Anxiety

http://www.cnn.com/2014/01/08/living/anxiety-coping/index.html?hpt=hp_bn11

This article really brought back a lot of memories. This time last year I was a hopeless mess.

My anxiety had begun in my first year of college. I had no idea what was going on with my body, but I knew something wasn’t right. I went back home to see my childhood doctor and as soon as she asked me what had been going on, I cried. Not just cried, I bawled. In that instant she told me I was experiencing extreme depression and anxiety. I knew she had to be wrong, because there was absolutely no way that depression and anxiety could cause me to feel so horrible. It was a miracle to get out of bed in the mornings and push myself to go do things. I was exhausted and physically hurting. My vision was crazy, and I couldn’t even sit at a desk for longer than 30 minutes without having a panic attack that sent me over the top. She prescribed Zoloft and I went back to Indianapolis to finish my first semester of college. I remember taking the pills and being scared to death. I always take more of a “natural” approach to things, so taking these mind altering drugs scared the living crap out of me. Those pills were hell. “Give them at least two weeks,” my doctor kept saying. So, I gave it two weeks, and then I couldn’t take it anymore. The pills caused horrible “brain zapping” sensations that would come out of nowhere. I was so sick that I dropped 20 pounds in those two weeks and couldn’t fit into any of my clothes. I was constantly running to the bathroom. I felt numb. The music that once surrounded me was muted. The only saving grace for me was my art class. I loved that class. As soon as I picked up my colored pencils and began to draw, I felt life again. My art teacher was an angel, and always complimented my work. I remember walking back to my dorm room one night after class and getting into bed. I propped up my art supplies, turned Kid Cudi’s “Day and Night” song on repeat, and drew. I was in a weird zone, and couldn’t hear my roommate talking to me. The only way I knew how to escape the effects of the medication was to focus on my artwork. That same night a fire alarm went off in my dorm and I knew that I had to get off of that medicine. My legs were jello as I tried to climb down the stairs. I couldn’t feel my body and I felt completely detached. I somehow made it back into my dorm room and fell asleep. I skipped almost all of my classes–except for art, and resorted to alcohol to numb my anxiety. I somehow lived this way until I went home for summer, and working at a summer job I hated, brought back the anxiety 10-fold. I refused medication. There was no way that I was feeling the way I felt when I took Zoloft. I would rather have a panic attack every 10 minutes. But when it got to the point that I couldn’t even work three days in a row, and I spent my entire summer cooped up in my mom’s house, I had to do something. I went back to the doctor and she prescribed Effexor. It took three months and my mom crying on the kitchen floor before I put the medicine in my mouth. It was a daily battle to get me to take it. But I took it. And within a couple of months I was myself–only better. I moved into an apartment with two of my girlfriends, and had the best year of my life. I was always the life of the party, I was in the best shape ever, and I was single. I focused on myself and became extremely selfish. But it helped me forgot my anxiety. I was a different person with Effexor. I had never had that much confidence before in my life. I stayed on Effexor for about a year and a half, and then decided I wanted to be medication free. I weaned myself off of the medication and was surprised when I felt normal. No more panic attacks–even medicine free!

Three boyfriends and thirty pounds later, I was in the same boat.  I was on vacation in the most beautiful tropical paradise of St. Maarten, when I suddenly felt crazy. The sense of losing control took over my body as we were driving up a hill in St. Maarten. I couldn’t breathe and felt suffocated. I was terrified. My anxiety was gone, so I thought I was getting sick with cancer or something. It worsened over the trip. I had no idea how I was going to board that plane back home. But, somehow I did. And the months that followed were some of the darkest in my life. My job was horrendous and I called in at least once a week. One morning I drove into the parking garage and couldn’t get out of my car. I called my boss to let him know that I was sick in the garage, and headed back home. I spent my time in between my bed and the couch. Asking me to go grocery shopping was like asking me to perform heart surgery. I couldn’t do it. My boyfriend didn’t understand, nor did I expect him to. We couldn’t do anything, because I couldn’t leave the confines of my house. Driving to work and making it through the work day was the biggest obstacle in my life. I struggled daily just to keep floating. I eventually went back on medication–this time a new one–Celexa. Effexor didn’t work after two weeks, so my doctor gave me the least evasive anti-depressant. She told me that she only prescribes Effexor for divorce patients, so I figured that must have been why I felt so great on it. Celexa took a while to kick in, and I didn’t have any side effects like the last two medications caused. I never felt as great as I did on Effexor, but I felt somewhat normal. I was able to go to Target, go out to eat and drive to work without getting sick. I still don’t feel 100%, but I have found that a regular exercise regimen and yoga have helped me tremendously. Taking an extra long hot bubble bath, and then painting my nails also helps me relieve everyday stresses. Anxiety has ruined my life in so many ways, and has created tension in my personal relationships, but I have vowed to never let it take over my life again. Living with anxiety is something I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy, but it’s something that I have to conquer. Someway. Somehow.