There was a period of about two years in the 90's when I lived in absolute fear of gangs. This was a result of things presented to us at school and through the media. We were told not to wear certain colors or logos, or we would be targeted. We were constantly told things gang members would do for initiation. Graffiti terrified me. I had to walk through an alleyway everyday to get to school. I wouldn’t step foot in the alley if there was any graffiti on the wall. I would go almost a mile out of the way to go up the street and around. If I was desperate and short on time, I would sprint through the alley as fast as I could and cry the whole way.
My parents were divorced and both of them lived on busy streets. I was paranoid about drive by shootings. That was my ultimate fear! Any time a car backfired, I would hit the floor because I thought my house was being shot at. I was scared to be in the front of my house where there were big windows. I often crawled on the floor so the couch would provide an additional barrier for bullets to pass through before they could hit me.
I hated being in the front yard. If I had to go outside for any reason, I went as quickly as I could. I remember my dad giving me the Saturday chore of raking leaves in the front yard. I begged to trade someone for a backyard job, but dad wouldn’t let me trade, so I raked leaves and every time I heard a car coming, I would run and hide behind the camping trailer on the side of the house. When I had to do something like take out the garbage, I would try and time it so no cars would pass my house as I quickly ran to the garbage can and back.
In addition to my fear of being shot, I was terrified of being raped. When I walked to school, I carried a big stick with me for self-defense. I would hide it in my yard at home and take it with me when I left the house. Then when I got to the gate of my school, I hid it in a bush and would retrieve it after school. I had to walk on a long, tree lined street, and every time I knew a car was coming, I would disappear behind a tree or parked car until it passed. As the kids lined the street walking to school, I knew whoever was at the top of the street was going to get shot first, and I came to accept my fate whenever it was me. I would think, “Okay, I’m the one who has to take the bullet now!” Anyone after me would at least have the chance to run for cover.
It didn’t help that one of my friend’s dads was shot in a drive by in his home. This happened not far from my house while I was in the thick of my paranoia, and it obviously added fuel to the fire.
During that time, I truly believed that I wouldn't live to see my 12th birthday. I was resigned to dying by gunshot - it was just a matter of where and when. I wrote letters to some of my family and friends and made a will in my journal (for all of the really important things I owned at ages 10 & 11).
This wasn't a fear that I had to battle "occasionally." It didn't come and go. It consumed me. I carried it with me all day everyday. I could never set it aside - it was absolutely present, always. It's actually really hard for me to write about because I feel so sad for Weird Little Britt. Also, I've never really talked to anyone about it. I don't even know to what extent my husband knows.
You might wonder about my parents. What did they do about my behavior? Were they concerned?
My parents didn't know. Splitting time between two households made it really convenient to keep my fears to myself. If my parents were home, I would do silly things like somersault on the floor in the living room to stay at couch level. That way it just looked like I was playing, but I was really "staying low." I would sleep in my brother's room in the back of the house instead of in my room at the front of the house, and just play it off like I wanted to hang out with my brother. My parents weren't with me walking to school. They didn't see me carry a stick or hide behind trees. They didn't see me bolt through the alley in tears. Keeping it hidden was easy.
Eventually, I overcame those specific fears (and moved on to different ones). I don't know why, exactly, I was able to start moving forward, but I bet turning twelve and still being alive helped! The biggest indication that I had recovered was the fact that I started wearing a University of Utah coat in 6th grade. For two years prior, I wouldn't wear anything red - not even a hint of it! - because I was so worried I was putting a target on myself (this wasn't ideal, being raised a Utah fan). Wearing that coat was monumental for me!
Clearly, I've had an anxiety disorder my whole life. I got a little bit of treatment in my early 20's and an official diagnosis in 2012 (though I confess, I'm not fully confident in the way my mental health has been assessed across the years. You just say "I'm sad and afraid," and they're like, "Okay, take this pill -it's good for both." And then you take the pills and just wonder if it's the right thing or if something is missing).
That two-year period of gang fear was definitely the worst phase of it I've experienced. In comparison to that, I'm doing quite well currently. I definitely have better thought patterns now and a lot better coping skills. I just hope I never dive that deep again.
Weird Little Britt
(First time at Disneyland)
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