Posted By AmyD. on March 13, 2008

From time to time I might make a joke about being on meds or dealing with anxiety or depression. If I don’t laugh about it, I’ll cry… literally.

It’s really hard wrapping your head around the idea that something is “wrong” with you. In a sense it’s a relief because you can look back over the years (in my case) and realize, OH! That’s where that was coming from!”

Sometimes I don’t think I fully understand all the ramifications of anxiety/depression. I haven’t had a major panic attack in a couple of years, thanks to the medication. Although, I recently had my meds doubled, in part, because I had a minor panic attack around Christmas. That and there were just far more bad days than good days. I don’t know which is worse, experiencing a panic attack or being terrified of the “unknown” that might trigger one. It’s a lot like living under a dam with a tremendous crack in it that you know no one has any intention of fixing – oh, and the dam is somehow positioned near a major fault line. Yeah… that’s what it is like.

A panic attack is like a cross between alien abduction and an out of body experience. You are there, but you aren’t because a part of you has gone to “your happy place.” The other part of you is in such emotional pain that you feel it physically and it’s a struggle between keeping your thoughts from racing and keeping your feet from literally doing the same. It’s the absolute epitome of wanting, no needing to crawl out of your skin.

Some days I feel as if my nerve endings are very raw, very exposed, and feel as if someone is rubbing them with sandpaper. Those are the days when I sit there and listen to something going on in the other room and it takes everything in me not to start screaming. For example, the other day I was in the office working and Mike was in the family room with Maggie.

Maggie, “Dad… DADDY… DADDY?”

“Hey, Daddy, did you see that? Daddy? DADDY? Did you see that?”

and after a good minute and a half of this I finally yelled, “Would you PLEASE answer HER!!!!!!”

It was like nails on a chalkboard for me.

Mike mentioned the other night (we were discussing the 5 things thing, AGAIN) that one thing about me would be the way I react to dead animals on the side of the road. He said, “Everyone says, “Aww, man” kinds of things, but someone who doesn’t really know you know you – won’t get that it’s different for you. It upsets you and it doesn’t matter if it’s a dog, cat, or skunk.”

Which is true. I always say something and I usually always say a prayer or something. I have a soft spot for animals and death is something I have serious issues with – serious as in, irrational. But, that’s a post for another time.

The thing is, you don’t have crutches, you don’t have hives or a rash, there is nothing that physically sets you apart from other people. I think that is why there isn’t much sympathy for this. People seem to fall into two categories, “pull yourself up by your bootstraps and get out of your funk” or the incessant questions every time they talk to you, “are you ok? How are the meds working? Is this a good day?” I have to be honest, I’m not sure which is worse, on one hand people think you are weak and just need to toughen up on the other hand, they act as if you probably can’t tie your shoes without having a break down.

When I told an old friend that I hadn’t seen in years about it… she acted as if I had just told her that I tried this new spot remover. Just… “oh, that’s nice.” Until about 8 months later when she had an anxiety attack and ended up in the hospital because she thought she was having a heart attack. She told me all about it and seemed honestly stunned when before she could explain what “really” happened I said, “So, you had a stress induced anxiety attack?”

Not long ago there was time when Britt (and Britt is NOT the friend mentioned above) and I were going through similar issues with this and for a while it really felt as if the underlying tone in our conversations were, “throw me a rope!!!” “I can’t… YOU throw ME a rope!!!” and all the while both of us knowing that neither had any rope to spare. It’s a helpless feeling and looking back I sort of picture us huddled together in a trench somewhere while bullets are flying overhead and both of us were completely out of ammunition. (and, in case I haven’t mentioned it, thanks babe, you are the best and many days I know I wouldn’t have made it through without you.)

My husband, God bless his pea-pickin’ little heart, is a doll. He’s my rock in more ways than I can count. He’s not perfect by any stretch, but my God, the man gets an A+ for effort! Although, to be fair, he lives with this and will occasionally say some really lame stuff. My personal favorite is when I feel like I have some sort of electrical storm going on inside of me that I am in a struggle to contain and he asks, “What is your problem? You just seem like you are in such a bad mood.”

Mike has always tried really hard to understand, to help, compensate, whatever he needed to do. Sometimes he does it without understanding at all why, he just knows it is what I need. He’s human, he gets fed up, and God knows I can’t blame him for that. But, every morning I get up and he’s there and every night when I go to sleep – he’s there. And, sometimes, in the middle of the night when I wake up fretting or worrying, all I have to do is reach out and in his sleep he’ll put his arms around me. Sometimes it’s just subconscious and instinctive – and there is something tremendously comforting about knowing that the most important person in your life’s instincts are to be there for you.

I think what brought it all home for him is when a close childhood friend committed suicide. Mike later found out that the poor guy had been dealing with serious depression and anxiety. He had been jerked around by doctors, switched on and off of medication, had panic attacks, and decided he just couldn’t cope anymore.

I’ve been there. It’s a dark, scary place when you start to seriously weigh if you are more of a burden than you are an asset, to any situation. Or worse yet, if the good around you is really enough to compensate for the pain you feel for no rational reason at all.

The kids really don’t get this either. Mom’s bitchy, mom’s irritated by something, or why is mom so damn mopey?

I find that I really don’t want people to ask me how my meds are doing or if I’m having a good day. But, probably unfairly, I expect those same people to understand that sometimes, I don’t want to talk on the phone, I don’t WANT to go out to lunch or for coffee, I don’t WANT to go shopping, and MOST importantly, it’s NOT personal. It’s not that I don’t want to go with YOU or YOU or you. It’s ME. I don’t want to go, I’m not comfortable. It might be a day when I just want to go sit on my deck with a drink and some catalogs and mentally vacate the premises for a while or worse yet, it could be a day when I decide to go to bed at 6pm because I just can’t take anymore.

The funny thing is that if you were to meet me “out there” somewhere, I don’t think you would know. I can appear to be outgoing, very funny, and personable – or so I’ve been told. I can be fun, I can even be spontaneous, but it exhausts me if it takes a lot of effort. As it usually does around people I don’t know very well. The day after one of Mike’s company Christmas parties usually found me feeling incredibly hungover, exhausted, and utterly drained – the sad part is that I usually didn’t drink at the parties. The year I was pregnant with Maggie I started having contractions all through dinner, actually started dilating and was put on bed rest.

I’ve never been the kind of person to be “the life of the party.” I don’t dance on tables. I’m not a “bar scene” kind of gal and I never really have been. But, give me a dark, cozy table with a couple of good friends or even just my husband – and I’ll have an awesome time.

Then there is the anxiety and the constant having to second-guess myself. “Is this a legitimate concern or is this just anxiety?” CONSTANTLY. And, as most moms know, we always have SOMETHING to worry about – but I don’t trust my own judgement anymore… it all feels like a very good reason to worry.

Wow, all of this is making me sound incredibly unbalanced. The thing is, it’s not every day, it’s not constant, it’s like ocean waves. Sometimes they are quite high and forceful, other times they small and soft on the shore line. It depends on the amount of life stress, hormones, and extenuating circumstances.

This is the part where I start to worry that I am letting something too big out. “What if someone reads this and REALLY thinks I’m a freak?” “What if this is all actually worse than I think it is?” “What if people don’t think I am capable of taking care of my children?” “Or what if someone who knows me but doesn’t completely understand THIS, completely misunderstands this post, what if it does LESS to inspire understanding and just does the opposite?”

There is a really good chance that I will never even post this.

Categories: My Humiliation For Your Pleasure, Personally
Tags: , anxiety, depression, panic attacks