It wasn't until my early twenties that I experienced my first panic attack. Although at first, I didn't realize that's what it was. I just thought I was dying. But thankfully it passed and instead of brushing it off and moving on, I just had anxiety about when it was going to happen again until enough time went by that my mind and body allowed itself to relax. I've experienced 2-3 panic attacks a year since then. Once I realized what was actually happening I kind of knew how to control it. I'd take a few deep breaths and I'd say to myself "You're fine." And for awhile that method worked just fine. But for the past 10 or so years it's just gradually gotten worse. I'd check the "anxiety/panic attack" box on all my medical forms and my doctors would ask if I had ever been on medication. I always answered "no" - because I hadn't. I was managing this horrible mental illness on my own.
That is until a few months ago when shit hit the fan. I would feel faint and almost pass out at random. It happened at work, it happened at home, and even once when we were at the movies. It was fucking scary. I saw my PCP and he thought it might be related to my incredibly low blood pressure. I was told to add more salt to my diet and start drinking Gatorade. Done and done! It would seem that things got better but then it would happen again. My anxiety increased dramatically. I started waking up in the middle of the night with full on heart-thumping-can't-breathe panic attacks. It is even more terrifying than a "regular" panic attack because you're so calm one minute and then next you're being jerked awake and the feeling of panic and fear becomes so overwhelming that you don't know what to do. My first instinct was to wake up Dustin. He'd hold my hand and tell me everything was ok until I fell back asleep. That was our routine for a good month. Looking back I can't believe I let that shit go on for so long without going to the doctor. The thing is, I had an appointment scheduled for 12/31 so I figured I could wait until then to go over all of this. But I got to my breaking point the Monday before Christmas. I had had another rough night and could barely think straight because I was so consumed by anxiety. I called my doctor's office to see if they could fit me in. The nurse said they were booked. I immediately started to cry and I
I arrived at my appointment and the minute she asked me what was going on I completely broke down. I explained the tightness in my chest, the labored breathing, the panic attacks, all of it. She asked me if I was going through something difficult like a death or a divorce. I told her no. There is nothing extra stressful in my life currently other than the occasional stressful work day or random bad day. I told her I didn't understand why this was happening all of a sudden. She didn't know either. She was so genuinely concerned and helpful I could've hugged her. She made me feel normal. She made me feel like it was all going to be ok at a time I wasn't so sure it would be. In the end she prescribed me medicine for my anxiety and ordered blood work. I would follow up with my PCP the following week for my original appointment. I got my prescription filled and was back to work. I still didn't feel good because this medicine takes at least a week or two before it really starts to work but at least now I had the hope of feeling better in the near future.
I went to work Tuesday as normal but came home with debilitating anxiety. I had never felt worse. I started to pass out which made me panic. I don't like not being in control of my own body which is why I've never once been interested in drugs (that, and they're just dumb). No thanks! It totally freaks me the hell out. Dustin brought me icepacks because it's the only thing that helps when I feel like I'm fading, a bucket for my nauseated stomach, and just held my hand. My chest had never felt tighter. It was like an elephant dancing on a boulder on top of me. My mind focused on every labored breath. I kept thinking "Is this the attack or can I really not breathe?". My head was so fuzzy yet I knew exactly what was going on because my body is that cruel. I was very close to having Dustin take me to the emergency room but once again I was trying to play it cool. My head just kept repeating these lines:
It's JUST a panic attack.
What the hell is anyone going to be able to do?
Insurance is going to charge me out the ass.
Yeah, I'll take responsibility for thinking it's not a big enough deal to go to the hospital. But I blame this country's shit healthcare system for making me scared to get medical treatment because the thought of the expenses afterwards make my head spin.
I ended up calling the on-call nurse who honestly wasn't much help. I don't know what I was expecting her to tell me or do for me but I was desperate for something. She asked me some questions and then told me to call my PCP in the morning but if I got worse I needed to go to the ER. Well, yeah I already knew that.
I didn't sleep at all that night. I just sat there in crippling anxiety watching a Fixer Upper marathon. Poor Dustin said he heard Chip's voice the entire night he was trying to sleep and now every time he sees him on the TV gives him the stink eye. Oops.
The sun started coming up and I realized I made it. I'm still alive! I'm still fighting this internal battle but I'm exhausted. I ended up calling out of work due to the exhausting physical and mental toll this whole experience was taking on me. I also called my doctor's office and explained what the previous night had been like. They sent another prescription to the pharmacy to take until the other one kicked in.
Dustin and I were supposed to go up to Gainesville on Christmas Eve but I was still not feeling well enough to leave the house. We thankfully made it for Christmas day though! This fucking shit made me cancel a dinner with Nicole (if you know me, you know I don't ever cancel) and skip out on Christmas Eve (I was so looking forward to that. Next year!). This illness was not only causing me so much pain and grief but it was ruining my fucking holidays.
I've been on my medication for a month now and I've noticed a huge difference. For one thing, I haven't woken up in the middle of the night in full on panic, which means Dustin has not been subjected to any more of Chip. I don't feel like an elephant is crushing my chest. I can breathe with ease and don't even have to think about it most of the time. I get the occasional "breakthrough anxiety" which is normal but it's very minimal and doesn't last very long. And I have not passed out once since. I have never been a pill person. Dustin has to talk me into taking an aspirin for a damn headache and most of the time I still won't. I don't like the actual process of taking pills. You guessed it, swallowing pills gives me anxiety! What pills could do to me gives me anxiety. Ha! But I've had to get over that because the meds I'm on actually make me feel like a human being again. I feel like I'm in control for the first time in a long time. It's such a comfort. I have also been doing my best to add more exercise into my routine because that is also proven to help with anxiety. I even joined the fit bit club to keep track of all my physical activity. I'm also actively minimizing my caffeine intake even more so because my doctor said it can help trigger an attack. Thankfully I was never a big caffeine person (I don't drink coffee) so this hasn't been too hard of a change.
I got that blood work done and totally kicked it's ass. I actually got through it without tears, passing out, and I only had minimal anxiety. If that's not progress, I don't know what the hell is. And it all came back fantastic other than slightly high cholesterol.
Dustin is always great. Even when I'm pissed off at him and he's acting like a little shit. He is 100% on my side all of the time. He has never personally dealt with anxiety himself. He doesn't truly understand what it's like for us that do. He sees it from a completely different perspective. And yet, he's there every single time I need him. He's right there holding my hand, making me laugh, and getting me whatever I need. I don't know how I would have made it through without him. I cannot begin to express how kind and understanding everyone has been through this. My close friends and the few family members I've talked to have been truly life-savers. I cannot thank you all enough for talking to me about your own struggles and making me feel less alone. I am incredibly lucky to have you all in my life.
I'm certainly not a fan of my anxiety but I've never been ashamed of it. This is who I am, who I will always be, and I refuse to feel bad about it. There is such a stigma when it comes to talking about mental illness and especially for taking meds to control it. What good does that do for any of us? I learned a hard lesson in asking for help. It does not make me weak. I actually feel brave and proud of the steps I took to get here. And if I'm being honest, a little silly for waiting so long to take my life back. But in the end I just want to be the healthiest I can be. This is something that can be controlled but I will deal with it for the rest of my life. I'm just happy to know it can and does get better. I wrote this because I want to keep the conversation going; for those people out there who have had similar experiences as mine, for those with a completely different mental illness, and for all who are just trying to understand what it's like to be on this side of things.
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"...The stereotype surrounding people on meds for mental disorders doesn't make sense, because actually, I felt crazier without them, not understanding why I couldn't partake in simple activities without feeling like I was going to die..." - Erin Cunningham
"Every breath is labored. You are dying. You are going to die. It's terrifying. And then when the attack is over, the depression is still there. Once, my stepdad asked me, 'What does it feel like?' and I said, 'It feels like I'm desperately homesick, but I'm home.'"
11. We know our triggers are irrational. Yes, we're intellectually aware that we probably won't die alone in an apartment full of cats, and we probably are not dry drawing at this very moment. yet that awareness doesn't change the fact that there are things outside of our control which make it nearly impossible not to have an emotional (and physical) reaction.
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