Summer 1999

I was a typical 90’s teenage party girl, living in a small, insignificant town. All of Wednesday and Thursday I would plan and worry about the weekend with my friends. Whose turn it was to throw the house party, who would camp near a store to ask the local alcoholics to buy beer and vodka for a small fee. And then, all of Monday and Tuesday I would go through everything that happened in the alcohol fuelled weekend with my friends in minute detail. So I thought it weird that in the summer of 1999, just short of me being 16 years of age, all of a sudden drinking became difficult. It made me sick in a way that simply stuffing my fingers down my throat to vomit the offending alcohol out, no longer helped as it used to. I felt wrong. Partying felt wrong. Physically.

Then I found the perfect pair of green trousers in one of the two clothing stores in our tiny city, that offered us teenagers the late 90’s must have bootcut Stocker jeans. There, in the fitting room with the green trousers half way up my thighs, I felt it for the first time. The panic. The sudden certainty that I would surely either vomit or faint, or both, right there onto the fitting room floor. And then. The overwhelming fear, of doing just that. So I threw my own clothes back on and ran out of the store. My friend followed me out, confused. I liked the green trousers. So she went back to the store and bought them for me. I don’t think I wore them much.

After the first visitation from The Panic, it became an recurring oddity. Doors closing behind me, trapping me in public spaces, cars and houses, triggered the nausea, and the accompanying dread. The sliding doors to a grocery store became a magical line between normalcy and fear. In front of them, I felt ok. But the world behind them, the isles, the fluorescent lights, the people, the endless perky tunes playing in the background, turned into the most fucked up house of panic. The further into the store I went, the further away from safety I was, and the sicker I felt. Although I did not understand why I felt so ill in there, or in any public space really, first the indoor ones, and then, the outdoor ones, I knew, I would rather not go back.

The first day of high school came. I was so excited. New school, new people. New me. I wore red bell bottoms trousers, and a knit vest with the union jack. I felt cool, and I felt nervous, in all the right ways. I sat in the crowded gym hall and listened to the welcome words. I followed a teacher to a class room with my new class mates. I sat down. I listened to the teacher instructing us. And then I raised my hand and said: I have a dentist’s appointment, I need to leave. There was no appointment, I left home. And I never went back. After that, apparently, I became known as the girl who went to the dentist and was never heard from again.

I remember sitting in that class room. My mind whirling in panic with all the questions and thoughts that would become so familiar, so automatic, so disabling, for decades to come. Do I feel sick. Do I feel sick enough to vomit. Am I going to vomit. Am I going to faint. I am going to faint. How do I get out of here. How do I get out of here without making a scene. How do I get out of here without anyone noticing. I need to go. I need to escape. I need to escape.

I went to the doctors. I was feeling physically sick all the time. I (and my parents) felt there must’ve been something physically wrong with me. So I had all the tests made. The blood tests, the scans, the gastroscopy. Nothing was found. The doctors suggested that maybe I should seek psychiatric help instead. So I did.

– Kaisa