The walls are slowly closing around you, you can't breathe, you're not sure whether you're having a heart attack or you're drowning.Tears stream down your face but you're not sure why. You curl up into the fetal position and close your eyes, wishing it was over.
I guarantee whoever decides to read this understands that feeling. That awful, gut wrenching feeling that your body makes when your mind believe that you're dying. I've unfortunately lived with anxiety disorder for almost twenty years. The depression came later. When you're a child and a doctor tells you that you have this so called "anxiety" disorder you obviously can't process it that well. I remember when there would be a thunderstorm, and the wind was rough, I would go into hysterics because I believed that it was going to kill me and my family. I was a child. A child who believed that whenever a natural thunderstorm would occur that meant death. As I got older, a doctor said that my anxiety at such a young age had to do with a traumatic memory I kept hidden. Before the time I was diagnosed, I was almost or was molested by a man. I say almost because I honestly don't remember. I remember him following me around at a family party, he told me he was related to me but he wasn't. He was a man in his late twenties hanging out with a six year old girl. I remember being in a pool, I remember him being real close to me, and then I remember my father and mother telling him to get out or there would be consequences. I was petrified of this man. There is a video of me at my aunts wedding and you see him come towards me and I immediately shut down and hide behind my mother. The thought of him made me so scared that I barely slept; I was a brave little girl before that happened. It's probably a good thing that I don't remember what actually happened.
The doctor's labeled it as PTSD (Post Traumatic Stress Disorder). I had to go to counseling at school even though I had no idea what was wrong with me. They put me on Zoloft, a mood stabilizer and an anti depressant. My mother immediately took me off of it because she started to notice some changes in me that was a big concern for her.
When I hit my teens my anxiety was under control for the most part but I got depressed. I would have these days where I didn't want to do anything or I would just cry for no reason. My mother would ask me if I wanted to try medication but I would say no. She took me to another therapist when I was sixteen and he told me that I was showing signs of bipolar disorder. That broke my mother's heart, I'm remember her breaking down into tears. She had bipolar disorder and was on a lot of medication for it. It broke her heart because she knew that mental health held such a stigma during that time. If you had some sort of psychological disorder you were branded crazy. My mother went to a mental institution for awhile because it got to the point she couldn't take it anymore. It was either she ended her life or did something to make her life better. She chose the better alternative of course. I couldn't hang out with any of my friends for awhile after she got out of the hospital because their parents wouldn't allow it. They were looking out for their kids of course, but my mother wasn't a psychopath that would hurt someone. She had a mental disorder that would affect her everyday life and some people will never understand it which is okay.
After losing my mother I decided to treat my anxiety and depression with alcohol and drugs. I didn't want to feel anything. I wanted to feel numb and cold. That worked for a short amount of time because that's not that type of person I am. For so many years after that I would find methods besides medication to ease my anxiety and depression. When I was twenty I went back on medication and took it for over a year. I abruptly stopped taking it because I felt better, and then I felt worse because I had withdrawals. I was lucky the withdrawals didn't send me to the hospital because I felt so sick. For five years I struggled so bad with my anxiety and depression. I didn't sleep, maybe got three hours a night if that.
My depression was horrible. I was sad for no reason, I would have these stupid thoughts run through my head like "I'm going to drive my car off a bridge, it will be okay." Or "it sounds pretty good to get alcohol poisoning today." The problem with depression that I had was I didn't want to die, but I wanted to kill the part of myself that was making me feel legitimately insane. I felt crazy, like Angelina Jolie in Girl, Interrupted crazy. I had no reason to be! I was in a perfect relationship, I was working, I had a roof over my head and I was healthy. I had anxiety attacks everyday, my mind would play tricks on me and make me believe that I was some terrible person and that I deserved these awful things to keep happening to me. Everyday I would think about killing that part of me that made me feel that way but I would have to destroy everything in myself to do that which I would never ever do. I finally got fed up this past March; I hit my breaking point. I had to call the crisis unit near where I live to get a psych evaluation. They asked me if I wanted to hurt myself and I said no, which wasn't entirely true, but how do you explain to a professional that you don't want to die even though you want to kill that part of yourself that was making you hurt? They also asked me if I wanted to be inpatient at a facility but I said no because I didn't want to be locked up from the outside world like a caged animal. Instead of that, they set me up for an outpatient partial hospitalization program. I was in that program for over a month and I finally agreed to be put on medication. I got put on Effexor XR, which is an extended release. After two weeks I started to notice a difference in myself. I was active, talkative, I was writing again! When I lost myself, I lost the thing that was keeping me sane and that was writing.
I've talked to different people on whether or not medication is right for them. Some people don't believe in medication and fully believe that you can get over it and that's fine. I take medication because I spent my entire life struggling with a disorder that I had absolutely no control over. It scared me into taking that step to take medication for it. I feel more, I get emotional over things that I'm supposed to get emotional over. I don't have those racing thoughts that keep me up all night. I don't think about driving my car into the Charles River. I don't think about destroying that part of myself. I'm not saying I'm going to be on medication for the rest of my life but for the time being, I am finally alive. I don't feel like a dead girl waking around conversing with the living. I am now living and breathing and I'm finally taking that step to get better and to feel even more alive.
To anyone reading this, I know you don't know me but I've been there, I know what it feels like to almost give up and I also know what it's like to become the superhero in your own life. If you ever feel like giving up, I'm here for you. As well as millions of other people.
NEVER EVER GIVE UP.