Just after this last writer’s group, I was pulling out of the parking lot when my heart just started racing and palpitating out of nowhere. Soon after, my legs started to tremble uncontrollably, and tears welled up in my eyes. I seriously thought about pulling over the next chance I had, but I knew that anxiety attack wasn’t going to go away anytime soon, and my mom was busy eating out with friends. If I pulled over, it would be at least an hour before she came to my rescue, and I didn’t want to sit in my car in the dark, miles away from home, alone, and in full-on panic mode. So, I started speeding and weaving in and out of traffic, hellbent on getting home before my anxiety got any worse (stupid, I know, but I wasn’t thinking clearly anymore).
Thankfully, I made it home, freezing cold, soaked in sweat and my own tears, and I didn’t stop shaking or crying for hours. This was all a physical anxiety attack. My mind was completely at peace. I wasn’t worried about much of anything. But my body had other ideas, and there wasn’t shit I could do about it, except for ride it out without fighting it. Fighting only makes my anxiety attacks worse and longer. So, I just had to feel it until I was finally relaxed several hours later.
I wish I could pinpoint exactly why this stuff is happening to me. I have my theories, which are probably correct, but I’m not completely sure. I wish I could know, with absolute certainty, exactly what’s been triggering my mental health struggles, so I could take the right steps towards healing the pain confidently, knowing for sure I’m taking the right steps towards a quick recovery. Instead, I’m just ruling things out, one after the other, making progress ever so slowly, as I continue to endure crippling anxiety attacks often multiple times a day without warning or reason, and struggling to put a coherent sentence together in my foggy brain. I’m only able to write now because it’s one of those rare times where I finally feel a little more with it. But, it won’t be long before the brain fog settles in again.
It’s been over a month since I admitted to myself and others that I needed help. When I did, my therapist/psychologist suggested I was suffering from depression just as much as I was suffering from anxiety. I was honestly shocked by that diagnosis, because I assumed depression always brought with it thoughts of worthlessness, hopelessness, and suicide, none of which I was (or am) struggling with. However, it turns out, depression is much more than just those three things I listed. Anxiety, irritability, anger, resentment, crying for seemingly no reason at random times, loss of interest in hobbies, brain fog, and grief, all led my therapist to diagnose me with depression.
Of course, almost as soon as I told my extroverted parents about my problems, it wasn’t long before other people I didn’t want to know about my problems started sending me unsolicited texts and social media messages, basically telling me I didn’t need medication, and/or my mental health issues were somehow my choice. I just needed to go outside, smile more, be more social, think seven positive thoughts every time I catch myself having a negative thought, ask God for peace, and more bullshit along those lines.
Nobody makes a person feel more alone and ostracized than those who simply think mental illness is a choice, that can be solved by going outside more or being more social. Also, nothing is more damaging than telling a person their mental health problems are punishment for not being close enough to God. I’m sure sunshine, social interaction, and a strong faith in God work to diminish mental health problems for some people. But, it’s clearly not working for me, because I have been going outside, hanging out with friends and relatives, seeking therapy and help, making sure chores and errands are done, praying to God and studying the bible, and so much more. Yet, I’m still struggling, and the problem isn’t getting any better.
Sure, some days are better than others, and there are times when I feel a little tinge of genuine joy and peace. But, again, those times are fleeting, and I spend more time pacing around my house with my hands on my head and tears streaming down my face, than I do laughing sincerely at a comedic movie, or actually relaxing without a worry in the world.
Also, anxiety never fails to wreck my outings. It hits me while I’m going for a run/walk around the lake at Clement park. It hits me while I’m in the middle of ordering my food. It hits me while I’m at home washing dishes. And, there was the anxiety attack I had while headed home from writer’s group. That was fucking gnarly, and my mom has since told me that I shouldn’t risk my life or car simply because I don’t want to interrupt her dinner with friends. Before y’all ask me why I wouldn’t leave my car in a parking lot and order an Uber, and then return in an Uber the next day to retrieve my car, I think the answer is obvious (I don’t want to talk to the Uber driver, like at all, especially when I’m as terrified as I was).
Social interaction has never been my forte. But, now I’m really struggling with it. I can’t even reach out to friends whom have reached out to me, and who I know are trustworthy and understand exactly what I’m going through. As badly as I want to, as soon as I find their name in my contact list, I just start to shake and lose all desire to send them any sort of text. Of course, the desire to reach out to them hits me again almost as soon as I put my phone down, but it ditches me literally the second I touch my phone again. The same goes with family.
I kind of know why this is. I don’t like asking for help. I don’t want people to watch me suffer. I don’t like showing my weaknesses to people. I don’t want to bother other people who may not want to be bothered. It’s just in my nature to keep those I love sheltered from my problems as much as possible, because I don’t want them to suffer anymore than they already do. I know this isn’t exactly healthy or right, and I’m working on changing that toxic part of me. But, change like that doesn’t happen overnight.
Thankfully, while I struggle to reach out to people, I’m very reachable. I’m well-known for responding back to texts and messages over social media instantly, unless I’m doing something that requires my undivided attention, or am sleeping harder than a rock, or have very good reasons to not respond to that message. Even though I don’t usually make the first move, I’m always reachable. I just wish more people knew that about me, especially now. I may not ask for help, but a simple “how are you doing?” text without any sort of “have you tried this?” bullshit will go a long way.
