When people ask how long anxiety has affected my life, I offer up this story.
I was in second or third grade and we had a spelling test. (The bonus word on the test was Connecticut, not that it matters, it’s just a useless memory). 
My pencil broke literally writing my name on the test. Rather then get up and sharpen it in a quiet room of other people. I did the whole ass test with nothing but the tip of lead that broke off. It wasn’t until I handed it in that my teacher asked what the hell happened as i can only assume it looked like I had a stroke during the test. Either way, I still know how to spell Connecticut right, but I’ll for sure not correct like, a waitress who screws up my order, because..life.