Tanks So Much

“Get to bed, Monica! It’s after nine,” my dad shouted for the third time that week. I was on the computer, looking at pages and pages of opinions, news, and comments posted by more than a hundred members of a very special community—the community that I called home. It was named for its website, planetthinktanks.com (PTT for short). But you see, the website, and the game it is dedicated to, are not nearly as important as the outstanding people that are in it. These people were so kind, encouraging, and amiable that they helped me out of an almost fatal disease.
It all started on Thursday, February 27, 2005. I contracted a stomach virus and threw up twice at school. I felt sick for at least another week. As time drew on after I started going back to school, I started eating less and became more and more afraid of getting sick again. The group of foods that I would eat diminished sharply, and I started to lose weight at a perilous rate. This continued throughout the school year, which left me with only bad memories of the latter half of my ###th grade year.
Over the summer, I saw doctor after doctor and endured test after test on my stomach and throat. As every single test turned out negative, I began to fret: Would the doctors ever find a way to cure my problem?
I prayed every day for God to let me out of this nightmare from which I couldn’t wake up. I thought that I had received answers: “Have faith. Everything’s going to be all right.” But even these were on the hot seat as I began to frantically question whether they were genuine or whether I was simply telling myself what I wanted to hear so badly. I was completely helpless in my world.
Another major setback was my dad. “It’s all in your head,” he’d say with a disgusted sigh. This was one of the worst parts of my sickness. I knew I was experiencing real pain, and hearing someone contradict that was, in my mind, the equivalent of the torture rack. I could do nothing to prove myself right because of the plain fact that my dad was not me. Life became a struggle as I tried to wade through these difficult times.
Then, after all the examinations were over, my gastroenterologist told me that I would have to start eating more—fast—to keep from having to get intravenous feeding or starve to death. The news was devastating to me. I thought I would be forced to eat more than my stomach could handle. I was sent to a counselor to deal with my irrational fears. I was diagnosed with obsessive-compulsive disorder, which was also very crushing. I felt that this “stomach problem” was physical. The counselor didn’t. She was examining how I felt about this. “Are you sure you want to be cured?” she would ask. Of course I did, and I informed her, not too patiently.
Gradually, as I started eating more, I realized that a few of my fears about my stomach were no longer on solid ground. I was still frightened, however, that I would get a virus. I took “preventive measures” that were often extreme, such as trying not to breathe in the hallways. That was my weakness—I felt safe with my obsessive-compulsive habits because the same disease made me afraid to get sick.
This continued for months until the school year started. Then one day, I saw my brother, NAME, playing a game that I had almost completely forgotten—a game called ThinkTanks. I had given up playing it ever since I had been lured into the world of Madden 2004 during the summer. But there was something about the game, something that I couldn’t quite grasp, that drew me back in.
I started playing the game more often as a distraction from the shattered pieces of my life. Working hard to improve my skills, I eventually started modifying and editing parts of the game. By then, I could not have left even if I had wanted to. I was completely hooked. Due to the bad start of the school year, my social life was miniscule to nonexistent, so I became much friendlier on PTT in hopes of getting some pals. To my surprise, I was welcomed back with open arms and given respect that I had not earned. I thanked Jesus for this amazing escape that he had given me. Since this was not a face-to-face community, I had no fears of becoming ill and was carefree among these great people. With God’s help and theirs, I managed to banish my fears forever. I even started preaching on the forums.
Today, I am a satisfied ###th grader for whom it is no longer vital to keep from getting sick. My priorities are now completely rearranged from those of the mentally ill girl that lived in my body half a year ago. I owe this in part to the commendable, compassionate, and responsible people on PTT. These people will remain in my mind as lifesavers for a long time to come. I know that God will never leave me in times of trouble. When I fall, these great people will always lift me up again. I know now to, in the words of Bill Cowher:
“Whatever you do, never stop believin’. Never stop trustin’. Believe, on three. One, two, three—BELIEVE!”