.

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Dear Diary,

Today it happened again. My dadi had to work late, and I was left alone to figure out dinner. I tried making pasta, but I burned it. It’s not just about the burnt pasta, though. It’s about wanting someone to be there, you know? Someone to help me when I mess up, or just to talk about my day. It feels like everyone else has that… but me. 

When I look around, I see my friends enjoying dinner with their parents. I try to distract myself by watching reels, but then I scroll and see people posting family pictures.

It was Father’s Day two days ago. Everyone was going out and celebrating, and here I was trying to find the age of Mary by solving linear equations. Haha, crazy night na?

As I watched myself from the outside, I wondered how many others like me are quietly struggling, their stories hidden behind everyday smiles. Growing up without parental support is like walking with invisible weights. The smallest things like school, dinner, waking up on time can become a big deal.

The absence of someone to guide you, to check in, to just be there… leaves a weird kind of emptiness. Sometimes, I feel like I’m carrying the weight of the world on my shoulders with juggling school, chores, and this constant pressure to not mess up. I can’t help but wonder why my world feels so different.

The emotional void left by a missing parent can be overwhelming. It makes you question your worth, your abilities. I start doubting if I can even trust people properly. Because when you grow up without steady support, you kind of train yourself not to expect it.

Insecurity keeps popping up, especially when simple decisions start feeling like mountain-sized challenges. Who do I ask for advice? Who do I trust with my fears? I often feel alone in my struggles, and the emotional load becomes just… too much.

It’s hard, yaar. Balancing personal stuff, controlling your emotions, and still trying to be “normal”, to laugh, to fit in, to seem okay.

Sometimes, a child just wants someone to see beyond their brave face. Like when someone casually asks, “What does your dad or mom do?”  and then immediately follows it up with “Oh, I’m so sorry for your loss.” And I’m like, roz ka wahi “No, it’s fine” bolna. But is it really fine?

Still, despite all of this, I hold on to one thing, hope. Hope that someday I’ll find strength in these struggles. That the wounds will start to heal. I wish the world was a little kinder, a little more understanding towards kids like us.

Because we’re not just our struggles. We’re young souls trying to figure out life, fighting silent battles every single day.

Tomorrow’s a new day. I’ll try to face it with a little more courage and the reminder that maybe, just maybe, I’m not as alone as I feel.

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Amogh shares a page of his diary as he prepares to change schools. Again. A difficult goodbye or the chance for a new beginning. Find out in this edition of Dear diary. 

Dear diary,

“You’re joining a new school!”

These five words (or six, if you count “you’re” as “you are”) basically shake up everything in your existence when you’re a kid. And I really mean everything. 

The words sink in, and suddenly, you realise what this means: this is the last time you see your friends. The last time you see your teachers. The last time you’re going to walk the familiar hallways, the last time you enter through beloved gates, the last time you enter homeroom. Think about it… the place, the people you spent 8 hours every day with? You might never see them again. It genuinely feels like all that you loved, lived and laughed for is just…ending. Ok, so it’s probably not that dramatic. But still. 

The feeling is complex. It’s a mix of shock, excitement, stress, melancholy, and basically everything in between. I’ve moved schools and moved countries 3 times, and yet, the idea of moving schools still catches me completely off guard. Well, I’m shifting schools. Again. Fourth time’s the charm?. And those five words still spark some sense of how I felt moving schools for the first time, back when I was 6 years old. My father had just gotten transferred to New York, and we were leaving the country in a month-and-a-half. And everything I said about moving schools in the second paragraph? Well, all that is compounded to the power 8 when you’re moving to another country. 

Back then, I didn’t really know what to feel. To be honest, I was more like: “Well, what am I supposed to do? New York? What’s that? Huh? Lego? Wait… can I have a Lego for my birthday? Please… Lego Star Wars? Darth Vader? Kylo Ren? Wait… the Force Awakens is in theatres? Papa? Can we go watch?” So, I really didn’t feel too much. 

As little kids, I guess we’re more optimistic, because I didn’t really care about the fact that this was the last time I’d probably see most people around me at school. I didn’t feel most of the melancholy. All I really cared about was the new Lego AT-AT Walker set which was releasing in New York a lot earlier than it was in India. 

But fast forward two years, just as I’m completing third grade in New York, I hear those five  words again. Followed by “We’re moving to Dublin, in Ireland!” Initially, I’m dumbfounded. Which Dublin again? And after I’m done pondering about how I’m going to shift all my Lego sets to Dublin – the one in Ireland, I realize what’s going to happen. And an uneasy feeling hits me. So the next day in school, I tell all my friends that, in a month, I’m probably never seeing them again. Every day, I get more and more anxious. I had finally started to feel comfortable in New York, and now we have to move again? I’m helplessly crushed, and I have no idea how the heck I’m going to survive in Ireland.

The time finally comes. The first day of school in Ireland. Gotta remember to call soccer football again. After 8 long hours, I’m like: Well. It wasn’t that bad. Maybe I can get by. 4th grade goes by, and so does 5th grade, and 6th grade, and finally, I’m nearing the end of 7th grade, when I’m bombarded with another announcement. “You’re going back to India. We’ve enrolled you in a great IB scho-” 

What?! This time, I feel like I’m going to go crazy. Once again, just as I was finally enjoying my life in Ireland, I got the news that I’m going back. So, everytime I laugh at my friend’s joke, I think maybe this is the last time. Every time I take a bite out of my lunch, I think maybe this is the last sandwich I eat in this country. Maybe the last St. Patrick’s day parade… 

Fast forward again, this time to 8th grade. I’m in India, and life is good. I have a bunch of friends, and I’m enjoying playing cricket and competing in chess tournaments. The year goes by fast, and 9th grade comes by. I’m feeling great. I’m enjoying my life, and the only thing that can upset me is if someone reminds me that India lost the 2023 Cricket World Cup. But, otherwise, I’m having a blast. And then… the day comes… again…

A different school. A different country. Different people. The last time I’ll play football with my friends. The last time I’ll go to the second floor bathroom. The last time I’ll go to the first floor bathroom. The last time I’ll go to the third floor bathroom. All these thoughts, and more, keep replaying in my head during the last day of school. To be honest, I really don’t know what to feel, once again. 

But maybe that’s fine.

Someone wise once said “change is the only constant”. So I guess this is just “change” reasserting itself into my life. Because moving schools might mean the end of one experience, but it’s also the beginning of another. Because for every last day of 9th grade, there’s a first day of 10th grade. Maybe it only gets easier when we embrace the change. When we normalize it, instead of resisting it. Because… without change, we really wouldn’t be here. 

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Dear diary,

I can’t go anywhere these days without someone asking: ‘So, what’s the plan next?’ It happened again today. One of my father’s friends met us and the first thing he asked was, ‘Ab aage kya karna hai?’ I felt all eyes turning to me and I freaked out. And I could only blurt, ‘Abhi pta nhi’.OH MY GOD, THE EMBARRASSMENT!!! 

Back home, the same lecture started. “You’re in12th now”, “Think of the future”, “Ab zyada time nhi bacha hai”. As if I don’t know it! But I don’t know what to do!. There are so many options and so many different requirements for each, the subjects required, entrance exams, skill sets. How could one possibly know?

It’s all so confusing. All my classmates know what college they want to get into and what courses they wish to pursue. Well, not all of them, but the rest are so confident and  skilful they could build on that. How are they all so sure? I sometimes wonder if I am behind the rest, and it makes me so anxious. I feel so lost. 

But it won’t work this way.  I know I’m not lazy. I try. I think about it. I care. That’s what makes this even harder – wanting to figure things out, but being too overwhelmed to know where to begin. The constant pressure to know your future feels too much. 

Shouldn’t the elders know the future is unpredictable? As if they knew what to do with their lives when they were my age. So I can’t possibly know it. Koi samjhao inhe.

I know they are just worried about me, but deciding the next few years, which could probably frame your life, isn’t a decision to be taken quickly. Just imagine being stuck in this boring cycle of office life because of peer or family pressure? No thank you!

And in this situation, I do only one thing, let it be. I think it’s okay to take it slow. It’s not necessary to have your life planned at 16. There will always be that one overachiever who does everything and is always viewed by adults as ‘perfect’, but I don’t have to be them. 

A lot of my friends told me they’re only doing what their parents want them to do or they just say anything so they don’t seem unambitious. 

Personally, I think I would like to explore more and grow my knowledge before committing to a field. And it’s not necessary to have a conventional path in life, right? 

I would love to do something cool, meaningful, through which I could see the world. I wish people were paid to explore. Can I put that in my career goals?

Yours truly,

Meher

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Dear Diary,
I’m not even being dramatic when I say that literally everyone I know is on vacation right now. EVERYONE. The school WhatsApp group is filled with “Guess where I am?” messages, and every time I open Instagram, I see some classmate living their best beach life while I’m here — in my room, in my pajamas, eating leftover rajma chawal.

Neha is in Kerala posing with elephants and waterfalls. Aarav is on a houseboat, being all “sunsets and peace vibes”. Don’t even get me started on Isha — her entire story is just one long montage of her Goa trip. Sun, sea, pool selfies, and her new “vacay OOTDs” every five seconds.

And now… brace yourself… two of my classmates are in Europe. EUROPE, Diary. One is doing a “Europe in 10 days” trip — Eiffel Tower one day, gondola in Venice the next. I mean, I didn’t even know you could pack that much into one trip. The other one posted a story from Amsterdam today and just casually added “Next stop: Paris” like it’s no big deal.

And me? Well, I’m currently sitting on the floor of my room because my bed is covered in unfolded laundry. 

I won’t lie,  I’ve been feeling a lot of pressure. Not from my parents or teachers, but from social media. It’s like if you’re not on a mountain, beach, or some cobblestone European street right now, you’re not doing summer “right.” Every scroll just reminds me that I have no fancy plans. Zero. Zilch. Not even a weekend getaway.

At this point, even the fridge is judging me. Every time I open it for a cold drink or a snack, it’s like, “Back again? Don’t you have a life?”

BUT (surprisingly), something shifted. The first few days were full of boredom and FOMO. But slowly, I started enjoying the stillness. I picked up that novel Ma had been begging me to read, and I’m actually hooked. It’s like entering a whole new world — no passport needed.

I also tried cooking something other than instant noodles. Attempted banana pancakes (they looked like weird blobs but tasted okay-ish) and even helped Dad with his new chai experiment. Spoiler alert : we added tulsi, and now he thinks he’s a tea sommelier or something.

And Nani, she surprised me with a story about her childhood crush! Apparently, a boy used to cycle past her gali every day just to get a glimpse of her. Who knew Nani had her own little Bollywood romance?

Sure, I still feel a huge pang of jealousy when I see vacation posts. But I’ve realized that sometimes, doing “nothing” is kind of a vibe. I’ve had slow mornings, long naps, and random creative bursts. I even painted for the first time in months!

So while my summer didn’t include passports, flights, or photogenic brunches, it did include something kinda rare in this teenage life, peace. And that’s not bad at all.

Would I swap it all for a trip to Italy? Probably.
But until then, I’m learning to enjoy my staycation.

Till next time,
Your not-on-vacay but calm for the first time,
– Me

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A few days ago, I was on my way home from office, sitting quietly in the metro. That’s when I overheard a girl talking to her friend. She said she wasn’t happy with her skin colour and wanted to try some new products to fix it. And just like that, it hit me – I’d been in that exact same place once. But my issue was different. It was my height.

I’ve always been on the shorter side – just a little over 4 feet. And honestly, it was like the only thing people ever noticed about me. My family used to stress out so much about it. “Shaadi kaise hogi iski?” was the usual background music at home. And just when I thought things couldn’t get worse, I got glasses. Yup, now I was short and wore specs. The name-calling began – “chashmish,” and a bunch of other weird stuff. Some even came from my own family.

The “height problem” obsession

There was this cousin whose daughter was also short. Her family was struggling to find a match for her. So, naturally, they turned to the Internet and ordered some height-increasing medicines. And guess what? My family copied them and handed me the same meds. No doctor, no questions. 

By then, I was already tired of the stares, the jokes, and the “friendly” advice. So I didn’t even think twice. I just started taking those pills, secretly hoping I’d grow taller overnight. For a week straight, I took them without missing a day. But instead of growing taller, my body started reacting to it.

When things went downhill

Sticky liquid started coming out of my breasts, and soon after, I got my first period -way earlier than expected. That was scary. Then came the tiredness, mood swings, loss of appetite. I was cranky all the time. Basically, I was falling apart and had no idea why.

Finally, my mumma took me to a doctor. The moment he heard about the meds, he said, “Stop them. Now.” He told us those medicines were messing with my hormones and could cause long-term damage. 

Lesson learned the hard way

That experience taught me a big lesson: never mess with your body just to fit in or meet some random beauty standard. So what if I’m short? That doesn’t make me any less cool or capable. I don’t need to change to please anyone.

Today, I own my height. I rock my glasses. I love my body, just the way it is. No filters, no fakeness. Just me.

And honestly? That’s more than enough.

Dear Diary,

I heard somewhere that not everyone is down because of breakups with a boy or a girl. Some may not be okay because of problems they can’t even share or don’t know exist.

Most of our sadness seems to hide in our unconscious mind. We don’t always know why we’re sad, but we are. It’s like sadness is on its way, so we keep getting ready for it by staying quiet. It’s weird, isn’t it? 

We all want to make our lives look as beautiful as possible, but what if we romanticise our emotions too? Our emotions, whether it’s happiness, sadness, or anxiety, none of them are bad. Sometimes, we don’t even know how we’re feeling. When I’m anxious, my hands shake, and I think it’s just a way of expressing those hidden emotions deep inside me. It’s a form of expression.

Too sad to talk and smile

Once, I was feeling down, and it felt like everyone was talking about me behind my back, making fun of me and my loneliness. They asked me why I’m always sad and not having fun like others. I felt terrible about myself, like I was the worst person ever just because I was too sad to talk and smile like everyone else. I still don’t know how to express myself and laugh like others, and I still get blamed for no reason. I still feel so small in front of those who seem so perfect.

But are they really happy, or are they just pretending? Of course, they’re pretending, but then I wonder, why make fun of those who aren’t okay? Is it wrong to be depressed? Is it bad not to be okay? Do they want me to pretend and hide my true feelings?

Yeah, they want to talk about something, but not this. They see themselves as superior, even though they’re also hurting inside but just not showing it.

“You’ll be fine!”

In today’s world, where every little issue is raised, why not talk about mental health? Why do they call me foolish or an idiot when I say I’m not doing well? Why do they feel sorry for me? Why does my family brush it off and say, “You’ll be fine tomorrow,” when I say I’m depressed, but they rush me to the doctor when I have a fever but not when I’m not okay?

How can we expect everyone to be healthier when we don’t even talk about it?

Confidence is not about being strong 

But here’s what I can say, Diary: there’s so much more to life than what we eat or where we think we might be. Just be true to yourself. Confidence isn’t always about being strong and facing everything head-on. Confidence can also be found in being humble and quiet. We don’t have to know everything to be confident. We don’t need to bring others down to feel superior. We don’t need to fake anything.

Just connect with your true essence, and say what you genuinely feel. Everyone is trying to make up for something, but I’m making myself. Find all the unique gifts that make you, cherish them, and learn what you don’t know. Stay kind and authentic because when you’re true to yourself, you become unique and exquisite.

Yours truly,

Saloni

Names have been changed. This article has been authored by a member of our TeenBook Advisory Board (TAB). To learn more about what TAB is and how to join, please click here. 

To learn more about this, check out this video below:

Dear Diary,

You won’t believe what happened today. I received an email this morning, and as soon as I opened it, I started crying. My admission to UNCSA (University of North Carolina School of the Arts)—my dream dance university—has been confirmed!

A dream delayed

My mind drifted from the present back to the past. I remembered auditioning for one of the lead roles at an international meet when suddenly, I felt thousands of needles piercing between my stomach and chest. It was as if someone had placed a plastic bag over my mouth, trying to choke me. I collapsed to the ground, breathless, and it felt like there was a hole forming in my throat that could be seen from across the room. 

I clawed at my stomach, hoping to ease the pain, but nothing helped. I thought I was going to die. After what felt like an eternity, I finally started to regain feeling in my limbs—but it was already too late. I missed my audition that day because of my health issues. 

Finally, the roles had been assigned, and I was out of the picture. I was devastated. I had spent the last six months preparing for that audition, and it felt like everything was lost.

Emergency surgery revealed I had gallstones, and the next few months were a nightmare, both physically and mentally. Due to medical restrictions, my ability to dance had hit rock bottom. My flexibility, strength, and stamina had taken a massive toll.

Family support

If it hadn’t been for the support of my family and friends, I would have given up on my dream of dancing altogether. After being rejected for my dream role and missing so many classes, my morale was at an all-time low. I was on the verge of giving up. It wasn’t until I talked to my parents that I realized giving up was not an option.

My dad would randomly come up to me and start flossing—it was the only dance move he knew! We would meditate together for 15 minutes every day, which helped me regain my balance. Playing table tennis with him gave me an adrenaline rush like no other! 

My mom would appear out of nowhere throughout the day, offering me positive affirmations. We spent time making cookies, solving puzzles, and watching comedy shows, which helped me take my mind off things. Praying with my mom every day brought me peace. 

Staying positive

We even took a trip to Jim Corbett National Park during that time, and it was one wild ride! My friends made sure to visit me, snapping embarrassing pictures of me drooling while I slept and coming up with the most ridiculous pranks, like wearing blankets over their heads to scare kids!

As my mental health improved, I started working on my physical health too. I wrote down everything I needed to improve and mapped out how I would do it. To regain my strength and flexibility, I began with beginner yoga, then gradually moved on to more intense forms of training. I made sure not to overexert myself, listening carefully to my body. The pain wasn’t a weakness—it taught me how to fight. 

New opportunities

Rejection didn’t just teach me how to deal with failure; it showed me that rejection often means redirection. That’s when I decided to apply to universities as a dance major, something I never would have considered if I had cleared that audition. When one door closes, another one opens.

As I reflected on all of this, I realized that everything in life happens for a reason. I felt proud of myself, and grateful for both the good and the bad. Staying optimistic is crucial when chasing your dreams, and I’m so glad I didn’t give up.

Dear Diary,

So I talked to the school counsellor today. I had been thinking about it for a long time and I finally did it. It wasn’t that bad! I actually felt she was quite nice to me. 

Also, do watch this video on Disability and Sexuality below. Read the rest of the article below video:

I told her about the incident that happened yesterday when I went out with my friends to this cafe and couldn’t bring myself to order for everyone. It was my party yet I had to push one of my friends to do this – it was so embarrassing. I felt like everyone was judging me. 

And yesterday was just the last straw. This anxiety about speaking or interacting with strangers or in public has been living with me for a while now. I can’t bring myself to raise my hand and answer in class even when I know the right answer. I feel like people are always looking at me, secretly judging me behind my back. Something as simple as a phone call from someone outside my immediate circle stresses me out nowadays. 

A couple of months ago, our teacher announced an inter-branch debating competition and I wanted to participate in it so badly but the thought of speaking in front of all those people and talking to teachers scared me so much that I didn’t even try. 

I’ve read on the internet that these are signs of social anxiety but when I tried to tell my sister about it, she said that I was just overthinking it and creating problems for myself. But it’s not like that. I tried so hard to be normal about it. I even forced myself to participate in a small school event, but when it was my turn to go on the stage, I was panicking so bad I gave myself an actual stomach ache. It’s just so stressful.

It’s not like I like being this way, I just can’t help it. I don’t know what to do. At first, the counsellor thought maybe it was a recent change but I remember being in this state for a while now. I have now stopped participating in school events because of this. 

It felt good to feel heard by someone other than myself. My counsellor said I should talk to my parents about it and that she would do some activities with me to help me deal with this better. To be honest, I was dreading talking to her about this, but it really helped to talk to her. Maybe I’ll talk to my parents pretty soon too but I will need some time for that. But for now, I feel better to have taken the first step towards helping myself. 

Photo: Shutterstock/paffy/Person in the photo is a model.

To protect the identity, the person in the picture is a model and names have been changed. 

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