(Note: Please bear with me. The first couple entries may not seem to support the premise of this blog, but I can promise it's all a part of the process. They also may be quite lengthy, for which I do wholeheartedly apologize.)
I've struggled with anxiety since I was 17. I remember how it started.
Winter of my senior year of high school. I was planning to attend Boston University in the fall, and it was going to be the first time I'd been away from home for longer than a couple days. Like most incoming college freshmen, I was nervous about the impending change. But then, around the time I was finalizing my decision, I found out my parents were divorcing. My father had been unfaithful, and as soon as I graduated, he was planning on leaving to be with the other woman. My mother would be alone at home, looking for a different job so she could support herself, pay for my education, and acquire health insurance. Things were about to change. A lot.
Just before my birthday in January, I noticed changes in my behavior. I'd get very nervous for no reason. I'd be short of breath and my hands would shake. I'd feel restless, and I'd have to get up and do something. Usually I would clean. Being 17, I didn't think too much of it. Then I started having negative reactions to driving. I was working about ten miles from home at the time, and I'd be on my way to work after leaving school, then I'd begin to get dizzy halfway through my drive. My throat and chest would tighten and my mouth would become dry. As time went on, these sensations increased in severity. I was terrified to get in a car.
A few months later, I finally got up the nerve to mention it to my doctor. He diagnosed me with Generalized Anxiety Disorder, and I began taking a low dose of Paxil. Things improved, and despite the reservations I had about leaving home for school, I moved to Boston that August. But I wasn't as well as I thought I was. The physical manifestations of my anxiety were under control, but socially, I was having a hard time. I was having difficulty relating to my new peers, and it didn't help knowing that things at home weren't going well, either. I couldn't handle being at BU, and I came home after just over a week.
I returned to my job and enrolled in community college the next semester. I transferred to two more schools, going part-time and working full-time, and I finally graduated from the University of Hartford in 2008. The Paxil got me through. I figured after the stress of college had ended, I would be able to go medication-free. I went through the hellish process of coming of an antidepressant (during the two weeks of withdrawals, I wished I was dead - seriously), and everything was fine. For a year.
Since then, I've relapsed twice. I've tried almost every antidepressant and anxiolytic out there, but I'm very sensitive to medications, and if there's a side effect, I'll get it. Especially if it's rare. Celexa, Prozac, Cymbalta, Effexor, Buspar, Ativan, Klonopin, Paxil again... Some of those made me feel worse. Some of them I wouldn't even take because I was afraid of feeling worse. I gave up. I just did the best I could to cope without chemical intervention. I tried therapy, and we hit a dead end when I refused to try any more medications. I went on with my life. The quality of said life was questionable, but I lived it.
Until about a month ago. I'd noticed my symptoms worsening slowly, and then I returned to work from a ten-day vacation and spent my entire first shift back having a panic attack. Prior to that, the driving anxiety had returned worse than before, the breathing problems were more present... Spending an entire day on the verge of a breakdown made me realize I needed to get help. Again.
I've been out of work since the beginning of June. I've been on Zoloft for just over three weeks, and it hasn't been a miracle cure, but I've had no negative effects. So I'm waiting the requisite six weeks to see just how much it'll help (if, indeed, it does). I'm still having a really hard time driving, and even leaving the house causes an immense amount of anxiety (which is why I've only been out four times in a month, just for appointments and to buy food). I don't feel ready to go back to work yet, but...well, that's a longer, much less related story.
I'm also back in therapy. I had my first session yesterday. I was lucky enough to find someone I genuinely think can help me (after one visit, she's already going to bat for me with my insurance company, on a holiday weekend). She's a marriage and family therapist, and also certified in hypnotherapy. I was most interested in exploring whether hypnosis could help combat the driving anxiety. But as events unfolded during the week between making the appointment and going to the session, I realized what was going on was...bigger than that. That particular manifestation of my anxiety is the one that frustrates and confounds me the most, and I certainly want to take care of it. But that's treating the symptom and not the cause.
I'm not happy with my life. I feel guilty every day that I could be doing more. I could be in a different place, with a different job, different people... I'm capable of more than I'm doing. And I've spent 28 years being lazy and being afraid of failure. I'm holding myself back. I have never been my own advocate; I've sat around and waited for other people to validate me. I can't do that anymore. And my hope is that, through a combination of approaches, I can determine what I need to do to help and improve myself.
This is just the beginning. Here's to an enlightening journey.
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