And So It Began

Panic attack: "A panic attack is a sudden episode of intense fear that triggers severe physical reactions when there is no real danger or apparent cause. Panic attacks can be very frightening. When panic attacks occur, you might think you're losing control, having a heart attack or even dying."  Mayo Clinic

I still remember my first panic attack. I was on a date in a restaurant. There were several of us. I don't remember who my date was, or who the other people were. But, I remember the panic attack. I thought I was dying. I didn't want anyone else to know. I went to the bathroom. I was sick to my stomach. I forced myself to leave the bathroom when I didn't die and I acted like nothing was wrong. I was 21 years old. It was the beginning of my jittery life.

Depression and anxiety have been part of my life for 33 years. Sometimes it's barely been there. One time it was so bad I was in a psychiatric hospital for  two and a half weeks. It always centers around thinking I'm going to die. I'm going to die before I get everything done.

Even after 33 years, and countless hours of therapy, and drugs that work well, my logical mind and my anxious mind don't work together sometimes. I'll use every tool I've learned, I'll know I'm having a panic attack, but my anxious, obsessive thoughts take over and I'm convinced I'm dying. It's the most frustrating aspect of my mental illness. Knowing something is true, but not believing it.

It's taken  my whole adult life to learn to manage this illness. I thought for so long that if I could just figure out what happened in my past to make me so anxious, that I would be cured. No more panic attacks! I'd be like "everyone else." I was convinced if I just got to the bottom of what happened in my childhood that makes me depressed and anxious, that it would go away. In spite of several excellent therapists who helped me learn behaviors to manage the anxiety, I continued to believe that if I could pinpoint what happened that caused me to feel anxious and depressed, it would miraculously stop. I didn't want to manage my anxiety. I wanted to be well!

Then, there's medication. I've been on anti-depressants for most of my adult life. There have been some great ones, there was one that had weird withdrawal symptoms if I took it even a couple of hours late, there have been some that helped the depression but weren't so great with anxiety. There have been times when I thought I didn't need medication anymore. And, finally, five years ago, after going off medication and having one of the worst periods of depression and anxiety I've ever had, I accepted it. I will never be able to be off medication. So, then I wanted the medication to take care of my problem. I wanted to take my medicine and be well. I thought, hoped, wished, that I could be like "normal people" if I just faithfully took my medicine.

A few months ago I was going through a transition in my life. My medicine wasn't doing all I wanted it to do, which was to allow me to breeze through this change. Then, I had another bump in the road, then another, smaller bump, but a bump nonetheless. Anxiety, depression, panic attacks! Extra visits to the therapist. And, in the midst of a therapy session, something I'd heard a million times before suddenly made sense. I need to take care of myself all the time, not just during the times when I'm overwhelmed, anxious, and depressed by life.  Life is full of transitions and bumps in the road. But if I take care of myself every day, when the bumps come along, they won't be quite as scary.

I have mental illness. I won't be "cured." I can have a fantastic life. I can be a happy, productive, successful person who happens to have an illness. And, that requires me to take care of myself. To believe that I'm worthwhile enough to make self-care a priority. And, to finally admit, out loud to other people, that I have a jittery life.