Anxiety about my Anxiety
~ Disclaimer: This story illustrates my personal experience with my anxiety. Not everyone who struggles with this has the same experience. There are other versions of the story. I am not an expert or a medical professional. I wanted to share because I feel it’s important to be completely honest about my own journey as an encouragement for others to share theirs. Hopefully, after reading this you will feel less alone. ~
Up until my last few years of college, I didn’t think that I was ever going to deal with any severe sort of crisis with my mental health. I had plenty of family and friends that had gone through their own journeys, and I thought that was the closest I would get.
I didn’t think it would ever happen to me.
Lol. Famous last words.
When 2020 hit, I had just gotten back from a semester abroad. I was on cloud effing 9, living in my “being abroad changed my life” bubble and just coasting. Once my second semester of junior year started, I took off running. I was Vice President of New Member Education for my sorority, I was taking 18 credit hours, and my extra-curriculars were taking up all my free time. Not to mention getting back into the social swing with my besties after being gone for 4 months. I had literally no time to breathe. But I was under the impression that I was thriving, without processing a very abrupt lifestyle shift. I was also living in an apartment with 3 other girls, and my sublet room happened to be one with no windows. Par for the course.
But about a month into the spring semester, I started to experience bouts of panic? Heart palpitations? Shortness of breath? I don’t know. They would be so random and scary I wouldn’t know what to do. It could be in the middle of class, or eating dinner with my roommates, or while watching a movie. Once, it even happened when I was on the treadmill. My heartbeat would start to pick up during these attacks, and I would be so hyper aware of it, I couldn’t focus on anything else. It felt like I was having a heart attack. I would worry myself so much I would immediately feel nauseous. And for those who know me, you know how absolutely TERRIFIED I am of throwing up or getting sick. It’s emetophobia of an extreme case. I haven’t thrown up since I was literally 13 because of it. Believe it or not.
So naturally, these feelings were SCARING me. I had no idea what was causing it. I just knew I had to remove myself from whatever situation was happening when it struck just so I could catch my breath and calm my mind. My throat would close, and I would have trouble swallowing. These episodes would eventually develop into being nauseous CONSTANTLY. I was in constant fear of a panic attack, I could barely eat anything without gagging and my appetite plummeted. Which was devasting for me. I love food.
I went to the health center at school and was prescribed Omeprazole and Zofran. Powerful anti-acid and nausea medication. That helped but not nearly enough.
Then, March hit. Everyone on campus got sent home. I was forced to leave school and go back home to Cincinnati. I was a little relieved. Maybe being home with my family would help soothe whatever was going on with my body.
But it got worse. I found myself unable to sleep for fear that I would throw up or stop breathing. I was panicked constantly. I would cry to my family everyday in frustration for not knowing what was going on with my body.
I went to a GI doctor and got an endoscopy where they looked at my stomach and my throat from the inside. Oooh.
Nothing.
I got loads of blood work done.
All good! Nothing wrong with me.
I was immensely confused and losing weight by the hour. I went to my primary care doctor, and she finally mentioned therapy.
Huh?
I had never really thought of therapy as something that I needed. Or that EVERYONE needed. There was no reason to talk about my life with a stranger because I had people to talk to. I didn’t need that. I hadn’t been diagnosed with anything, so why?
Regardless, I told my primary care doctor that I would do anything to get this to go away. Yes, sign me up for therapy. Give me all the meds. Help me. PLEASE!
So, she prescribed me a low dose of Lexapro. I started going to therapy. And guys. My life changed.
I was diagnosed with clinical anxiety disorder. I had a label. I would now be defined by this struggle.
Yes, the Lexapro made me insanely dizzy. So, I went on Prozac instead. Since then, I’ve been taking it every day. No matter the circumstances. And it did more for me than any Omeprazole or Zofran could ever do.
Other than lowering my tolerance for alcohol. Haha. You should’ve seen me after one White Claw back then.
But I digress. My therapist, Linda, became my best friend. We had weekly sessions together throughout my senior year of college and beyond. And she taught me more about anxiety than I ever thought possible.
People think that anxiety is a feeling of nervousness and worrying. Which it is. I’ll give you that.
But it’s actually more like this:
Trouble concentrating
Trouble sleeping
Insanely intrusive thoughts
Uncontrollable feeling of worry
Increased irritability
Restlessness and a feeling of being on-edge
Avoidance of feared situations (big one for me)
Loss of appetite
Feelings of guilt and shame
And a TON of physical symptoms.
The best thing that Linda taught me, besides to take my medication every day, was to use coping mechanisms. If anyone has been to therapy, you’ll know what I’m talking about.
The key to dealing with your anxiety is to 1) identify it when it’s happening 2) knowing your triggers, and 3) using a preferred coping mechanism.
For me, I liked to play games with myself. I would say my ABCs and look at my surroundings searching for something that started with the letter A, then B, then C. I would visualize and draw my favorite place, down to exquisite detail. One of my favorites, and most simple, was finding a balloon, blowing it up, and then letting it go. She asked me to visualize blowing whatever was on my mind into the balloon and letting it go. For some reason it always made me laugh. Because when I would come down to earth after a panic attack, I would sort of realize how silly my worries looked, like the air coming out of that balloon.
The purpose of these exercises was to take my focus elsewhere. So that I wouldn’t focus so much on the spiraling my brain was doing.
It was like a miracle honestly. I would be so busy trying to think of other things like “What the hell starts with an X that is near me?”, or “Where do I keep the balloons again?”, that I would forget about what I was anxious about, even for a little.
I was able to take the control back.
And since then, I’ve been able to live my life normally again. There are always good and bad days. But, with the help of therapy, my personal coping mechanisms, and my heavenly Prozac (😊), I can enjoy my life.
There are days though, where I feel like I don’t need to take my medication anymore. I’m fine, I’ve got this. I don’t need the band-aid of my medicine.
I could not have been so WRONG.
I went through a spell of time where I forgot to take my medication. Which is very unlike me. I’m quite a regimented person. But I forgot for a weekend, and then I thought “What the hell? I’m fine. I don’t need to go back to taking it.”
And I started spiraling again. In a way that I didn’t know how to control. It was like I went back in time. I felt defeated.
I refilled my prescription finally, after not taking it for about 2 weeks, and it took awhile to feel better. My brain needed to adjust back to that healthy spot.
As a lot of women my age did during quarantine, I read Untamed by Glennon Doyle. And if you haven’t read it, go read it LITERALLY PLS.
In one chapter of her book, she mentioned “five pro tips for those who live too high and too low”.
The first tip was the “Take your DAMN meds.”
The second was “Keep taking your DAMN meds.”
She mentions being on Lexapro and says that she believes it to be the reason that she doesn’t self-medicate with alcohol, binge-eating, drugs, and other paraphernalia anymore.
She goes on to say:
“I do not believe that when we die, one of us will be presented with the She-Who-Suffered-Most trophy. If this trophy DOES exist, I don’t want it. If there are people in your life who judge you for taking prescribed medication, please ask to see their medical license. If they can show it to you and they happen to be your doctor, consider listening. If not, tell them to sweetly fuck all the way off. They are two-legged people who are calling prosthetics a crutch. They cannot go with you into the dark. Go about your business, which is to suffer less so that you can live more.”
I love that passage.
Because if you have the option to suffer less, why wouldn’t you take it? Struggling with mental health is nothing to be ashamed of. Why not use what you can to help you live without the struggle? Also, in my opinion it makes me funnier and more interesting at parties.
Going off meds because you feel better is like standing in a snowstorm with the warmest winter coat that is keeping you toasty and thinking: “Wow, I’m so warm and comfortable. It’s probably time to get rid of this silly coat.”
Stay warm, stay comfortable, and please stay alive.
So, in conclusion, anxiety is now a part of who I am. That doesn’t mean it defines me. That doesn’t mean that it overtakes me. I am stronger than it.
In the words of Glennon herself, “Take good care of all of yourselves. Fight like hell to keep yourself, and when you lose her, do whatever it takes to return to her.”
Save yourself first.
Talk soon <3,
Hannah
P.S. I type this just as my alarm goes off to take my Prozac. Divine timing. Take your meds, babes. 😊