The Rot hangs on to every breath, every word, every room. We’ve all met the Rot, for the Rot thrives on torment. It seeps into bones and makes the world flip. The Rot—the reason you wonder if anyone’s laughing—makes you wear the socially accepted clothes, dread the future, and hate the past. The Rot doesn’t just appear; it festers, builds up until it bursts. When it bursts for the first time, you can do nothing.
You don’t forget when you meet the Rot; it burns into your brain and swirls around your thoughts.
I’ve met the Rot.
The first time, the room was dark, windowless, the place shrouded in shadows. The only light illuminating the room was from projections onto the whiteboard. The walls were covered in posters of Spanish verbs, parts of speech, and conjunction words. Most days, I would spend my time copying off my friends’ work and failing tests, but today was different. Today I couldn’t spend my time bugging others; no, today was finals.
Public speaking at that time was already a gray area—untouched. The last public speaking I did went smoothly enough. Whatever fears that did bubble up were blown away as soon as I went up here.
But this was different.
No notes.
A different language.
Solely based on memorization.
When I walked in front of the class, every word seemed to flee from memory. Words caught at the back of my throat; the only words I could form were a mix of Spanish and English.
I gasped for air that wasn’t reaching me, my hands tugging on my shirt. Somehow, my friend’s arm had found my shoulder as I was led out of the room. My teacher disappeared into the classroom, leaving me leaning against the wall with two other students who were unaware of what was happening.
That only encouraged the Rot.
Attempts to calm me down were futile.
It let the Rot only seep into my bones even more. The feeling of dread was setting in as I wondered if I was even real. Had I ever existed? Did it even matter in the end? I felt like drowning, being dragged to the bottom of the ocean by a force I couldn’t name. The moving waves crashed down on me as a storm raged on.
A box of tissues was placed in my hands as my friends dragged me away from the Spanish hallway. One of my friends’ arms wrapped around my shoulders as they led me to the seventh-grade wing.
My legs felt like jelly, my thoughts scrambled, and I couldn’t breathe.
Why couldn’t I breathe?
Attempts to catch my breath only ended in choked gasps, my hand moving to entangle in my shirt. It had gotten so hot. When had it gotten this hot?
I wanted nothing more than to fade into oblivion.
The Rot had reached my chest, infecting every muscle in my body. I watched from classrooms looking for someone to save me from my hell. Only to be met with empty classrooms. Silently praying for my favorite teacher to save me. No one came. My back finally met the wall as two confused girls fell at my sides.
The Rot could have consumed me; it would have. Until a teacher finally emerged from her classroom and pulled me from my heightened state. They dragged me into the nurse’s office. It felt like pulling me from the ocean that had been suffocating me.
The moments after that were a blur. My friends returned to class, and I returned one class period late. I went home and pretended nothing happened.
From then on, the Rot was a constant in my life. Crawling onto my skin at every speaking event. It whispered into my ears to tell me I’d fail.
But the Rot never stopped corrupting my life, never stopped suffocating me. The Rot would be there every first day, the days following; it consumed my life. Leaving me paralyzed. Nothing could tame the Rot; no amount of pills, strategies, or support from others could stop the Rot. It was eating me. Nights I spent praying to be normal, to feel like me again. The god I prayed to never listened, never did anything.
I tried everything, yet I still couldn’t control the Rot.
I learned that the Rot never leaves; you just learn to ignore it.
Author’s Note:
I’ve struggled with Anxiety since middle school and It’s taken me a long time to even accept that I had one. I wrote this piece for a school paper on my first panic attack. I’m really proud of it!
Faith Rowe | 15 | Wisconsin, USA | @faith.rowe28 on TikTok & @faithrowe_2028 on Instagram
