I have anxiety and panic attack disorder (there it is World Wide Web, I said it!). Some days, weeks, and months I’m great, other days I have to add up license plates while driving or remind myself to breath just to make it through the day. I was 24 the first time I had a panic attack. I was speeding home from my college class trying to reach a doctor because I was sure I was experiencing a heart attack. I had Googled my symptoms during class and was positive I was going to drop dead unless I sought medical attention (hello - Google wouldn’t lie!). Half way home my left arm went numb and my right arm was starting to tingle too, my vision started to tunnel and it was hard to catch my breath. I pulled over (miraculously, I avoided causing a major accident since I went from the fast lane to the right emergency lane in 1 second flat) and dialed 911.
This event marked the beginning of a very interesting,
emotional and enlightening period of my life. You see that first emergency room
visit only left me feeling like I had seen an incompetent doctor who hadn’t
done enough tests on me (did I mention that I had Googled my symptoms?! Clearly
he was a quack). That visit was the first of many (many, many, many, many… you
get the picture) emergency and cardiologist visits. The first year I probably
went to the ER five times and saw just as many cardiologist (thank god for PPO).
The best way I can describe anxiety and panic is the
betrayal of your mind. Up to that point, my mind had never let me down. My brain
was logical, bright and dependable (not including my memory, but everyone has
bad memory, right? Right?). No way that my brain would give me all the classic
signs of a heart attack, that would be illogical. Except that 8 months later I finally realized
that, yeah, it would. You’d think that being diagnosed with anxiety/panic would
feel liberating, I mean after all I was healthy and best of all my heart was
“in great shape.” At first though, my diagnosis did exactly the opposite. It
made me feel out of control, scared, alone and worst of all weak. See up until
that point I had always considered myself an island or rock. I was never good
at expressing feelings. I’d bottle them up, worry about situations, think it
to death and just processed everything alone. Now my doctor wanted to prescribe
medicine and suggested I see a therapist.
By that point, my anxiety had hit an all-time high. At times
my anxiety lasted days, I was barely able to go to work and get home. There
were some days my dad or sister would pick me up from work, I physically
couldn’t drive. When I’d get home I’d be in tears or I’d go straight to my room
and read (that year I read 100 books). I was a shell of the person I use to be
(but I could sure read fast!). The independence I had worked so hard to
established was slowly slipping and now my anxiety was starting to drift into
my families world (because news flash, this diagnosis didn’t just impact me it
impacted my families lives too). Reluctantly I agreed to the medicine and
therapy.
It was the best decision! The medicine helped balance out my
anxiety and through therapy I learned that I wasn’t weak and understood where
my anxiety came from and why it manifests the way it does. I learned breathing
techniques, coping mechanisms (anxiety is tricky, once you think you've figured out your triggers, it starts manifesting in different ways!) and continue to work on rethinking and positive
thoughts (like I’m not dying. Hey - I’m a work in progress) I felt great! I
felt like I was gaining control again, I could finally hang out with friends
and visit family. I was empowered by going to therapy.
So you’re probably thinking, “Cool story bro, but what’s the
point of this post.” The point is, it took me 3 more years before I could
openly discuss going to therapy or that I have anxiety. There is such a huge
stigma about sharing problems and situations in our society and it’s lame.
There shouldn’t be, so I have anxiety and went to therapy, that doesn’t define
who I am. Nobody is perfect, everyone has a thing. I wish more people talked
about their anxiety or panic or depression or whatever. In fact, I wish more
people went to therapy, period. We wouldn’t feel so alone and crazy. By having
these open and candid discussions we help people have a sense of connectedness
and by the same token it helps people who don’t have these issues understand
what it’s like for people who do. So if there is anything you can take from this
post it’s to share your experiences, because you are not alone (oh and don’t
trust google for medical advice).
