I have wanted to write this post for quite some time. I have started writing this post on several occasions, hit the back-space button repeatedly. Hit the delete button after several full posts. Not willing myself to share this. Why? Because this post is about dealing with Generalized Anxiety Disorder. It is exposing my mental illness and shining a bright shinny spot light on a dark corner of my mind. I hate being vulnerable, showing weakness, and being the center of attention- which is what I feel this post is going to do. You see, I have struggled with anxiety for most my life. But I didn’t realize that not everyone had these constant thoughts of worry.
I thought everyone played conversations over and over in their head days afterwards wondering if they had said something wrong and made themselves look foolish. I thought everyone experienced a nauseating feeling when entering crowded rooms, I mean, everyone that wasn’t an extrovert. It wasn’t until I had a panic attack during a practical exam while in Occupational Therapy school that I realized that my level of anxiety wasn’t normal and that it was more of a problem than I realized. I did learn a valuable lesson through that experience. With the help of my instructors I learned how to get a handle on my anxiety. I found natural ways to reduce my anxiety. I developed coping mechanisms that allowed me to live a relatively normal life, medication free. These coping skills served me well for many years. I thought everything was grand and it was. Until I went back to school in 2017 for Exercise Science. Don’t get me wrong, I loved being back in school. I loved meeting new people. However, I thought I would be able to work full time while going to school full time, and make good grades. To top it all off, I was taking college algebra, anatomy and physiology, English Comp II, and Developmental Psych. All those classes demanded so much study and homework time that my coping mechanisms failed, but I didn’t even realize what was happening. I kept telling myself I was stressed, that I just needed the semester to be over and everything would be fine. I found myself exhausted, crying in the shower, crying myself to sleep. Praying that some catastrophe would happen so I could just stop stressing out about everything... It was until several months of complete and total misery that I realized, that my anxiety had led to straight up depression. It was awful and I was miserable, but it had gone on for so long that I didn’t even know how to reach out for help. I hide my depression from my husband, my friends and family. I don’t know if it was because I was ashamed or embarrassed to admit that I needed help, but for whatever reason, I battled the darkness alone in complete and utter misery for most of 2017. Towards the end of 2017 I was listening to a personal development book and it came to me that I was choosing to feel the way I did. I didn’t have to feel miserable, I could choose to focus on the good things in my life. I started practicing daily gratitude. I would say positive affirmations every morning. I rediscovered my coping mechanisms. I started to see the sun peeking through the clouds of my depression and things were looking brighter every day. I was beginning to feel like my old self again. Then, in late January 2018, I discovered I was pregnant. I thought the unexpected pregnancy would be the undoing of my newly found happiness. The first few weeks of my pregnancy was absolute hell. My husband didn’t take the news of pregnancy well, we were both in shock and neither of us were ready to be parents again. A week after I told him, went on a date- and it was the worst and best date I think we have ever been on. Everything that could go wrong, did. We got pulled over, the restaurant didn’t have the dish we ordered, Josh got really upset because it was just the icing on the cake after a really shitty week., I started crying in the middle of the restaurant, it was truly an awful date. But, as we drove home from that date, we had one of the best heart-to-heart talks we have ever had. I told him all about my depression. He was completely heartbroken that I kept it from him. He was devastated that I had kept it from him. I had no idea that it would affect him that way. I thought I was doing the right thing by keeping it from him. I didn’t want him to have to worry about me, but by keeping it from him, I had hurt him more than if I had just told him. I promised him that if I ever started to have problems again with anxiety or depression, I would tell him. For the most part, the rest of my pregnancy was nothing but happiness and joy. I chose to place my son up for adoption. I found the most absolutely best couple I could ever ask for, my sister and her wife. And the thought of bringing a new life into the world and helping a family grow brought a whole new purpose to my life. However, as my pregnancy come close and closer to an end, I worried more and more about the possibility of postpartum depression. I didn’t develop postpartum depression, but my anxiety reared its ugly head in totally new ways. In my entire life, my anxiety never quite got ahold of me like it did after birth. First it was over the complications at delivery. The constant researching trying to figure out what went wrong. Then it was my gallbladder not functioning. Then it was EVERY. LITTLE. THING. I didn’t even realize that I was starting to lose control. It was after picking my husband up from work one day that I was telling him that I was worried about going to a dinner because I was worried about my stomach acting up and what I was going to eat. Being the wonderful husband that he is, he picked up on this abnormal thought process I was having and causally mentioned, “You are over thinking this.” That simple phrase stopped my cycle of worry about this dinner and I thought, you’re right. I started to realize that perhaps my anxiety was starting to get out of control and that I should see a therapist so that I didn’t end up where I was in 2017, but I also hoped that it would just go away on its own. A couple of weeks later I realized that my anxiety wasn’t getting any better in fact it was getting worse. I would have cycling thoughts of worry. My mind would jump from one thing to worry about to another. The best way I can think to explain it is imagining five hamsters, each running on a separate wheel. Each rotation of the wheels would bring a new thought of worry. It made it damn near impossible to focus on anything when I had these constant running thoughts of worry. I would go into the grocery store and completely forget what I was there for. I felt nauseated all the time. My muscles would get so tense that it felt like the skin was breaking from the tension. I felt itchy, which has always been a symptom of my anxiety, though I never develop hives. Which makes me think I am crazy, which in turn causes me anxiety. I remember trying to sleep one night and I heard this strange humming noise. I thought it was my night stand light, and worried that it was going to cause an electrical fire. I called to schedule an appointment, and it was going to take three weeks before I could get in. Okay, no big deal, I can handle 3 more weeks... right? The weeks that followed were an absolute nightmare. I would get so tense that I didn’t feel as if I could even work out, for fear of getting an injury. I felt like my body was in a constant state of fight or flight. I would become so consumed with anxiety and worry that I would be paralyzed to the sofa. I went into a gas station, and when the clerk wasn’t behind the counter, my mind automatically went to the store was being robbed and the robbers were killing the clerk and when they found me. I was going to be next. I once broke down crying in the parking lot of my husband’s work because I thought I had missed his dinner break and that he was going to be mad (he wouldn’t have been). I ran out into traffic once because I failed to put the gas cap back on my car and I saw it laying in the middle of the road. I was completely exhausted all the time between the fight or flight feelings and the constant fidgeting. I discovered that my hands would get clammy when I entered stores or even really had to talk to people. As my husband puts it, I was bat shit crazy. After talking to my therapist, he suggested medication. Now, even though I have battled with anxiety for as long as I can remember, I never wanted to take medication for it. I always thought I could handle it on my own. However, the three weeks leading up to the appointment I really did feel like I was losing my mind. I told him I was willing to try anything to not feel this way anymore. Because, quite frankly, I didn’t think I could do it. He wrote me a prescription and let me tell you, I don’t know why I was so against taking medication in the first place. Things have been so much better now. Sure, I still have my bad days. Like the day that I was feeling super anxious and took my nervous energy out on our bath tub. Come to find out, our bathtub isn’t off white. It is a glaring blinding bright white that shocks your senses when you turn the bathroom light on. Our entire kitchen carpet got hand scrubbed one weekend because there were some stains that just wouldn’t come off with the shampooer. But I am not constantly in a state of fight or flight. The hamsters have died and their wheels are collecting cobwebs. My hands are so dry that I find myself reaching for lotion more often than a towel. Going into stores doesn’t send me into a near panic. And I have started working out again. It’s easy to get overwhelmed in life. You may think that you have everything under control. And sometimes you just need a little extra help and support. Even though the infamous date started out so completely awful, by telling my husband about my depression and how anxiety led to it, he was able to point out when I was starting to struggle again. I am so blessed to have him in my support system and beyond grateful that I decided to open up to him about my depression. He is my rock and keeps me sane when I feel like I am losing control. I am also grateful that I put my pride aside and admitted that sometimes my coping mechanisms fail and when that happens, it’s okay to ask for a little help, even if it comes from a pill. There is nothing wrong with admitting when you are struggling with mental illness and there is nothing wrong with putting a spot light on it and destroying the stigma that comes with mental illness. I hope that if you stumbled upon this post because you are struggling with mental illness that you read this story and realize that there is nothing wrong with asking for help. It can be a hard step to take but once you take that first step, it gets better. There is light at the end of the tunnel.
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AuthorAmber Ames Archives
January 2019
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