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When Bucky was six, he had his first anxiety attack. Of course, he didn’t know what was happening at the time, but the sweaty palms, struggle to breathe and the clump in his stomach would become a familiar feeling. It happened on his first day of school. The huge responsibility of having to learn things, and not being in control of his own life anymore crushed him. No one knew how he felt. He smiled through the whole attack, acting as normal as usual. When he came home, his parents praised him for what a good boy he had been, giving him ice-cream to celebrate, even though it was a Tuesday. For the next few months, his parents would brag to their friends and family at how good Bucky did at school, while Bucky listened with the sweaty palms, shortness of breath and clump in his stomach.
By the time Bucky turned seven, school was a happy escape. The silence and the break from his family was a relief. He didn’t have any friends, but that’s what he wanted. The other kids left him alone for the most part. Occasionally they would ask him to join them, but he never said yes. He came from a house full of girls, being at school was his chance to get some time alone with the voices in his head. They had some of his favorite conversations. When his teachers talked to his parents about his lack of friends, the pit in his stomach would come back. There was nothing wrong with him. He would just feel like he choked almost constantly. The voices told him it’s normal to be shy.
As the kids in his class turned eight, they got mean. They started picking on him, calling him a freak. Most of the kids would leave him alone. They would understand his need to be alone, but that didn’t stop them from giving him weird looks and being bystanders when he got picked on. His teacher would tell his parents his lack of friends caused the kids to judge him, as if the bullying was his fault. His parents would talk to him about his lack of friends, Bucky would shut them out, deciding their voices was no longer important to listen to. It wasn’t his fault kids were mean; he hadn’t done anything wrong. The only friends he needed were already in his head.
When he tuned nine someone new came to their class. Bucky didn’t even look at him, used to people in his life coming and going all the time. He was curious though, as there had never been anyone new in his class before. Bucky would still keep to himself, but now he would look at the kid and talk to the voices in his head about him. Bucky wondered what the new kids voice sounded like. The new kid was just as quiet as him. They sat on separate sides of the classroom, so Bucky would have to strain his ears if he ever wanted to hear his voice. He decided then that focusing on the new boy was more important than any of the other voices in the room. The voices in his head told him there was nothing wrong with that.
At ten, Bucky’s mother took him to test his hearing. She was sick of getting no response when talking to him. When the doctor found nothing wrong with Bucky’s hearing, she found it hard to believe. She told him to be better, to talk to her, to listen to her when she talked. She even offered to buy him a new Lego set if he let go of his childish behaviors. Bucky knew he could hear perfectly. He could hear what everyone around him was saying, he just chose who to respond too. It would be too much to talk to every voice that talked to him. The friends in his head told him who to listen to and not, and he listened to them.
When Bucky was eleven, he would hold his breath to get rid off the clump in his stomach. It would leave him dizzy, lightheaded, and gasping for air. But he knew that when the familiar feeling came creeping, he just had to hold his breath, and tense every muscle in his body and it would go away. It made every emotion disappear, the good and the bad, but Bucky decided no emotions was better than overwhelming emotions. The only time he would feel something was when he looked at Steve, the new kid. It scared him more than anything else, but he still couldn’t make himself stay away.
By the time he was twelve the voices in his head had turned on him. The conversations they had with him were no longer happy and comforting. He would sit in his corner of the school yard, watching the kids talk and laugh. Somehow Bucky and Steve had gravitated towards each-other, always keeping close, but never talking to each-other. Bucky told himself he was normal. That he was just shy. The voices in his head would tell him the opposite. That he was a freak, that something was wrong with him. He didn’t know what to believe anymore.
On Bucky’s thirteenth birthday Steve asked him his name. Bucky clenched every muscle in his body, holding his breath, ready for the pit in his stomach. But it never came, so he old him his name, and they kept talking. Bucky’s voice had been used so little his throat started hurting, but he kept talking to Steve. For once, the voices in his head quieted down. So, he decided he didn’t want to listen to the voices in his head anymore. But the voices refused to leave him alone. They got meaner, angry at him for choosing Steve over them. To punish him they would tell him that Steve is playing with him, that he’ll leave, he’ll turn on Bucky when he realized what a freak he is. Bucky was terrified that they were right.
At fourteen Bucky had become the saddest kid he’d ever known. Every night before bed he would read about mental illness, trying to find something to explain how he felt. He couldn’t find anything that fit. That was no surprise as he was unable to fit in anywhere. But this time he wanted something to fit. He decided a long time ago never to tell anyone how he felt, to never tell anyone about the voices. Bucky was basically fully grown at that point. Having fought against the voices for so long made him grow up too fast. He wouldn’t talk much, the only word he said on a regular basis being ‘no’. He had learned that no was a powerful word. It could stop anyone and anything.
Bucky was sexually abused when he was fifteen. The voices told him it was his fault. They were angry at him for letting it happen. And they got louder than ever. He stopped talking to Steve, shutting him out. He told himself he should have been stronger, he should have pushed him off, he should never have walked home alone, he should have been normal, and this wouldn’t have happened. The voices told him how stupid he was for thinking ‘no’ would be enough to stop it. It ripped a hole in everything he had ever believed as he realized he had no control over what happened to him. I only took a moment for his whole world to shatter.
At sixteen, Steve watched his best friend lose his mind. Bucky always tensed his whole body, barely breathing, leaving him dizzy. He was numb, so perfectly numb. No one could get through to him anymore. No voices were important anymore. The only ones he would hear were in his head, and they were screaming. He couldn’t even tell the difference between his own voice and the voices in his head. It all sounded the same. They would all say the same horrible things, pushing him down. Every word was a kick to his stomach, but he didn’t mind, he deserved it.
Bucky was seventeen when he dropped out of school. His days were spent in bed, ignoring his parents desperately begging him to get up, meet a friend, go to school, anything. Bucky wouldn’t even move a muscle in response, always having his back to the door. No amount of tensing or holding his breath could keep the pit in his stomach away anymore. He had no control over anything. Steve would visit him, talking about anything but his worry for Bucky. Bucky responded to Steve. They would talk, and for a while the panic would subside, giving him a breath of fresh air. Steve would try to make Bucky smile; Bucky hadn’t smiled since he was eight. But he appreciated Steve trying. He was the only one who never gave up on Bucky.
When Bucky turned eighteen, still laying in bed, unable to handle life he finally decided there was something really wrong with him. He felt like he was choking almost constantly, strangled by his own suppressed emotions. Life was no longer something he wanted to partake in. But he didn’t want to feel that way. He wanted a good life, one worth living. He wanted friends, and good memories, and to feel his emotions, good and bad. He wanted to reconnect with Steve. So, he decided to get help. His parents and Steve had tried to get him to talk to someone for so long, they almost didn’t believe him when he finally said yes.
As a nineteen-year-old, Bucky identified himself as his mental illnesses. And there were many of them. Too many to count on one hand. They had a grip around his neck, it was much stronger than him. He knew what he wanted, a good life, being happy. But he couldn’t see how that would ever be possible. When he imagined his future, it would be him and his illnesses together like a group of friends. They would hold him down while he tried and failed to fight them. His dreams for the future were just that, unachievable, unrealistic dreams of him finding joy and peace. The fight in his head between his dreams and reality was overwhelming.
On his twentieth birthday he smiled. When Steve brought a cupcake with a single birthday candle on it, Bucky smiled at him. He felt a flutter in his chest. One that felt good. And Bucky realized that he wasn’t his mental illnesses. He just had them, for now. There was a new fire lit in his chest, one that believed he could fight them, that they wouldn’t be his closest friends forever. And he decided in that moment to fight like he never had before, because he was determined to make his next birthday much better than this one.
At twenty-one, Bucky lived again. He lived more than he ever had. In the past year he had learned to let his emotions in. And even though the bad emotions were really bad, the good ones were really good, and it made him feel so alive. He learned that anxiety and panic wasn’t dangerous, that no emotion could hurt him. But trying to take them away could be dangerous and hurt him. He hadn’t felt anything for so long that every single thing he felt was overwhelming. For once overwhelming didn’t feel bad. It felt exhilarating, freeing, amazing.
When Bucky was twenty-two, he was free of most of his mental illnesses. As they left his brain one by one, he could fill his brain with love and happiness and peace. For the first time the only voice in his head was his own. And his own voice was telling him that life was worth living, that he was good enough, that he deserved to be happy. It also freed space to think about Steve, all the time. Steve stuck by him through everything, he never left, never doubted, never gave up. Steve brought up a completely new emotion in Bucky; love. Strong, unconditional, true love.
And at twenty-three he is doing so well that he doesn’t go to a therapist anymore. He moved out of his parents’ house to live with Steve, the love of his life. He breathes, all the time, every day. And it’s surprising how much better you feel when your brain gets enough oxygen. He still works on not tensing up, but he notices it when he does. And Steve does yoga with him and massages his shoulders when they hurt from the tenseness. The best part about how good Bucky feels, is that he knows this is just the beginning. Every year for many years he will look back at his last birthday and think about how much positive change has happened since then, how different of a person he is now. And that, is the best feeling Bucky could ever imagine. He won the war in his head.