"Well, it's a good thing your parents paid all that money so you could have this operation before you move, a little too early, but a bribe is a bribe." The man coughed and then turned around and I finally saw those crazy eyes that my friends were always babbling about in their night terrors.

"Have you ever performed mouth surgery on some dumb kid when you were way to drunk to be even around children?" the man asked tightening the leather straps that held be to the rotting dentist's chair.

"No sir!" I immediately answered.

"Well," he began choosing the biggest and crudest rusty drill his stash, "I guess that makes two of us." The last image I saw was the drill getting closer and closer...and closer...and closer...

My nightmares were getting progressively worse every night, and it was beginning to freak me out. Although my parents had offered to pay for any therapy I might need to get through my recent bout of teenage angst I was determined to get through changing schools, getting braces, getting glasses, and moving away from my favorite place in the world.

After I washed all the nightmare out of my brain with a cold shower I headed down the carpeted stairs to the kitchen for breakfast, I was late but I could tell why my parents were smiling.

"You sold the house?" I lacked the energy to lift my head so I just asked the table.

"Yes we did son, and we couldn't be happier, now we can finally live somewhere that isn't totally falling apart all the time." My dad said between sips of coffee.

"So, were are we going to live?" I posed this question to my mother thinking her voice wouldn't sound as happy as my dad's, I was wrong.

"Well, do you remember that nice little house in La Grange Park next to your uncle's?"

"I guess."

"Well we just put a half million dollar deposit down on it, so-"

"What your mother's trying to say is that we can't back out, so don't bother trying."

"What could you possibly mean? I am thrilled about moving." I answered in the same quiet, sarcastic tone that my dad used when I tried to tell him what to do.

"Look boy, there is zero chance of me putting up with any more of the crap that you've been trying to pull around here."

"What do you mean?" I asked my sarcasm slowly changing into anger.

"I mean you bumming around the house whenever me and your mother are trying to fix this dump up for the move!" He said his voice's intensity rising with every word.

"What happened?" he asked his anger ceasing, "You were so supportive, when did that change?"

"Yeah well that was before I knew that it was gonna actually, ya know, happen," (In my defense I really didn't figure that the move was going to ya know, happen.)

"Well it is happening and you better get with the program and start doing what's best for the family." His anger coming back. I knew he was right but I was 12 and very busy being caught up in being a normal kid who did normal kid stuff, so instead of backing down and admitting I was wrong I stood up and left the house.

Although it seems like a dramatic switch from tired to storming out of the house this sort of behavior was becoming very common for me, running from every problem that came at me. And if I didn't run from my problems I would find excuses to skip out on visits to prospective homes for us citing sickness or boredom as reasons to stay behind and leave myself out of the loop.

So I took a look back at my soon-to-be old house and ran to Steve's house. I figured Steve would share my shock and outrage over my parents obvious lack of seeing what a terrible mistake they were making, but strangely for some strange reason he sided with my parents.

"You are lucky man, I wish I could get out of this place and go somewhere less depressing."

"What do you mean depressing?"

"Look at it man, there is trash in the streets, graffiti on the dry-cleaners, that creepy guy across the street that somehow got parole and word is the Latin Kings just moved in down the block."

And looking back I can see what he meant, the place was really old and smelly, but I was adamant in defending my cherished haven. So I thought of a clever rebuttal that showed my views while making his look stupid. Too bad I was 12.

"Oh yeah? Well you are stupid and stuff."

So I kind of lost that battle of wits, but luckily it was still the middle of summer and I could try to enjoy my town for another month before having to move.

As bad as dealing with the move it was nothing compared to the anxiety that my first week at Park Jr. High School had. I was so pre-occupied with the dread of change that the overwhelming wave of pressure that had been building in my mind finally started to leek out of my head.

I woke up on the first day of school on a mattress in my room (my bed was in storage for the move) with a headache. I trembled to the bathroom to get an aspirin from the medicine cabinet and I almost choked on it. I walked down the stairs with a nervous spring in my step. I must have tripped on my own feet ten times before my mom asked how I was doing. I decided to try the old be a jerk technique in an attempt to siphon some frustration off to her.

"Whatever."

"No come on, tell me."

"..."

I thought it was working until she, instead of asking again, gave up. This was a terrible thing, if my mom fought the silent treatment with a cold shoulder, then she was winning. So I tried the role of complainer.

"Mom, I don't wanna go to school, I don't wanna have to be driven there like a little kid."

"Well then have fun walking there because I am not paying money so you can take the bus. Besides when we move we will be right next door to your new school."

Ouch, she mentioned "new school" and "moving" in the same sentence. I went back to acting moody.

Things only got worse for me at school, I was nervous and unresponsive all during Meet and Greet and my heart was beating so fast that my breathing was shallow. As you can imagine my breathing only got worse when I saw my old Brookfield friends come bounding over in a group, which is a sight I am usually glad to see, but in my present condition their enthusiasm only freaked me out more.

"So how are you doing man?" they all seemed to say at once.

"(pant) oh just (pant) fine." I wheezed in response, hoping that if I seemed uninteresting and sickly they might leave me alone to pant in peace.

"Whatever so you totally missed it we were at Kev's house and-"

And they talked and babbled and laughed which was good because then I could just tune them out, and as long as I matched the facial expression of whoever was talking I could have some me time free so I could think about how much I missed my old life.

I used this technique to get through most days for that first year of school, it kept me safely away from anyone who might want to talk to me, an activity I dreaded immensely. I knew that if we started talking then we might accidentally talk about where we lived and that would make me angry, so it was much better staying away from fun, in order to avoid anger. It's too bad I was such a moron at age 12.

My nerves only got worse as it was only two days after the first day of school when I was waving goodbye to my house on the way to school. While I was at school my parents moved all of our things into our new house, which was a block away from school, so I was able to walk to my new home, which I'd seen twice before, by myself in the rain. I waited out of sight until my parents were gone before I entered the house that was supposedly mine. It looked so strange and cramped with all our old house stuff in it, I immediately hated it and did my homework outside in the rain.

It was weeks before I thought about anything but myself. It was so long that I can remember the exact day it was, which was the Thursday after moving, at dinner. I was sitting on my side of the table, my new black rimmed glasses cutting into my soft 12 year old nose, Dad was talking about something not having to do with me until.

"So Doug, we know this week has been hard on you so we are going to be treating you to a very expensive and very unique treat."

"It's not like my last treat is it?" I said tapping on my new glasses which burrowed deeper into my pink nose.

"No it is something fun and life-changing." He said his smile widening.

My head jerked up and I dropped my fork. My mom used one hand to hold mine and the other to pull out a pamphlet entitled Dental Work and You!

"You're getting braces!"

I yelled out the most appropriate swear word I could think of and stormed up to the room that was not mine.

"How can they do this to me?" I yelled at the dumb walls in my dumb room. "I hate them!"

And then I heard a shuffling outside my door and my mom spoke out the words that changed my life:

"If you don't go to therapy we are going to send you to military school!"

So, needless to say, that's when I started therapy, which helped me sort out my problems and give me the tools to deal with stress in its many forms.