Define it
What does it feel like? Can you tell it's coming on? Are there warning signs?
Years ago when the anxiety was bad, I used to get asked these questions all the time. I didn't really have answers for them as I did not really understand the concept of being aware and having some idea of what to watch and feel for. Yes, there were clues, yet they were generally noticed when it was already too late.
These past few days have about done me in. Whatever the eternal cause, I am weary and I am tired. My muscles are fatigued and my mind is exhausted. Blessed be the medication these past two days. It has quieted the anxiety down to where I can rest, I can sleep. I don't wake up shaking and trembling. The down side is, that the dose it takes to achieve that is a dose that keeps me from driving and being out and about. Most defiantly a "take only at night before not doing anything else" dosage. I have tried cutting it in half in hopes I could at least drive and be functional. Yah, it barely takes the edge off and if I am already down, I might as well pop skittles. At least I know that at night, there can be some relief.....for at least 5 more nights before the prescription runs out.
One thing that is has also provided is enough gray area from the time it wears off until I can get to taking more that I can start to work on those questions I was asked so many years before. Yes, there are feelings and there are warnings when it's going to get real bad. Not that I may necessary be able to stop them, yet I can at least get myself to somewhere safe.
Ever worn a hat for a long time, or a backpack that has some weight in it, then you take them off and it still feels like you are wearing them? Seeing that I have a hat on more times than I don't have one on, I always get this effect. So, that is one way to describe it. It feels like something heavy is upon you yet you feel it full body. Like as if a blanket were wrapped tightly around you. As well, there is an effect, almost like cold chills, yet it is internal. You "shiver" on the inside while showing nothing on the outside. It is at this point I know "crap, this is not good."
Large muscles, like my quads, start to tense while losing strength at the same time. Then it is like someone shocks you, every muscle just tenses and it is tough to pull out of it. This is not the time to be standing up, as I will be going down immediately. My head starts throbbing and everything gets blurry. My eyes fight between "jittering" and wanting to roll back. Fear is the compounding emotion, not so much not understanding what is going on, yet wondering if it is going to stop this time. The worst is when it happens when I am fully conscious. At least when I am asleep and it hits, I am pretty oblivious to it until I happen to wake myself up shaking or someone else wakes me. It's terrifying when I get woke by another because for a few moments I don't know where I am, what's going on, and all of that. My memory is cloudy, and the concept of space or time it thrown way off.
Then, I am tired. My muscles give a new definition to fatigue. I can sleep for hours afterwards. What sucks is when you wake up already feeling the cycle in motion. Although I am never sure, I tell myself, I can stay ahead of it this time, this time I will get it before it gets me. Sometimes that works, sometimes it doesn't.
The first time I really remember it being a bad episode was in Argentina. I had about 6 weeks in and had started having problems. I remember it just hitting one day, we were at a district meeting at the chapel. As we walked down the stairs, I went down. Elder Amarilla (from Paraguay. You think Samoans are big guys, you haven't seen anything yet) grabbed me with one had and just picked me up right before I hit the pavement. I ended up with a ride in the ambulance (oh my, a story in itself!) to the "clinic" (yes, the medical facilities were QUITE behind the times) and they had no answers and sent me off. It would happen again before I got transferred from that area. I remember going to a doctor who looked at me, told me nothing was wrong and it was all in my head. Although it got better as my time went on in Argentina, it would come back if I got too tired or stressed.
When I came home from the back injury, we asked the docs here what it was, or was I really nuts. I explained what happened and he chuckled, looked at me and said, "you had altitude sickness, you couldn't get enough oxygen." It slowly got better because I eventually acclimated to being in the mountains. Andes mountains....central Illinois....yah a little height difference there.
Post mission, as long as I watched how tired I got or how stressed I got, things went well. Anxiety was always a part of my life, yet I knew the warning signs to slow down or rest up. I was able to keep it in check for the most part.
It started getting more prominent back in 99, when I was under a lot more stress that I really needed to be. That was the element we finally decided was the key. Of course, undiagnosed sleep apnea didn't help either, yet the extreme stress seemed to be a larger aspect. I found myself in the emergency room many times, therapist offices regularly, and doped up on plenty of medication - it was all in my head they all told me. There was nothing wrong with me except I was causing it. I was even told I was doing it as attention seeking behavior. At that point, I didn't know what to believe and there sure wasn't any positive support coming from anywhere.
The whole thing became one big huge negative aspect of my life that I did my best to hide from everyone. It cost me jobs and landed me in the hospital. While my mom visited me and shared how disappointed she was and how fun it was going to be to go home and tell everyone about her crazy daughter on the psych ward, my soon to be ex was at our place calling everyone in my phone book to tell them where I was. Her excuse, "I thought you would want them to know." Try putting out that fire. Oh, can't forget that while I was in the hospital, she felt the need to share it with the landlord who evicted me upon my discharge from the hospital. They were not sure I was stable enough to be a tenant. Yet, I had to pull it together somehow as I was to start a new job in a week.
It continued to come and go, yet I just shut out everything in my life except for work. I had to work and I couldn't let anything take another job away. I moved out to the farm and there, alone, I could break down, flip out, punch things, whatever. It became almost a double life. Me, Ali, and the horses. Seemed like a good deal. Then, like an idiot, six months later I took the ex back. My stress level skyrocketed and since I promised her I would never kick her out again, I just had to deal with the anxiety attacks. They would get bad enough that I passed out one day in the back pasture.
We moved from the farm to a duplex in town. Nothing got much better. I was still able to work and carried the responsibility for us both (ha! she'd spend her paycheck before she ever got home). It was ok, I felt it was my duty to provide. She lived life and I provided a life for her to live. Someone was making out quite well.
I was seeing Pat Shwartbaugh at Coles County Mental Health at that time. She picked me up when I came out of the hospital and watched me slowly decline after Nicole moved back in. I remember sitting in her office in session. She looked at me, pulling no punches, and told me I had to make a choice - her or me. I could keep giving everything I had and killing myself or I could stand up and choose myself and send her packing. She told me that if I kept going as I was, she gave me two weeks tops before I was back in the hospital. I went home that night and said it was over. Of course, I put it all on my shoulders - I was sick again, I couldn't handle responsibility of work, health, and relationship, I was horrible, I was sorry, etc. etc. etc. That was April 6th, 2002, a Tuesday. For the next three weeks she sat in the chair in the living room crying, "this is all my fault, I am a horrible person." I would say "did I tell you this? I don't think so." In the end, I would pack all her stuff, find her an apartment, pay the first/last month rent and deposit and arrange to have her moved. All while trying to work and hold myself together the best I could. It was a test of my endurance, that was for sure. A lot of bricks got punched in those weeks. On April 20th, she was gone and I changed the locks on the doors. Ali and I were officially single, never to do the relationship thing again. They say girls marry people like their dads, seems I married my mother.
The anxiety issues never really went away like before. They had just become a part of my life. I tried to just stay busy and when they rolled around I slept a lot. I just stayed to myself and kind of lived like a hermit. I had a few friends through the PRIDE/LGBAU group on campus and coached summer softball, yet that was about it. Even when I went back to church, I sat in the very back and kept a low profile. I was just surviving as that was something I knew I could do. Much beyond that was foreign territory and too many opportunities to hurt or disappoint others. It worked. I had a system. Even with craziness around me, it was my world and I had some control over it. People who came into it and caused problems, always had to leave eventually.
Then I left it all and moved back home. I don't regret it, yet I walked into a nightmare in regards to emotional health and well being. I knew what I was doing and I knew the potential cost. I guess I didn't realize just how huge that cost would turn out to be. It came and went wonderfully. The blessing I had was that I had mastered hiding it. In the darkness or when I was alone, the anxiety would beat me senseless. A handful of pills kept it a bay in the daytime and in public. It was always there, I felt it every minute I was awake, I just had pulled off a method where it didn't show to others. At night, I could shut it completely down. Every time knowing this was not the answer, yet there were no other options that I could see.
So, you see, it has made its appearance a lot over the years. I always had a way to combat it - I never had to face it head on. I never had to go thorough it "clean and sober". I never had to ride it out without something to numb it down. I never had coping skills. I never had people who were not judging me who knew how to help me. I never had someone to tell me it wasn't in my head and I was just doing it to get attention. This is all new.
So, it's back. It's back in full swing. There is not choice to hide it, everyone sees through me. It exhausts me quicker, it takes a larger toll on my body and mind. It hits harder and hurts longer. It jumps from mild to extreme without much notice. It is embarrassing. It is not something I want people to see or experience. It is not something I am proud of. I actually carry around a large amount of shame from it, especially when I don't realize it has happened. I should have been thrown out of the office yesterday. Even thought I was out, I know it had to have been bad, I was hurting too bad when I came to. My body had quit on me. Forget the fact I had no clue for a few minutes where i even was or how I got there. I had to put people in roles I will continue to find ways to apologize for as I work to never let it happen again....not at that level.
If this is in my head, then I need to be the one to deal with it.....alone. I'm not one to take out innocent by-standers. It is not fair to them, not at all. All I know is that it is bad. My old tricks are not working so well. I'm kind of out of ideas for new ones. In the meantime, I will just try to keep moving forward. That I all I can do. One foot in front of the other.
Years ago when the anxiety was bad, I used to get asked these questions all the time. I didn't really have answers for them as I did not really understand the concept of being aware and having some idea of what to watch and feel for. Yes, there were clues, yet they were generally noticed when it was already too late.
These past few days have about done me in. Whatever the eternal cause, I am weary and I am tired. My muscles are fatigued and my mind is exhausted. Blessed be the medication these past two days. It has quieted the anxiety down to where I can rest, I can sleep. I don't wake up shaking and trembling. The down side is, that the dose it takes to achieve that is a dose that keeps me from driving and being out and about. Most defiantly a "take only at night before not doing anything else" dosage. I have tried cutting it in half in hopes I could at least drive and be functional. Yah, it barely takes the edge off and if I am already down, I might as well pop skittles. At least I know that at night, there can be some relief.....for at least 5 more nights before the prescription runs out.
One thing that is has also provided is enough gray area from the time it wears off until I can get to taking more that I can start to work on those questions I was asked so many years before. Yes, there are feelings and there are warnings when it's going to get real bad. Not that I may necessary be able to stop them, yet I can at least get myself to somewhere safe.
Ever worn a hat for a long time, or a backpack that has some weight in it, then you take them off and it still feels like you are wearing them? Seeing that I have a hat on more times than I don't have one on, I always get this effect. So, that is one way to describe it. It feels like something heavy is upon you yet you feel it full body. Like as if a blanket were wrapped tightly around you. As well, there is an effect, almost like cold chills, yet it is internal. You "shiver" on the inside while showing nothing on the outside. It is at this point I know "crap, this is not good."
Large muscles, like my quads, start to tense while losing strength at the same time. Then it is like someone shocks you, every muscle just tenses and it is tough to pull out of it. This is not the time to be standing up, as I will be going down immediately. My head starts throbbing and everything gets blurry. My eyes fight between "jittering" and wanting to roll back. Fear is the compounding emotion, not so much not understanding what is going on, yet wondering if it is going to stop this time. The worst is when it happens when I am fully conscious. At least when I am asleep and it hits, I am pretty oblivious to it until I happen to wake myself up shaking or someone else wakes me. It's terrifying when I get woke by another because for a few moments I don't know where I am, what's going on, and all of that. My memory is cloudy, and the concept of space or time it thrown way off.
Then, I am tired. My muscles give a new definition to fatigue. I can sleep for hours afterwards. What sucks is when you wake up already feeling the cycle in motion. Although I am never sure, I tell myself, I can stay ahead of it this time, this time I will get it before it gets me. Sometimes that works, sometimes it doesn't.
The first time I really remember it being a bad episode was in Argentina. I had about 6 weeks in and had started having problems. I remember it just hitting one day, we were at a district meeting at the chapel. As we walked down the stairs, I went down. Elder Amarilla (from Paraguay. You think Samoans are big guys, you haven't seen anything yet) grabbed me with one had and just picked me up right before I hit the pavement. I ended up with a ride in the ambulance (oh my, a story in itself!) to the "clinic" (yes, the medical facilities were QUITE behind the times) and they had no answers and sent me off. It would happen again before I got transferred from that area. I remember going to a doctor who looked at me, told me nothing was wrong and it was all in my head. Although it got better as my time went on in Argentina, it would come back if I got too tired or stressed.
When I came home from the back injury, we asked the docs here what it was, or was I really nuts. I explained what happened and he chuckled, looked at me and said, "you had altitude sickness, you couldn't get enough oxygen." It slowly got better because I eventually acclimated to being in the mountains. Andes mountains....central Illinois....yah a little height difference there.
Post mission, as long as I watched how tired I got or how stressed I got, things went well. Anxiety was always a part of my life, yet I knew the warning signs to slow down or rest up. I was able to keep it in check for the most part.
It started getting more prominent back in 99, when I was under a lot more stress that I really needed to be. That was the element we finally decided was the key. Of course, undiagnosed sleep apnea didn't help either, yet the extreme stress seemed to be a larger aspect. I found myself in the emergency room many times, therapist offices regularly, and doped up on plenty of medication - it was all in my head they all told me. There was nothing wrong with me except I was causing it. I was even told I was doing it as attention seeking behavior. At that point, I didn't know what to believe and there sure wasn't any positive support coming from anywhere.
The whole thing became one big huge negative aspect of my life that I did my best to hide from everyone. It cost me jobs and landed me in the hospital. While my mom visited me and shared how disappointed she was and how fun it was going to be to go home and tell everyone about her crazy daughter on the psych ward, my soon to be ex was at our place calling everyone in my phone book to tell them where I was. Her excuse, "I thought you would want them to know." Try putting out that fire. Oh, can't forget that while I was in the hospital, she felt the need to share it with the landlord who evicted me upon my discharge from the hospital. They were not sure I was stable enough to be a tenant. Yet, I had to pull it together somehow as I was to start a new job in a week.
It continued to come and go, yet I just shut out everything in my life except for work. I had to work and I couldn't let anything take another job away. I moved out to the farm and there, alone, I could break down, flip out, punch things, whatever. It became almost a double life. Me, Ali, and the horses. Seemed like a good deal. Then, like an idiot, six months later I took the ex back. My stress level skyrocketed and since I promised her I would never kick her out again, I just had to deal with the anxiety attacks. They would get bad enough that I passed out one day in the back pasture.
We moved from the farm to a duplex in town. Nothing got much better. I was still able to work and carried the responsibility for us both (ha! she'd spend her paycheck before she ever got home). It was ok, I felt it was my duty to provide. She lived life and I provided a life for her to live. Someone was making out quite well.
I was seeing Pat Shwartbaugh at Coles County Mental Health at that time. She picked me up when I came out of the hospital and watched me slowly decline after Nicole moved back in. I remember sitting in her office in session. She looked at me, pulling no punches, and told me I had to make a choice - her or me. I could keep giving everything I had and killing myself or I could stand up and choose myself and send her packing. She told me that if I kept going as I was, she gave me two weeks tops before I was back in the hospital. I went home that night and said it was over. Of course, I put it all on my shoulders - I was sick again, I couldn't handle responsibility of work, health, and relationship, I was horrible, I was sorry, etc. etc. etc. That was April 6th, 2002, a Tuesday. For the next three weeks she sat in the chair in the living room crying, "this is all my fault, I am a horrible person." I would say "did I tell you this? I don't think so." In the end, I would pack all her stuff, find her an apartment, pay the first/last month rent and deposit and arrange to have her moved. All while trying to work and hold myself together the best I could. It was a test of my endurance, that was for sure. A lot of bricks got punched in those weeks. On April 20th, she was gone and I changed the locks on the doors. Ali and I were officially single, never to do the relationship thing again. They say girls marry people like their dads, seems I married my mother.
The anxiety issues never really went away like before. They had just become a part of my life. I tried to just stay busy and when they rolled around I slept a lot. I just stayed to myself and kind of lived like a hermit. I had a few friends through the PRIDE/LGBAU group on campus and coached summer softball, yet that was about it. Even when I went back to church, I sat in the very back and kept a low profile. I was just surviving as that was something I knew I could do. Much beyond that was foreign territory and too many opportunities to hurt or disappoint others. It worked. I had a system. Even with craziness around me, it was my world and I had some control over it. People who came into it and caused problems, always had to leave eventually.
Then I left it all and moved back home. I don't regret it, yet I walked into a nightmare in regards to emotional health and well being. I knew what I was doing and I knew the potential cost. I guess I didn't realize just how huge that cost would turn out to be. It came and went wonderfully. The blessing I had was that I had mastered hiding it. In the darkness or when I was alone, the anxiety would beat me senseless. A handful of pills kept it a bay in the daytime and in public. It was always there, I felt it every minute I was awake, I just had pulled off a method where it didn't show to others. At night, I could shut it completely down. Every time knowing this was not the answer, yet there were no other options that I could see.
So, you see, it has made its appearance a lot over the years. I always had a way to combat it - I never had to face it head on. I never had to go thorough it "clean and sober". I never had to ride it out without something to numb it down. I never had coping skills. I never had people who were not judging me who knew how to help me. I never had someone to tell me it wasn't in my head and I was just doing it to get attention. This is all new.
So, it's back. It's back in full swing. There is not choice to hide it, everyone sees through me. It exhausts me quicker, it takes a larger toll on my body and mind. It hits harder and hurts longer. It jumps from mild to extreme without much notice. It is embarrassing. It is not something I want people to see or experience. It is not something I am proud of. I actually carry around a large amount of shame from it, especially when I don't realize it has happened. I should have been thrown out of the office yesterday. Even thought I was out, I know it had to have been bad, I was hurting too bad when I came to. My body had quit on me. Forget the fact I had no clue for a few minutes where i even was or how I got there. I had to put people in roles I will continue to find ways to apologize for as I work to never let it happen again....not at that level.
If this is in my head, then I need to be the one to deal with it.....alone. I'm not one to take out innocent by-standers. It is not fair to them, not at all. All I know is that it is bad. My old tricks are not working so well. I'm kind of out of ideas for new ones. In the meantime, I will just try to keep moving forward. That I all I can do. One foot in front of the other.