I've got a little secret to share with ya'll. I'm a little dramatic. Actually, I'm a whole lotta dramatic if I'm being honest. I've always been the lone kid completely losing it when the school bus is late. You know that little girl you heard screaming bloody murder in the dentist's office? Yeah, that was me. And that woman that you stepped over when she passed out in line to give blood? Me, again.
My mom says I was born in pretty much a constant state of panic. As a child, everything freaked me out. I would hyperventilate ever time she trimmed my bangs. I can still remember sitting on a chair in the middle of kitchen, my heart beating a mile a minute, my stomach churning. "Careful, Mom!" I would scream. "Don't poke my eye out with those scissors!! Oh my god, my ear! Don't cut my ear off!" And somehow, my mother would manage not to seriously maim me or even give me a little nip out of frustration. Although, I am sure she was tempted.
I used to panic every afternoon in elementary school that I would somehow miss the bus. Around 2:30, I'd start to watch the clock. By 2:45 I was nervously tapping my foot. Five minutes later I would be trying to pack my desk supplies up. Ten minutes later, I would be sitting on the edge of my seat, counting the seconds. And by the time 3:10 rolled around and the bell rang, I would literally explode out of my seat. Waiting for my schoolmates to get in line would throw me into a frenzy. Why aren't they hurrying? THEY ARE GONNA MISS THE BUS! I had no idea what happened if you did miss the bus, but I didn't want to find out! The funny thing was, we lived literally a mile down the road. My mom could be there in minutes. I don't know why I worried about it so much. My mom swears it was because my dad went to work at 4pm and I was scared I wouldn't see him before he left. All I know is, missing the bus was my biggest fear. Screw aliens and monsters, I was not gonna spend five minutes alone with all those teachers.
Unfortunately, I never outgrew my sense of drama. There are some moments of my life that are funny to me now, but horrifyingly embarrassing when they happened. Let's see.. how about the time I passed out after viewing a plastic brain on a hospital field trip? Oh and there is always the moment when I puked in a paper bag, because I was so nervous, while on a date with Craig. Or the time the elevator got stuck in the building I worked in. The thing stopped between floors for literally 30 seconds. About five seconds into the ordeal, I was beating on the doors, screaming "We're gonna run out of air!!!". Did I mention my boss and his boss were in the elevator as well?
Surprisingly,during the big moments in my life I managed to remain cool. While working as a bank teller, we were robbed and I stayed relatively calm. I did not pass out, which seems to be my go-to move. I was scared, but the panic did not kick in until days after. During the birth of my daughter, I was cool and collected. I pushed for hours and it hurt like hell, but I was like a different person. I was okay with it. I did not really even feel nervous until they strapped me to the table for the c-section.
I was like a different person in those moments. I can't understand it. But if I am in line at the supermarket and they announce that they are closing in five minutes, I'm a wreck. If I am 2 days late paying the electric bill, I'm sure that every utilities truck that goes down the street is here to shut me off. If I have a slight fever, I am pretty much positive that its meningitis.
So, why am I like this? I was born that way, is the simple answer. It sucks. People tell me to just "stop worrying." Oh honey, if it were that easy don't you think I would have ended this issue a long time ago? Don't you think I would have loved to live a "normal" life, instead of constantly worrying about those I love? Do you think I enjoy the heart wrenching moments of sheer dread? If I could change anything in my life, anything at all, it would be to calm my worrisome mind.
I was finally diagnosed with a severe anxiety/panic disorder when I was 20. I hate saying that. It's embarrassing. There is such a stigma that comes along with it. So, I joke about it. I make light of it. I try to be open about it, but I feel judged sometimes. And I don't like that feeling. Those that have never experienced a true panic attack, don't get it. And I hope they never do. But I also hope that can learn to look at people like me with a little compassion.
When the doctors finally figured out what my whole deal was, and told me it was an anxiety disorder, I was a little shocked. I'm not nuts, I thought. I'm just a little nervous. But then I started to research it a little.. and oh my gosh. It was as if a weight was lifted off my shoulders. I was not the only one like this. The list of symptoms were so familiar. The patients personal stories were like reading my own diary. I had found a name for my problem. I had found other people out there like me. I wasn't as strange as I thought I was.
I started medication and I hated it. I still hate it. I've been on and off of it for ten+ years now. Sometimes it works well, other times it seems to wear off. So, I stop taking it. Then my symptoms get worse and it's just a whole downward spiral. I go back on it. I feel better. And the cycle continues.
One particularly bad cycle was after I had my daughter. I had gone off the medication while pregnant and after her birth, I went into a terrible state of post-partum depression. I have never, ever, felt like this in my life. I was beyond depressed. Life was dark. Here I was, the mother of this beautiful baby girl, and I didn't even want to go outside, take a shower or even just get my ass off the couch. I started to have weird memory lapses. I would get in the car to go somewhere and suddenly, I had no idea where I was going. I pulled over the side of road and cried for ten minutes because I didn't know what I was doing or how to get home. This was a road I had driven on everyday of my life for ten years. I would get in line at the grocery store and have to leave my entire cart sitting there because I was too anxious to stand in line. But the worst moment, was when I was driving over the bridge to my parents house and I actually pulled over and started to open the door. Without even thinking, I was gonna jump. I saw a cop car coming up the lane behind me and I panicked and drove off. I went to the doctor the next day. I had never experienced depression before, I'd always been on the other side of the spectrum, anxious and keyed-up. This dark new territory was terrifying. With the help of my doctor, I came out of it. I was definitley post partum depression, just like many people you hear about on tv, and think "what's wrong with that woman? Why can't she snap out of it?". I was humiliated and scared. But now I am open about it. Because if it can happen to me, someone who is hyper and giddy and just a ball of nerves, it can happen to anyone. Thank God I got help.
I don't even know why I am telling you all this. Some of you know my history. Some of you don't. Some of you will judge me now forever, and some of you will tell me your own stories of depression and anxiety. Some of you will think nothing of it, until you see someone in your own life struggling with issues like these. I hope you think of me and treat them with kindness.
I guess the big news I have is that I will be starting therapy next month. I'm excited. I'm eager to learn why and how this disorder works. I want some coping strategies. I want to learn to deal with this stuff in case my daughter shows signs of it. I want to begin to accept that this is just me. This is who I am. I don't show many people this side, only my husband and my best friends. But I am trying to share my stories in hopes that it will help me come to terms with my issues. I've got tons of them and they are just taking up too much space in my life. My ultimate goal is to be off of medication and maybe even become a counselor. But in the meantime, I'm taking it one day at a time and trying to acknowledge that this is me. Take it or leave it.
