Don’T Tell Me I Can’T

By Nancy Elizabeth Phillips

In Dont Tell Me I Cant, the author describes the anxiety and depression that she has had since early childhood. She also describes the darkest moments of her life, such as when she was waiting for a judge to hand down the decision about the disposition of her children. Her ongoing bouts of depression and anxiety are also described.

• Language: English
• Publisher: WestBow Press
• Release date: Dec 9, 2014
• ISBN: 9781490848587

Nancy Elizabeth Phillips

Nancy Phillips graduated from college in 1991. She worked in the mental health field for seven years. She earned a peer support specialist certification and became an In Our Own Voice presenter as well as a certified psychiatric rehabilitation practitioner. She continues to work on her recovery from anxiety, depression, and schizoaffective disorder.

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE

My life of anxiety began when I was three years old when I flushed my grandpa’s false teeth down the toilet because I thought it was cereal in a Peanut Butter jar. My mom told me that I did not speak for a week because I was so scared of them being mad at me. I still struggle with people being mad at me. My grandpa told my parents that Those teeth never fit right in the first place. Thanks Grandpa! My grandmother said, Now, we can get him a new set of dentures.

At that time, my grandparents owned a hotel where my family visited. Some guests would come and live in the hotel for weeks at a time. I have fond memories of riding my big wheel in the hallways. There was a drugstore below the hotel that my grandpa used to take me to buy candy bars. Grandpa was not supposed to eat candy bars because he was a diabetic, but that did not seem to bother him.

There were, also, some of the residents that treated me special. One gave me candy and one gave me fruit. I remember there was a lady who would fix my hair for me. Good memories.

The next memory I have of being anxious was when I was five. That summer my brother, sister, dad, cousin, his fiancée, and I went to the mountains. We had to pull to the side of the road because my cousin’s fiancée had to throw up. Later, after they were married, I was about five when my cousin’s wife was talking to my grandma. I must have been pretty smart because I figured out that she was pregnant before they got married because I said something to my cousin- in -law. My grandma told Mom on me. For years up through High school every time they came for a visit I would get stomach cramps and have diarrhea from my anxiety.

My first remembrance of being depressed came when I was in the first grade. I sat in the corner of my bedroom crying after I would come home from school. I attended a Christian school Kindergarten through third grade. It was a very strict environment. We received Tallies when we got into trouble. My first grade teacher told me that she could read my mind and that I hated her. It is true that I did not like her, but as I got older, I was able to realize that she could not read my mind, so I was placed in another first grade class where the teacher was much nicer than the first one.

We, also, went to the same church and my Sunday school class teacher said that if you sinned you were not a Christian. I have tried to be perfect my whole life and I still struggle with trying to be perfect. I still feel guilty over things I should not because the Bible says, For all have sinned and come short of the glory of God. Romans 3:23 KJV.

I went to the eye doctor for the first time while I was in the third grade and got glasses. After the first time I went, I still could not see because I did not tell the eye doctor that things were blurry. Yes, I could see but it was blurry. Then, the second time I went to a different doctor I was able to tell the doctor that my vision was blurry even though I could see. After getting a new pair of glasses, I was amazed at how well I could see.

When I returned to the church, I could see the pastor for the first time. Until that point, I had not seen his face clearly.

I became depressed when I was in the third grade. My mom who was a fifth grade teacher was riding with another teacher to school. The driver asked my mom to get a spider off the front of her dress. When the driver took her eyes off the road just for a second to look down at the spider, she ran off the road into a tree that caused a serious car accident. My dad drove up on the car accident and saw them putting someone in the ambulance and recognized that it was Mom because he could see the new blouse that she was wearing.

When Mom got to the local hospital which was only about two or three minutes away, she insisted that they cut her blouse off in a certain way, so she could wear it again because it was new. Tests showed that her neck had three fractures and almost a severed arm. When mom started to complain of her face becoming numb, the neurosurgeon had her transferred to another hospital that was more suitable to care for her injuries. The surgeon just happened to be a boyhood friend of my dad. They were born in the same mining camp and had been in the same first grade together. Also they had visited in each other’s home many times until the doctor’s family moved into another town in the state. The doctor, also, told my dad that if the accident had been any harder that my mom would not have survived.

My brother who was eight years older than I and my sister who was six years older than I helped take care of me, so dad could go to the hospital. My next door neighbor also helped take care of me by fixing my hair.

I still remember the day my dad told me about my mom. I was outside in a small swimming pool that was 18 inches deep. I thought my mom was dead since I was too young to go to the Intensive Care Unit. After several days, the nurses in the Intensive Care Unit let me see Mom, and I was greatly relieved to see her alive. However, she had scratches all over her face from the glass in the car. Mom stayed in the hospital for five weeks. Until this day, Dad and I still think about her when we pass by the area where the tree was which is on a daily basis. Someone finally cut down the tree that the car hit, and is not a threat to anyone.

In the fourth grade, I made one of my best friends. When we were little, our parents took turns taking us to each other’s houses which was about a twenty five minute drive. Later, when we were in high school, her parents moved into our subdivision about a half a mile from our house that made life easier for all concerned. I managed to go three years without getting depressed or anxious to the best of my knowledge.

While I was in the fourth grade, I switched schools to where my mom taught. In the morning, I would go to the cafeteria with the rest of the students. The group of kids that I hang out with gambled. One day Mom caught a group of students gambling. Although I was not involved, I thought Mom was going to shoot me. Another thing that happened was that one morning as we were going into the school, a young man opened the door for us then grabbed mom’s purse and ran away. All I was concerned with was that my doughnuts got smashed.

When I was in the fifth grade I developed arthritis in my knees. I remember telling my parents that I wanted to cut off my legs because they hurt so badly. The doctor wanted me to have tests done to see if I had cancer. However, I was greatly relieved when the tests were negative

CHAPTER TWO

Then, came time for me to go to the middle school. While I was in the sixth grade I was in a very disruptive class. Even though the first middle school in which I was enrolled was supposed to be a traditional school with very good discipline, many of the students in class threw paper wads and food. Also, they screamed and yelled a great deal. They even called and ordered pizza delivered to my teacher’s house. I told my mom and my dad how bad it was, but they did not believe me. I thought I was having a nervous breakdown. When my mom talked to the principle who was a friend of my parents, he confirmed that what I had said was true, so I was switched to another class and things were not nearly as bad and chaotic. I managed to make passing grades even though they were D’s. I think that the teacher gave me passing grades. It was nice being in a quieter class.

I wrote a paper about my experience at Petesdale Middle School in the ninth grade.

Problems at Petesdale Middle School

The day I walked into the building of Petesdale Middle School I really felt good about it. Little did I know that I was going to go through one of the worst experiences of my life. Even now as I look back, it seems like a long nightmare.

As I sat in my chair in Mr. Long’s class room, all I could hear were laughter and loud talking. Since I was raised to use self-discipline and had always had teachers who could control a class, this was a new experience for me. I sat astounded not believing my ears as I heard the noise all around me, and not believing my eyes as I saw kids my own age jumping off desks and throwing things. I could not believe the teacher would let this behavior go on. It amazed me how some kids go haywire when they are not disciplined. Luckily, that year I had band. It gave me a chance to have a breather from this awful class.

In class I made all A’s, but I knew it was because the teacher was so easy on every one. As I sat in class, the kids around me threw potato chips and gum. It was sickening. I felt awful just sitting there with food in my hair. When I went to the bathroom, I had to comb the yucky stuff out of my hair. Finally, I could take it no more, so I went to the counselor’s office to ask if something could be done.

No one believed me. Not even Mom and Dad believed me, so I kept going back to the counselor’s office to ask if anything could be done. No one believed me. I kept going back hoping that I would be moved to another class. I gave up on the counselor when she told me, No, and went to the principle, Mr. Smith. He agreed to at least check in on my problem. He turned the speaker on in the class room and found out that what I said was true. Next, he sent the curriculum coordinator, Mr. Jones, to observe the class. When Mr. Jones came into the class, every one behaved, but as soon as he left, the chaos continued. In my mind, I did not know if I could take it anymore. Then, the kids began to call me names that I do not want to repeat.

They made fun of my face. They said that I was too good for them and said that I was a tattletale. I thought I was going to have a nervous breakdown from all the pressure from school.

When the semester ended, half of the sixth grade changed classes for all six periods, and the others stayed as they were. I was glad because I figured it would bring some relief from this awful class. After we changed classes, it helped to a degree but it was still wild in Mr. Long’s class. After the semester ended, my mom called Mr. Smith to ask him if he would check into this class because she now believed me. It was hard for my parents who, also, were teachers to imagine a teacher or principal letting this go on. They thought I was just having a hard time adjusting to the middle school. Dad, also, talked to a teacher friend who taught in a room where she could observe my class room, and she confirmed what I was saying to be true. Mr. Smith told Mom that it was true about Mr. Long’s class control and that is why the students were now changing classes. He, also, told my dad, Mr. Long is not coming back to this school next year if I have to stand in the door to block him from entering the building. Mr. Smith suggested I be moved to another class. Therefore, I was moved to a different class, and things went much better the rest of the year.

During the summer, I assured myself that the following year would be better. But yet in the back of my mind I still knew that it could happen again. But I wished and prayed that I would not have to go through that again.

Well, the end of the summer came to an end and school started once more. When I walked into my first period class room, the first few weeks went OK, but after that those kids called me names and talked about me behind my back and to my face.

One day in science class this girl, Rita, hit me on the head. It really hurt, and for the first time in all my years of going to school I cried in class. I could not stand it anymore. I know this may sound