Oh, the holidays

I've been doing pretty well lately. The anxiety has been manageable - until yesterday. I haven't been sleeping well, and that makes my anxiety increase. Yesterday I took down the tree and my It's A Wonderful Life village. The village was on top of my entertainment center. And to put it away, it was all reaching, stretching and rearranging over my head on the top shelf in my closet. I strained the muscles in my upper back. Now, for a normal person, they'd take a couple Tylenol and chalk the pain up as just that - muscular. Not me. I'm afraid to take Tylenol, and even though I know the pain is probably a result of over-doing, I can't help but think it is something more ominous, like blood clot or heart attack. Last night I barely slept at all. The pain was gnawing at me, and there was a wind storm that scared the little dog and she kept me up the rest of the time. Today my anxiety is sky high. I'm tired, I'm in pain, and I'm anxious. For the last 2 years, on December 28 I've ended up in the Emergency room for panic-related problems. I'm trying really hard to resist the urge to carry on the tradition. I want to be taken care of, to be reassured that I'm all right. They do a wonderful job of that in the ER. God, I hate feeling like this. I have to be strong and its so hard to do with little or no sleep.

Hell is but a sleepless night away.

Its been a while

I've been doing better than I was when I started this blog, but today is turning out to be a challenge. For one thing, its cold!!! Its only 21 degrees outside and the temp inside feels frigid. I haven't had real panic in months but this morning I'm feeling quite anxious. I'm not good with changes and there are a number of them going on. We sold our sofa which we've had for about 6 years, and our entertainment center, which we've had for 20. Don't get me wrong, I wanted to get rid of them, at least I think I did, but its still a big change. What if someone needs to spend the night here and we don't have a sofa for them to sleep on? What if I don't like the new entertainment center? Stupid concerns, but they're there none the less. This morning I cleared all the components and tv off the stand so the people can pick it up tonight. That made me anxious, I suppose because I haven't done anything physical in a while, but also just because things aren't where they're supposed to be. God I hate anxiety disorders!

I also made another cut on my Ativan - from three quarters of a pill down to two quarters. The last cut I made was the hardest, going from .5mg split into 4 daily doses, to .375mg, split into 3 daily doses. Now I'm at .25mg split into 2 daily doses. The theory is that one should never lower the dose more than 10 percent, but when you're at such a small dose its hard to take it slower than this. The pills themselves are no more than 3/16ths of an inch in diameter, so cutting them into quarters is like micro-surgery. I'm already feeling the palpitations that go with a cut, and of course the increase in anxiety. Being shivering cold increases both symptoms.

Then there are the holidays. I like Christmas, sort of. I mean, the music is good, I like giving people presents, it seems very nostalgic. But it also means change. There will be a disruptive tree in my living room for weeks, I will have to make sure I have enough presents for all the right people, it will get colder, and worst of all, the new year is looming just around the corner. It should be just another date, but it comes with so many expectations. There is looking back at the year passing, with all of its failures, frustrations and fuck-ups, and there is the intrepidation of another year, with its endless possibilities for suffering and loss and unknown problems. I don't see it as a clean slate, like I used to. I see it as another file folder in which to store another year's worth of misery. That's what anxiety disorders do. There may be good times, but you know they'll always be tempered with the idea that they will end with yet another panic attack or thoughts of terminal illness or days spent shaking and rocking and praying for relief. If only I could sustain the joy I feel when I'm not thinking anxious thoughts. I do get moments like that. Sometimes I forget about it completely and think like a normal human being. But it always returns. It is hell with intermissions.

It's Getting Better

I hesitate to admit it, but I'm feeling a whole lot better these days. I wake up in the morning and don't dread getting out of bed (now its the chill in the air that keeps me under the covers until I must get up). I eat breakfast, walk the dogs, do some chores, have the desire to keep my house clean again, and all without anxiety. I still have my moments, but they are much less severe and come less often, sometimes days. It's heavenly. I'm slowly tapering off the Ativan, cutting back a quarter of a pill every 5 days and am currently down to .75 mg.

So how did I get back to being a normal person? I don't know! That's how it works. I kept doing the things a "normal" person would do, going to work, shopping, paying bills, all with the anxiety, and then one day the fear and dread wasn't there. It's a fabulous feeling not being afraid of your own body and mind. The hell of it is that I'm never sure when it will come back. For now, I'll just enjoy every moment in remission. Today I have plans to clean my house from top to bottom (well, side to side). If both my girls are off today, perhaps we'll even indulge in lunch out, something we haven't done in months.

I feel like I'm standing on the outside of hell today, not wanting to glance back to see where I've been lest I am sucked back into the dark side. Happy days are here again!!!

And It gets worse

I now have constant anxiety, have to force myself to eat, which today included a glass of Ovaltine, 2 cheese sticks, 8 crackers, and water. I can't even describe what my stomach is doing. Its tight, its aggitated, it thinks we're about to bungie jump off a cliff. I tried a relaxation exercise, laid down for an hour, and shivered and twitched throughout the whole thing. It has to be the Ativan doing it. I want to drive to the emergency room right now and beg for something to calm me down. My blood pressure this afternoon was 160/100! My usual is 130/80. Tomorrow I see my doctor again. I'm going to ask for Valium. There is a method prescribed to be many that switches Ativan (or any benzo user) over to Valium slowly because it is easier (less withdrawl symptoms) to taper off of. And who knows, maybe I'll find I like the Valium and just stay on it. If it keeps me from feeling like this, I might just do it. I am so very very miserable right now. It's like I've been on a caffeine high for 2 days straight. At 6 a.m. I woke up with a near panic attack - heart rate 134, cold sweats. I'm not strong enough to do this. It's too hard. Haven't I been through enough already? There can not possibly be a God in heaven to let this continue on like this. I begged for help today and got nothing. I can't do this. I don't know how to continue in this state of terror. Yet there is no way out. I must simply experience the horror of it, knowing that there is nothing more I can do besides put myself out of my misery, but I can't do that without putting the rest of my family through worse misery for the rest of their lives. So I am trapped. I don't know where to go from here. The thought of suffering through another night is overwhelming. I'm considering driving over to the emergency room and sleeping in my car so I'm close by...just in case. Hell. Sheer, utter, hell. My blessing on anyone who has to deal with this.

Still Struggling

Why's it gotta be so hard? That's all I want to know. I've tapered down to 1.625mg (down from 2mg) of Ativan a day and I'm anxious as hell most of the time. Is it withdrawl, or is it just the anxiety? I don't know, but it sucks. Usually work will calm me down, but the anxiety lasted throughout the whole day. And night time is usually a better time for me, but tonight I'm, you guessed it, ANXIOUS. I have shortened my taper schedule to have me done by the first week of November. I just hope this works and I'm not too terribly anxious by the end. I must learn some new coping skills to handle this anxiety without drugs. Hell. Real, live, hell. Right now. And for who knows how much longer. I hate this!!!!

My thoughts of hope may have been premature

So...I had some good days, then my days started getting worse and worse. The depression, the lack of motivation, the exhaustion, weakness. It appears that the Ativan is not working and is, in fact, making me worse. So now, after 4 weeks on this drug, my body is dependent and I am having to go through withdrawl. Ativan is a nasty drug. It is one of the strongest benzodiazapines - for example, half a mg of Ativan is the same as 10 mg of valium! It has to be tapered off of very very slowly. The recommended method is to add valium to the mix. For me, my schedule of tapering should be (now that I've tapered myself to 2mg per day down from 3mg in a very short time):
Weeks 1 & 2: Morning - .5mg Ativan, midday - .5mg Ativan, betime - .5mg Ativan + 5 mg Valium
Weeks 3 & 4: Morning - 5mg Valium, stop Ativan, midday - .5mg Ativan, bedtime - .5mg Ativan + 5mg Valium
Weeks 5 & 6: Morning - 10mg Valium, midday - stop Ativan, bedtime - .5mg Ativan + 5mg Valium
Weeks 7 & 8: Morning - 10mg Valium, bedtime - 10mg Valium, stop Ativan
So that would get me off Ativan but onto Valium! All I want to do is be drug free and I don't want to go through 8 more weeks to get there! But I also don't want to suffer the agony of withdrawing too quickly or not the right way. I cry all the time, I have delusions of non-existance, all I can think about is the damned pill and how to get off of it. How ironic, the drug phobic is now dependent on a drug and forced to detox from it! I'm so very depressed. I may not have the patience to do it the long way. I have gotten to the point where I barely eat anything because I have no apetite, I don't leave the house much because of the agoraphobia, I couldn't even shower this morning - I just washed off in the sink and shampooed my hair in the kitchen sink. I don't know what I'm going to do for work this week. If I can't leave the house, how will I go to work? God, I just feel like I've gone so far downhill that I may not be able to make it back up again. I was watching a show on PBS - a violinist playing in Vienne. I couldn't help crying from thinking about all that I've lost. I used to play the violin in the church choir, I used to teach it, play in an orchestra. Now I'm too afraid to do any of those things. I will never travel overseas. I may never travel out of state. I feel like my life is over. What is the point? I have so many periods during the day where I lose hope completely. My life is in the very deepest realm of hell. The way out seems so far off I don't know that I can make it.

The sound of tears

I'm a silent crier, sometimes there is a gasp to replenish my oxygen, but for the most part, silence. I learned it as a child. It wasn't acceptable to cry in my house, or at least that was the vibe I got. So my crying was done alone in my bedroom. This morning I'm again crying alone in my bedroom, silently of course. I'm crying because I don't want to have to struggle through another day of anxiety. It's just not fun. As I cry, the tears roll quietly down my cheek then drop to the pillow, the only sound being the little plunk as they hit the pillowcase. I had a decent day yesterday. I went to the grocery, spent an hour shopping without much anxiety, walked through another store for a few minutes, went to work, came home exhausted but went back out to another grocery for milk and bread, then later went with my daughter to look at tv's. I cried only once yesterday, as I got ready for work. And it was just a brief cry. Its a little after 10 this morning and I'm still in bed. I don't want to get up and face the day. But I know I have to. There are dogs to be let out to potty, there is my job at 2:00, and its not good for me to lay around and ruminate on my plight. So I will drag my anxious body out of bed and into the shower and hope like hell that I don't get more anxious while I'm showering. Then the usual routine - get dressed, put on makeup, choke down some breakfast, wait until work time, wait until work is done, and then come home and just sit and rock and watch tv. What a full life I have. Hell, that's what it is.

Things may be looking up

After some very VERY bad days, I ended up going to see my doctor again. My anxiety was so over the top that I wasn't functioning at all. I cried all the time, I wanted to die, my stomach was a mess, the only solution I saw was death. Because of my medicine phobia, I could be prescribed all the tranquilizers in the world and told they would do nothing but help me, and I would not be able to take the first one. So I told the doctor that the only way for me to get help was to go into the hospital and be given medicine there, in a safe environment where I knew I would be "saved" if anything went awry. My doctor admitted me that day! I was excited and frightened! So that my insurance would pay I was diagnosed with peptic ulcer disease, which my stomach symptoms mimicked. I checked in around 1 p.m., had a private room. My best friend, who also suffers from anxiety, accompanied me. My expectations were to spend 3 or 4 days and nights being given Ativan, IV at first, then in pill form so that I could get on a schedule and get used to taking pills. By 4 p.m. my IV was finally inserted (after many failed attempts) and I got my first dose of .5mg of Ativan. It made me very dizzy, but did little for the anxiety. 4 hours later I got dose number two, 1mg. That seemed to help, but I was so anxious that it didn't wipe it out completely. 4 hours later, another 1mg. I was very tired by then. I'd brought my computer so my daughter and I laid in my bed and we watched a MASH dvd I'd brought. I slept pretty well. The next day I was told I'd be leaving! I couldn't believe it! I was devastated! This was supposed to have been my salvation, my last chance of recovery - and I still hadn't taken any Ativan orally! That day I had 2 more 1mg IV doses, and at 4 or 5 p.m. was taken up to have an endoscope procedure to see what was up with my stomach. I was given more drugs which knocked me out completely so I don't remember anything about that. They wheeled me back to my room - it was about 10p.m. by then and I had to be out before midnight or get charged for another day. I was so dopey that I had to be completely assisted to my wheelchair, into the car, and then into my bed at home. I don't remember much about any of it other than I slept very well that night!

The next day I was in the depths of despair. I had a bottle of Ativan with instructions that read, "Take one tablet by mouth once in the morning and one tablet once in the evening, and every four hours as needed." I was still so dizzy from all the drugs from the day before that I waited until 3 p.m. to take my first pill. It did little for me. I took it very sporatically. I spent my days sobbing and wishing I were back in the hospital where I would be safe and cared for. Monday (6 days after my release) I had an appointment with a psychiatrist who came highly recommended. I was so messed up with anxiety, loopiness from the drugs, and depression, I had my dad pick me up and take me. I once again had high hopes for this guy to save me. We discussed my problems briefly, he asked me what drugs I'd researched on the internet that I wanted him to prescribe, and I told him I just wanted him, in his infinite wisdom, to tell me what to take and how often to take it. I told him about my drug phobia, how the Ativan didn't seem to be doing it, but that if I changed to something else I'd have to start it in the hospital. He said that wasn't very likely. So he wrote me a script for Klonopin, a longer lasting benzo, and told me I could either take it or not, or take the Ativan. No suggestions about how often I should take the Ativan, like he could give a crap less what I did. Just get out of my office before you start crying! I called my dad to pick me up and stood in the parking lot sobbing, now hopelessly lost. My mom showed up thinking I'd be all better and we could go shopping. I just wanted to go home. I cried the whole way back to their house. My mom and I talked in the car for a while before we went in. She said she didn't understand how I felt because she couldn't fathom the feelings of anxiety and panic, but that it didn't make it any less real. She took me inside and we sat down and made a plan, a schedule of when I would take the Ativan. She would call me every morning and make sure I was doing what I was supposed to do. And I was to go to work no matter what. Tuesday I was anxious in the morning and was supposed to go to work at 1p.m. I called her on the way, almost in tears. She talked me through it. Once I got there I was fine, even had a good time. Wednesday I felt fabulous! No anxiety! I felt wonderful all through work, and after work I wanted to go shopping for some new clothes because I felt happy and wanted to look good! The next day wasn't quite as good, so I started to worry, and Friday wasn't good at all. So I changed my dose to .5mg every 4 to 5 hours. I still have good days and bad days. I haven't figured out why one day is good and the next day is bad, but I now feel like there may be hope for me yet.

Still in hell, but on a work-release program.

Getting Worse

The anxiety is getting worse. It wasn't long ago I could go to the grocery store without much problem. Now its a struggle to just run in and get a gallon of milk. The weather has been lovely and I'd love to take the dogs for a good long walk, but all I can bear is 5 or 10 minutes, then I have to rush home. I wake up in the morning and before I'm even out of bed I'm overwhelmed with anxiety and dread. This morning I got brave and took .5 mg of xanax which helped while I laid in bed, but once I was up it didn't make any difference at all. I'm sitting here after my shower rocking and trying to not go into full panic mode. I'm so miserable. I so depressed. I feel like I'll never come out of this bout of anxiety, like I'm doomed to spend the rest of my life in hell. I've lost 25 pounds in 3 months, which isn't a bad thing, but I'd rather be fat and feel good than be anxious and look good. I don't know what else to do. How does the anxiety feel? My stomach is in a knot, I feel like I can't breathe, I feel like an electric current is running through my bloodstream, death seems to be right around the corner, or if not death at the very least collapse. If I died today it would be all right with me. I can't stand to feel this way for another second and yet I know I've got the whole day to suffer through it. If I knew it wouldn't affect my family and loved ones, and if I knew I could do it without any further suffering and be sure I didn't botch it up and end up worse off, suicide would be the only other option. But I know how terrible it is to inflict suicide on my children and parents, so I can't think about doing it. Now if I just happened to get in a fatal car wreck.....

Hell. My existence is hell. I want out. Now!

Having a Really Bad Day Today

I started taking Aciphex for reflux 3 days ago. As you may recall, I'm a MAJOR pill phobic, so its taken me 2 months just to take something for the reflux. I did okay the first 2 days - there was some anxiety, but managable. Today I don't seem to be able to get past it. I feel like crawling out of my skin, I'm nauseated, have a lump in my throat, hands sweating - all possible anxiety symptoms, but my first thought is "could it be the Aciphex?" Today the reflux seems like it might be slightly better, or maybe not. The lump in my throat seems like acid. All I've done today is sit and sew because I'm so afraid of the fact that I have a chemical in my body. God, I'm so miserable. I feel like I'll never be well again. I have to do something for the reflux because I'm miserable with that, and whatever I take for it I'm deathly afraid of so I'm miserable with that. I am in pure, unadulterated hell today.

It's been a while

I haven't been here in a while. I haven't felt good. Acid reflux, esophageal spasms in my back, burning in my throat and chest. Had a whopper of a panic attack a couple weeks ago. I won't talk about it though, brings back too many bad memories. Anyway, I saw a gastroenterologist this week (one I work for) and he gave me Prevacid to take. That was Tuesday. Now its Saturday. Did I mention I have a drug phobia? Well, I didn't get up the courage to take the damned pill until today. The only reason I took it today was because I have so much pain in my back, even anxiety was better than continuing that. I poured it into some applesauce (just in case I might be allergic to the capsule portion, and to take a smaller dose than recommended). I took it around 1:10 p.m. My anxiety immediately shot up, but I talked to a friend and distracted myself for the rest of the afternoon. There is no relief yet, but I didn't expect it to act that quickly. I do feel a bit nauseated, but its probably just the acid backing up in my throat. Tomorrow I have to scrape together the courage to take another one. And the day after as well. The worst of it will be taking one on days I have to work. Those days I won't be able to sit in my rocker and baby myself. I'll have to go out into the world with the possibility of an anxiety attack from the medicine. God I hate my life.

I went to a friend's house last evening to do some computer work for her. She is a good friend. But she smokes in her house. I have a phobia of smoke, and when I smell it it stays in my nose for days. Right now I can still smell the smoke and its driving me crazy. I have Vicks smeared under my nose and its still there, loud and clear. Sigh. I hope to God I feel better soon. I've been messing with this stomach thing for 2 months now. Had I stared taking the first round of medication when it was prescribed 6 weeks ago I'd probably feel better by now. But no, the damned phobia wouldn't let me do that. So I've wasted 6 weeks of my life living in misery. Stupid anxiety disorder. Stupid hellish life.

Getting Worse

I had, of course, hoped to be getting better. But yesterday I was in bad shape. Woke up feeling not too terrible, but as soon as I got in the shower I felt like I couldn't breathe. Its a horrible feeling. After I got out I couldn't shake it. I had to drive half an hour to see my therapist and was certain I would die before I got there. When I'm in a bad way I try to move as little as possible, like the stillness will ward off adding any more anxiety. I did make it there. The session was useless. I saw him a couple years ago for the same problem. I stopped seeing him when he called me a spoiled brat for having a panic attack at an event with my daughter. He said it was my childish way of saying I didn't want to be there so I'm going to throw a panic fit and get out of it. Right. That's why I have anxiety, to get out of doing things. I don't think I'll see him any more. I'd hoped he'd have something new. He has no compassion for me. I feel like we're wasting each other's time. Anyway, this morning is bad again. I haven't even gotten in the shower yet and feel like I can't breathe. I woke up at 4 am with very high anxiety, but I was ready for it. I'm reading a new book called Freedom From Fear and it had a paragraph on waking in the middle of the night with panic and how to get past it. I'd written down a number of things, one being a long multiplication problem, to switch from my anxious right brain to my logical left brain. It worked. Brought my pulse down from 120 to 88, so I was able to lay back down and sleep a bit. God, I'm so tired. The anxiety itself is draining, but the lack of sleep makes it even worse. I'm considering calling out of work today because I just don't know if I can handle it. But that would mean it won. I'm so frightened and miserable and I don't know what to do. I want to check into the hospital and have every test known to man run to make sure none of this is an actual physical problem, but I've already had so many run and everything comes back good. I want to give up, but giving up would still leave me a pile of nerves. I can't even be calm and at peace in my own home. There is no place I can run to feel safe except for the hospital emergency room. I'm such a mess. This truly is hell. There is no doubt about that.

Could be worse...

How many times have I heard that. "You just have anxiety. It could be so much worse. You could have cancer or AIDS, or have some REAL illness." Yes, that's true. It could be worse. But does that help the situation I'm in now? Is it better to just FEEL like you're dying rather than actually BE dying? No, not really. Early Saturday morning I had another full blown panic attack. It woke me from a dead sleep, my heart was racing, I couldn't catch my breath, I knew I was dying. I really knew it. I had my husband rush me to the hospital. I called 911 on the way so that if I did died they could send an ambulance immediately. It was horrible. It was traumatic. It was possibly the worst one I've had, but who knows. The bad ones are all bad. And this one was a doosey. I had the usual work up - blood tests to make sure it wasn't my heart, chest x-ray, EKG, vitals monitored. I knew it would all come back fine. But it didn't. One of the blood tests came back with an elevated marker for a blood clot in my lungs. So off to do a CT scan with contrast - dye pumped into my veins. That in itself was frightening. When the dye hits you feel hot from the inside out. Very creepy. The test came back negative, but did that convince me? Of course not. I've been having back pain between my shoulders now ever since, convinced that its a blood clot, even though I've been tested and told it isn't. And I've been told not to worry about it! Believe me, I asked if I should! My anxiety is unbearable today. I'm trying to push myself out and through it, but the physical discomfort always shouts back at me, "This is not anxiety, this is a blood clot!" And I keep believing it! I'm so miserable. I just want so very badly to feel better. I want to feel some joy in my life again. I want to not be afraid that I'm going to die today. I want to be able to feel like I can breathe freely. I just want what most of the people have - peace of mind. And, though my view may be pleasant, the weather is getting hotter, so my hell is spreading outside my body now. God, I'm so miserable!!!!

On Being

Lately I've been wanting to cease to exist. I don't want to kill myself, I just want to be done with this life and move on to whatever awaits me on the other side. Its just too hard to be me. I wake up afraid to face the day, my body seems to be revolting against me, I'm in a marriage that should have ended years ago, I have few friends, none that I actually see. I am so alone and so miserable. So what is the point? Does one exist merely because it is what one does? My purpose here is nothing more than zoo-keeper, and anyone can feed and walk animals.

I'm pretty sure I'm in good health. I had some blood work done today. We'll see next week how well I really am. That means, barring accidental death, I should be stuck in this hellish existence for a good thirty or forty more years, each one bringing more frailty, more fear, death of loved ones, distance from family. I think I don't know how to live. I'm afraid of dying. So where does that leave me? Destined to live out my years longing to cease being, knowing that I have no choice in the matter.

I'm tired of my hell. I'd like to try another please.

Really Trying

I'm giving it my best effort this week to get past this anxious phase and start living in the normal world again. I got up and showered before 8:30, I only allowed myself 25 minutes of computer time in bed after showering, I put on my makeup, had a glass of milk, and walked the dogs. As soon as I got home I went to work in the yard, edging and weeding the garden area around the air conditioner. Yesterday I worked off and on doing the same to the garden that surrounds the back patio. I haven't done any real physical labor in quite some time, and while I'm working the anxiety seems to take a back seat. When I finish and sit down to rest is when it starts back up again. Like now. I spent 45 minutes working outside, feeling pretty good, staying in the shade for the most part. The weather is cool and breezy, birds singing, all that. I got the job done, plus another little area that was in the sun. It looks nice. But now, here I sit, feeling those old feelings, not motivated to do anything. I made a list last night so that I would keep busy. Not hard stuff for the most part, but chores that need to be done. I don't have it in me to even look at the list, let alone do anything on it. Maybe, if I relax for a bit, the motivation will return.

It doesn't help that I'm going to be alone all day. On weekends I'm seldom alone. My husband comes home from his job that keeps him gone all week, so I have a body in the house. That is a comfort. Mondays my daughter babysits a half hour away, leaving at 8:30 and not returning until around 4. I have only one friend locally that I call. She has anxiety as well but is trying to be positive and I'm afraid when I call her constantly with my negative feelings, I'll bring her down.

I'm wearing a rubberband around my wrist, the idea being that when a negative or fearful thought pops into my head, I am to snap that rubberband and shout "stop" in my head and redirect my thoughts to a positives.

So see, I am trying. Yet still, even the smallest chore on my list seems insurmountable right now. Still in hell, but damn my gardens are looking great!

Phobic Waters Run Deep

So here's the thing. I have acid reflux. I've had it for about a month. I didn't know what it was at first, but last weekend it got so bad that I went to the emergency room and found out. Anyway, I was given Mylanta and a prescription for Protonix, an acid reducer. Now I may have mentioned this before but I'm a medicine phobic. Its bad. Its very bad. I can't take anything. The Mylanta was a stretch. The only reason I was able to take it was because I was in the hospital when they gave me my first serving and I survived. I've been taking it for a week now but it just takes the edge off the acid feeling in my throat, chest and back. I've had the Protonix for a week and haven't gotten up the courage to put one of the damned things in my mouth. So tonight, after suffering needlessly for a week, I took one. Its only been about 5 minutes. I'm trying not to freak out about it. Its going to be a long night, though. To give you an idea how phobic I am of not just afraid of meds but of anything that goes into my body. We have a water cooler in our house. I can only drink water from that cooler, and if a new bottle goes in, I have to wait until other people have safely drank from it before I can comfortably drink from it. Well, its needed replacing since Monday, so I've started drinking water from the hospital cafeteria since I work in the hospital. Now that water is safe. Knowing that I was going to have to take this pill, and knowing that I had to take it with water, I made a special trip to the hospital to get this water! So here I sit, my special water beside me, waiting for the pill to take effect. Yes, I cried when I took it. I still feel like crying but it makes the acid feeling in my throat even worse. But I cleaned my house this week, so the view from where I sit in my hell is lovely.

Sigh

My hell continues. It's been lovely out, low humidity, sunny, not unbearably hot. The vegetation is lush, flowering things flowering, green things growing. And here I am, still suffering in my self-contained hell. My demons threaten me at every turn, they grab me by the throat, eat me from within, terrorize my days and nights. This is, indeed, a very bad time. I want so badly to feel good again. I want to live at peace within my body and mind. Is that asking too much? Does every minute have to be a struggle for sanity? Can the simple act of taking a walk not be just a pleasant outing instead of a dreaded ordeal that may end in disaster? Sigh...not today.

Me in a Good Phase

I'm not always anxious. I have phases where anxiety does not consume my life. When I'm there I'm a happier person, obviously. I usually work when I'm in a good phase and quit when I get bad. I've had a variety of jobs. A long, LONG time ago, before anxiety was in my vocabulary, I worked in nursing homes and food service. In college I was a pizza delivery person for Vino's Pizza at Purdue. Best pizza in the world! Once I graduated, I got married and we moved to Norfolk, Virginia where I first worked for a grocery corporate office as a file clerk, then quit and worked for a ship builder as a draftsman. Shortly after we moved to Waukegan, Illinois. There I worked at a Blood Bank as a bookkeeper/receptionist for a year.

From there we moved to Indiana, I got pregnant, and began my life as an anxiety sufferer. The pregnancy did not end well, which left me with anxiety and severe depression. I didn't work for a few years, then started feeling well enough to work as a product designer for Deflecto Corp. I remember walking through the factory trying my best to keep from running out from the panic. I never had to, but boy it was tough. I was laid off from there and went to work for a drafting company in downtown Indianapolis. I was strictly a manual draftsman, but they were starting to get into computer aided design, which was a killer at first - much more difficult when it first came out. I quit that job when I became pregnant again, wanting to be sure nothing happened to foil this attempt. She was born on time and healthy. I did the mommy thing, did some writing for U.S. Kids Magazine (I did the Puzzle Squad), did some other writing, and had another baby. We moved from Indy to Maryland when I was 8 months pregnant with child number 2. That was an adventure! We lived in a Quality Inn for 2 months and I gave birth to her while we were living there. Not a bad way to go - no cooking, no cleaning, staff to visit with when I was bored! No wonder the wealthy enjoy that lifestyle! From there we moved to Texarkana (ugh) for 6 months, then back to Maryland for a year, and then back to Indiana. I took a job as a file clerk for an insurance company until I figured out that the cost of child care equaled the wages I made. I quit and did more writing, got involved in the kid's school when they started, taught a little art in exchange for tuition.

We stayed put for 5 years, then moved to Kentucky for 10. When we got there I kept busy volunteering at a Free Clinic. That eventually turned into a real, paying job. I was in charge of their pharmacy. While I was there I also got a job at a real pharmacy as a tech. I must have been feeling very well indeed because I also had a job as a cashier at Office Max! I quit the cashier job after about 6 months as it wasn't very fun and I never saw my family. I quit the pharmacy after a year because the anxiety was returning. And I left the Free Clinic after about 5 years because of a disagreement with the director. So I had time on my hands again and did more writing. I started teaching violin after that, just a few students at first, but eventually got up to around 18. I felt more confident again and found a job at a funeral home doing accounting and making memorial videos. Was laid off after a year, as were all the hourly employees. I continued teaching until we moved to Indiana 2 years ago. I was in too bad of shape when we move here to even think about work - until last September. Then I went on the hunt again and found a job at a grocery store in the deli. I was in charge of the salad bar. It was probably the worst job I've ever had! Very hard work, and the women I worked with...very difficult to get along with! So I quit right before Christmas. In February I started looking again and found the job I have right now. I work for a gastroenterologist office in the local hospital. I'm the receptionist. I only work 3 days a week for 3 or 4 hours in the afternoon. Most of the time I do nothing. When a patient comes in, I check them in. When they leave, I check them out. The rest of the time is mine! Not bad, eh?

Well, that about wraps up my work history. I feel like I've just written a draft for an all-inclusive resume! But it was nice thinking back on all I've done. Makes me feel like someday I will feel normal again.

Hell hath no fury...

...like a body engulfed in anxiety. Bad morning. I woke up in near panic, sweating, feeling like electricity was flowing through my veins. I did something I've never done and taken my jeans into the bathroom to go pee, just in case I had to rush to the emergency room. I wear just a top and undies to bed, and the possibility of being found like that seems too humiliating, hence the pants. When I'm feeling really bad at bed time I'll go to bed fully dressed, just in case. I'm wondering how in the hell I'm going to shower this morning. I don't feel brave enough. This is a very bad phase.

I haven't been this bad for 2 years. We'd sold our house in Kentucky and were in the process of moving up here. I had to get an apartment in Kentucky until we found a house in Indiana. Apartments there were hard to come by, and ones that accepted 2 dogs and 2 cats were even harder. The one I found was a piece of crap, but I figured I could survive for 6 or 7 months until I had a real house again. I was wrong. I'd moved from a 2000 square foot beautiful home in a nice, safe neighborhood, one that was quiet at night and had room to move around. The apartment was 700 square feet of dark brown and tan. There were 2 bedrooms and a kitchen/living room. It was about a mile away from a railroad track that was busy day and night! It was me and my daughter living there with all those animals. And it was on the "bad" side of town. I heard a lot of sirens and kept my door locked. I couldn't just let the dogs out to potty, I had to walk them across the street to a wooded area. To add to the anxiety and lack of control over my life, my daughter needed to have her tonsils out. Her doctor was in Indiana. We stayed at my parents house for about 3 weeks while she had the surgery and recovery. It was just the two of us for the most part, with my husband coming up for the surgury, as my parents were in Florida for a month. This was all too much of a change for me, and my body revolted. When we got back to Kentucky I was panicking daily and many a night I drove myself to the emergency room parking lot to just sit and wait for the feeling to pass or get worse. I finally could not take it another minute and packed my bag and drove 5 hours to my parents in Indiana again so that someone could help me and take care of me. I left my daughter there alone with the pets. I felt so bad about that, but she was 18 and loved having her own place. Back home with my parents I felt no better, but had a therapist close by, so started seeing him again. It was hard on my parents to see me like that. Going to the grocery was like being sent into a den of hungry lions. The anxiety threatened to rip my heart out and stomp it into the linoleum flooring. When the anxiety shouted, "Get out, GET OUT!," I had to grab onto the shopping cart and mumble back, "no. I have to stay." And eventually, being in the grocery wasn't such a horror. Same way with taking a walk, or driving, or showering. It was a long, hard journey back from the depths of hell, but I made it back to a functioning world.

After a month we found a house and moved in. From there I began to get better. My therapist was a 30 minute drive, and those first trips were made on the phone sobbing to my husband because I was panicking. Fortunately there are two hospitals on the way, so I knew I could pull in if I could make it that far. I, of course, never needed to, but its just knowing they're there that is the salvation.

Now the feeling has returned. It's not as bad as it was then most of the time, but I know it could easily return to that. That is no way to live. The way I am now is no way to live either. I must find my way back to normalcy. It was wonderful waking up and looking forward to my day, no matter how routine it was. I looked forward to cleaning my house so that I could enjoy its serenity. I looked forward to walking the dogs, to see them happily sniffing out old dog pee. I looked forward to spending hours in the grocery, finding bargains and using my coupons. And I looked forward to relaxing in bed at night, unwinding, sleeping, knowing there would be another day in the morning. I want so desperately to get back to that part of me. There is fear that it will never return. But return it must. I can't stay like this. I just can't.

I must go brave the shower now. I can't let it defeat me. It's only a shower. It's only a shower. It's only a shower..........

Adaptation

I like to be in control. At least of things that concern me. When I was young I was cunning enough to get what I wanted or do what I wanted, even when it wasn't necessarily what I deserved. Perhaps its a survival thing. I recall being a very maudlin child. When I was unhappy I would mope and pout and be very unpleasant to be around. I held grudges for much longer than I should have, but if I felt I had been treated unfairly, that was my only recourse. I couldn't get angry and shout and demand justice because I was too shy and too much of a people pleaser. I remember a vacation to Colorado (I think) with my family. I was probably 10 or so. Something displeased me. We stopped to sight see or some such thing and I was bored and probably wanted to do something that no one else wanted, so I sulked and was miserable. Now I'm thinking it wasn't so much a control thing as an unadaptibility issue. Without the skills to express my desires or reasons for not wanting to do something, I resorted to withdrawing and being uncommunicative. It did not serve me well for most of my childhood, so as a teenager I began to adapt and learn other ways to get what I wanted without ever learning to come out and ask for it. If I was having trouble with a subject in school, rather than go to the teacher for help, I would cheat. I was quite good at it. It made me feel good about myself, that I had beaten the system, that I emerged triumphant. I didn't see it as anything wrong. So what if I didn't memorize formulas or learn to say "Which way to the library" in German. I was smart enough. I learned basic care and maintenance of my car from my father so that I'd never have to ask anyone to change my oil or replace a flat tire. I never wanted to be a bother, never wanted to have to depend on anyone for my basic needs because that would mean asking for help and that was not something I'd learned to do. In college it was the same. I learned more survival techniques. I majored in Industrial design which included making models of all our projects, so I learned to use all the shop equipment, the elements of building, power tools, finishing work. I got quite good at it after 4 years. I couldn't cheat in my design classes, so if a project was less than perfect or not quite on time, I learned to be cute and needy and ever-so sweet. It didn't hurt that the instructer was a man, and that he was there for the whole 4 years. Our class was small, maybe 8 of us, so we all got to know each other very well.

Right after college I got married. Let's just that was not the wisest thing I've ever done. I had never planned on getting married. It was not in the scheme of my life. I was going to move to California, have my own design business, and own lots of cats. I was a loner at heart. Or maybe I just wasn't very popular with guys and so my dating stats were way down. When I met the man I married, I was unskilled at adult relationships and so, was easy prey. He wooed me, convinced me we were meant to be together, and married me 3 months later. I didn't know how to stop it. I didn't know how to tell him what I wanted, and I didn't really know myself what that was. He was in the Navy, so we moved to Norfolk, Virginia, were married, and he left for duty in Maine. I used what skills I had and built us a bed and dresser. I figured this was the best of both worlds - being supported financially and still able to be on my own and do what I wanted. And I adopted 2 cats.

This is getting longer and more involved that I had planned. I'll continue later.

It's HOT

It's way too early in the year for the weather to be like this! In fact this entire year has been a disappointment in the weather department. Winter seemed to go on and on. May, usually a very pleasant month, was cold. There were maybe two weeks of nice Spring weather, then BAM! Heat and humidity! I'm not a fan of extreme weather, and my tolerance lesses with each year. My old body doesn't like shivering or sweating. And, of course, extreme temps increase my anxiety (what doesn't these days!). Apparently there is nothing I can do about the weather. I've tried complaining to no avail, I've tried anger - still no help. Wishing, hoping, visualization - all ineffective in changing the weather. For someone who likes to be in control, this is frustrating. I know, I know, no one can manipulate the weather. Mother Nature is who she is and doesn't play around. So I suppose I must accept that when its hot, its hot, and when its cold, its cold, and when its nice out, enjoy the hell out of it because it won't be around long.

Me, the Early Years

Enough about anxiety for a while. Let's go back to where I began to be. I was born in Detroit, Michigan, the second of 3 children. I was named after a chicken farmer that my parents were friends with, Janie Bennett. We moved back and forth between Detroit and Cleveland with my dad's job, then in 1969 we came to Indianapolis, Indiana, and that's where we stayed. I don't have a lot of memories of those years. One I do remember is walking home from grade school one dark and stormy afternoon with my brother. I don't know if this was our first day of school, or just the first time we walked home, but we got lost. I would have been in first or second grade and I can remember the feeling of hopelessness, like I'd never see my family again. And my brother, being only a year and a half older than me, was no comfort. Obviously we did make it home (I think my mom came to rescue us), but It was a memorable event in my life.

I can only remember one of my teachers from those years, and only because she smelled weird. I've come to recall that smell now as powdered old lady crotch, not unpleasant particularly, but distinct. Her name, I believe, was Mrs. O'Clock, or at least that's what I called her. It was in her class that I had my first public crying spell. Someone's mom had brought cupcakes and handed them out to everyone but me! I'm sure it was an oversight, but I was painfully shy back then and would never have mentioned that I didn't have one. So I had my own little pity party, sobbing quietly at my desk.

I have good memories, too. We had a swingset that we moved from house to house. I think we moved 5 times from the time I was born to when I turned 10 (that may explain why I have trouble making friends). Anyway, I remember a lot of fun times on and around that swingset. One afternoon the 3 of us were playing and my sister (2 years younger) was on the cross bar of the swingset, probably 4 feet off the ground or so (it was a big swingset, or at least it seemed big back then.) Anyway, a wasp landed on her cheek while she was up there. She was, of course, quite upset by it. My parents told her to just hold still and it would leave. They were mistaken. It stung her on the cheek! She now has a rabid aversion to wasps.

I had (and still have) a doll called Baby Coos (because if you squeeze her chest she coos). That doll was my favorite. It had a soft body and life-like arms and legs and head. I had cut her hair at one point, so she wasn't pretty, but I still loved her. Never gave her a real name. It was always Baby Coos. One day on the swing set her arm got caught in the swing chain (you really had to cram her little arms in there to make her hold on). It cut her "skin", leaving an inch long gash. For years she had to wear a bandaid on that arm. Once I figured out that it would never heal, I learned how to get all that sticky stuff off with alcohol, my first scientific discovery. I later learned that baby oil worked better.

Each of us kids had a cat back then. Mine was named Mittens because she had white mittens. Not an accurate name as she was white all over with gray patches, probably a 50/50 ratio of gray to white. I wasn't terribly creative with names back then. She was the perfect cat. She played well, snuggled well, behaved well. Gosh, I loved that cat. My brother's cat was named Mimzi. She was Siamese. She was like a dog. If you went outside, she'd follow you around. Once she had her ear bitten by a bird she was harrassing, leaving a knick in her perfect little ear. My parents cat was also a Siamese. Her name was Missy and she was mean! She loved to bite and scratch and terrorize guests. I think my sister had a cat but I don't really remember. I know she later had a white German Shepherd named Heidi. Maybe it was a striped cat named Tiger. Who knows.

We also had gerbils who liked to reproduce. I do recall having gerbils brought to up by cats now and then. I don't think we kept the cage very secure! My brother had a white rat named Bonnie. She was a very nice rat as rats go. He'd carry her around on his shoulder.

Anyway, that is a glimpse of my early years, before hell.

Obsession: Not Just a Fragrance

Obsession is an unreasonable fixation and compulsion is what follows. Anxiety has opened a whole new world for me in the area of obsession/compulsion. I used to be afraid of nothing. I would eat, drink, breathe, travel, do whatever I pleased, without thinking about what the consequence might be. But with anxiety is a special thing called a "trigger’ – a feeling associated with a situation, a food, anything really. For example, if someone with an anxiety disorder (me, perhaps?) ate a peanut butter sandwich and shortly afterward had an anxiety attack, peanut butter becomes a trigger and must be avoided. As the illogical mind continues to churn out obsessive thoughts, it can veer off into any food that people might be allergic to – shell fish, strawberries, bananas – or any food that the sufferer is unfamiliar with or hasn’t had in a while – sushi, Indiana food, the list is infinite. I’m at the point now that I won’t eat anything that anyone in the history of mankind has ever been allergic to, even though I’ve never had any food allergies in my life.

Then it moves into foods that don’t taste "right." I’ve bought a gallon of milk and, even though everyone who tried it said it was fine, it just didn’t taste "right" so I couldn’t drink it. If I’ve eaten something that changes the way I taste, like onion or garlic, even though I KNOW its because of the other taste in my mouth, if the next thing I eat doesn’t taste "right" I won’t eat it.
Sometimes there is no logic involved in the illogical obsession/compulsion. For instance, I won’t drink water from any other source besides my water cooler and certain restaurants. To go one step further, I won’t drink the water from a new bottle in my water cooler until someone else has drunk it first! I won’t drink any water from a portable bottle unless I empty out the water that comes in it and refill it with my pre-tested cooler water!!

I’m even worse with smells. I can’t be around anyone who is wearing perfume or any kind of scent. Stores filled with scented things are also on me to-be-avoided list. And if I’m driving and smell something like fresh cut grass or diesel fuel, I roll up my windows and turn off the heat/AC, even though I always have it set on recycling the interior air. I don’t want to take any chances. Why would smells be a problem? Because I’m afraid it will give me an asthma attack or stop me breathing, even though I don’t have asthma or any lung problems!

And drugs! Don’t even get me started on them. I can’t take anything. No Tums, no Tylenol, no antibiotics, no sedatives which might actually make me feel less anxious. I had a bad reaction to a drug I was prescribed in college, compesine, which made my muscles tense up, my eyes roll back in my head…it was horrid. Oddly enough, that didn’t make me stop using drugs (legal, prescribed or OTC). It wasn’t until I started trying anti-depressants for my anxiety that the fear began. I tried 3 different ones and each one made the anxiety so much worse that I got to the point that suicide seemed the only relief. After that, no drug was going into my body no matter what. Even though I’d taken Xanax for many years, I couldn’t take it after that. Even though nobody has a problem with Tylenol, I can’t put it in my mouth. I tried some Tums the other day to see if it would settle my stomach, and I had such anxiety from it that I won’t do it again. I had hand surgery this year and coped with the pain by using ice packs and elevation alone! I just hope I never have any illness that requires medicine. I don’t even want to think about that.

These are, I know, irrational thoughts. I know in the logical side of my brain that none of these things will hurt me. But my illogical side is so much more powerful than the logical one that I’m stuck listening to it alone.

So there you have it. Another view from inside my hell.

170

170. That's how high I counted in the shower this morning. 1675. That's how many steps one way as I walked the dogs. 94. My heart-rate just now. Counting is a coping mechanism for this hellish disorder. If there isn't something actively going on in my brain, the overwhelming anxiety swells into panic. So I count. If I have to drive a long distance, sometimes the entire trip is counted. Music doesn't help, watching the scenery doesn't help, only counting. And if counting fails me, I have to make it more complicated, really engage the mind. Count by two's. No, too easy. Count by 3's or 4's, 6's, 7's, 8's or 9's. I've gotten quite good at those, but on a day when I can't concentrate, they will suffice. In really trying times, multiplication.

Its all about distraction. If I'm in an anxious phase, like now, I can't just sit and relax, shut down my brain. I can't even read unless its an anxiety self-help book, and even then the act of reading alone isn't enough to quiet the turmoil torturing my body. When I read anxiety books, I also type them as I read. I've got a growing computer library of my favorites, mostly Claire Weekes, the pioneer in anxiety therapy. Also a program by Lucinda Bassett. I was in group therapy years ago and we were given copies of her workbook. They were very poorly copied so I had to retyped mine. I even went as far as learning Braille so that when I close my eyes in darkness at night I can occupy my mind decifering the dots!

I have a place that I do find some peace. On my back patio I have a porch swing. Its got a canopy over it to shade me from the sun, so I can go there during the day and swing. The swinging motion is so soothing. If its unpleasant out, I can sit in my rocker and rock, but it doesn't have as much effect as swinging. Where we moved from I had a great porch swing, eight feel high with a beautiful wooden swing that I drove all over in search of. I could do some real swinging there. The one I have now is only 5 feet tall, but it does all right.

I really need to get moving. I'm on cat sitting duty as my daughter left for a road trip today and her critters need feeding. My anxiety is rough today. I so hate this disorder! All the coping techniques in the world don't diminish that fact!

Mornings

Mornings are especially hard. I don't know what it is about waking up that brings on the anxiety and dread, but when I'm in a bad phase, like now, mornings are hellish. Its Tuesday, 9 a.m. Like the mornings over the past month or so I'm lying in bed trying to calm the demons so that I can get up and shower without panicking. I get on the computer, check mail, go to my anxiety support site, and now here.

I love going to bed at night. Usually by late afternoon or evening I feel fairly normal. By bedtime I'm feeling wonderful. I lie in bed and play solitaire on the computer until I can't stay awake any longer. I don't want to go to sleep because I want to continue to feel the happy feelings of no anxiety. But sleep must inevitably come, just as waking in the morning must come, and that is what I dread. I have no explanation as to why mornings are so bad, but I know I'm not alone.

My morning anxiety is a barometer to my anxiety phase. When I wake in the morning feeling normal, I know I'm doing well again. Unfortunately there doesn't seem to be any logical or repeatable actions to get me to such a place, just as there isn't a recognizable pattern that brings me to the bad place. Anxiety disorders are frustrating that way. What works one time may not work the next.

So here I lay, struggling to get the courage to leave my bed and face the shower, and then ultimately, the whole rest of the day. Perhaps that is where the dread originates - knowing that ahead of me lies an entire day of uncertainty. Will I have a panic attack if I venture out, what new aches and pains will pop up and fill my head with thoughts of fatal illness, will the price of gas jump to $5 a gallon? Things like this constantly run through my head.

I must get up. I will shower and dress, even put on makeup. Another day in hell.

The Up Side of Agoraphobia

To every cloud there is a silver lining, isn't that how the old saying goes? Or, when life gives you lemons, make lemonade, and turn that frown upside down. All fine sentiments. Existence is seldom as hopeless and horrid as it seems. Take agoraphobia. Sure, being afraid to leave home might seem to have its down sides - no social life, little interaction with the world outside, panic attacks at the grocery, never going on vacation, not being able to earn a decent living. I could go on, but what you get the point. That would be the "glass is half empty" thinking. Let's not forget that there are some definite positives to living the agoraphobic life-style. For example, you'll not catch us jetting across the globe and wasting precious fuel resources. You won't even find us going across town! Agoraphobics save hundreds of thousands of gallons of gas as a group every year. And forget about us needing to buy hybrid cars. I personally average about 4 miles per day in my vehicle, 28 miles a week. Figure I get 25 miles per gallon. If no one borrowed my car during the week, I could go for a solid 2 months without ever refueling! How's that for fuel efficiency!

Some religious organizations have something called Prayer Warriors. Agoraphobics could be called Worry Warriors. If there is a worrisome event going on locally, nationally, or globally, we are there to worry about it! If worrying was a sport, we'd have an Olympic team. The world can feel safer knowing someone is fretting over every situation, real or imagined.

Agoraphobics are also leaders in the prevention of disease. Its hard to pass on a virus or bacteria when you never come in contact with another human being.

We keep shopping centers and malls from being over-crowded. Same goes for restaurants, bars, parks, museums, groceries, theaters, sporting events...think of the pandemonium that would ensue if agoraphobics suddenly re-entered society!

Agoraphobics do the television industry a great service as well. Sometimes TV is our only companion. I watch it live and I dvr it. I don't watch it all day, but if I need distraction, you bet that's one place I turn. And television shopping networks earn a hefty profit from agoraphobics, especially during Christmas season. You might see an agoraphobic on rare occasions during the normal shopping times, but when Christmas shoppers start flowing into stores, agoraphobics will be dialing up QVC faster than a cheetah on a good day.

On a more personal level, agoraphobics are usually in excellent health, despite what they might imagine. We don't need to go to the gym for cardio workouts as one good panic attack can get our heart rate well into the hundreds. A good one can last for fifteen or twenty minutes. Not a bad workout with little or no effort!

Agoraphobics also look adorable when they're in public places, with their wide-eyed stares, saucer-sized pupils, flushed cheeks, and straining jaw muscles. We look like little deer caught in oncoming headlights, or lambs being led to slaughter.

So if you're reading this and are agoraphobic, look on the bright side. You are performing a great service to your community, your country, and the world! And you're doing it by doing what you do best - staying home! We deserve a big pat on the back. And perhaps a special tax break, or better yet, a large government incentive check as a thank you!

May 30, 2008

My big accomplishment today was not going to the Emergency Room. After a long, sleepless night, I woke up at 9 a.m. and decided to shower and start my day. I didn’t feel "well" when I started, but once I get the water running it can go either way. Today it went the bad way. My stomach was in knots, my heart started racing and skipping beats. Being naked and wet with no graceful means of escape, I rushed through, toweled off, threw on clothes, grabbed my purse with the intent of rushing to the hospital, and called my daughter to let the dogs out. She didn't answer! I couldn’t leave them un-pottied, so I got an icepack out of the freezer and stuck it in my armpit (a tip from a fellow anxiety sufferer), let the dogs out, and swung on my porch swing. Thanks to the handy stopwatch feature on my cell phone I was able to monitor my heart rate. Once it fell below 100, I figured I would survive yet another day in hell. Ironically, the surroundings were perfect – sunny but not glaringly so, cool breeze, thick green grass all around, red-winged blackbirds breakfasting at the feeder.

One thing about panic attacks – they bring me closer to God. It’s the only time I ask him for help. I’ve given up thinking God gives a crap about me most of the time, after 26 years of this it seems quite obvious. But when I’m pretty certain I’m on my way to meet him, I beg him to make it stop.
Its now 10 a.m. and I’ve got the rest of a long day staring me down. After a morning like this I am especially fearful of venturing away from home, or even being productive at home. Today is leaning toward being a lost day, spent processing every unusual sensation in my body, eating next to nothing, digging my nails in the walls of depression to keep from slipping further in.

Hell is where my heart is.

hell, with a view

Everyone has their problems, whether it be health, money, relationship - whatever। I, too, have problems, but one in particular that I’d like to share. It’s a problem experienced by a whole lot of people but seldom recognized as a viable one since its symptoms are personal and easily hidden from the public eye. The problem is anxiety. Not just plain anxiety, like any normal person would feel at, say, an impending surgery or final exam, but uncontrollable anxiety and panic for no recognizable reason. The best way I can think to describe the feeling is this: imagine being confronted by a wild, gun-wielding psychopath in your home at 2:00 in the morning. Naked. Wondering whether the rest of your family is alive. And you’ve got a presentation due at 7 a.m. And you’ve just ingested 10 cups of coffee. Take away all the external situations but keep the feeling and that’s anxiety and panic disorder. An estimated 40 million adult in America suffer from some form of anxiety disorder (National Institute of Mental Health). That’s a whole lot of folks.

The reason I titled this "Hell, with a view" is because, while anxiety is a horrible thing to struggle through every day, we in America and other "safe" countries, still have a lot to be thankful for. Inside we may be living our own special hell, but the sun still shines, the trees still provide shade, flowers still smell sweet. It doesn’t make it okay, but it does bring home the old saying, "Could be worse!"

My life is affected by anxiety daily. I wake up with no desire to even get out of bed. If it wasn't for the call of nature for both myself and my dogs, I would in all likelihood stay in bed until after noon. As it is, I've gotten to the point of staying in bed until 10:00 a.m. Once I'm up I have to immediately get a shower. I just have to. Its a compulsion, an offshoot of anxiety disorders. Sometimes I can take a leisurely shower, enjoy the warm water as it relaxes my shoulders and back. Other times I have to rush through, fearing a panic attack, feeling like I can't breathe or that I'll die, naked, wet and alone. I also must dress quickly - again, don't want to be caught with my pants down so to speak! If the weather is acceptable, I must then walk the dogs. If not, I just let them out in the back yard to do their business. I believe my little terrier also suffers from some anxiety disorder. She will not do her business unless she has a walk. I'm motivated to take them as she will crap on my bathroom carpet if I don't. Sometimes the walk is short - just enough to satisfy the pooches and get me back before something dreadful happens. Other times I can go for 25 minutes. It just depends on the state I'm in that morning. After dog duties are accomplished, then I can have breakfast, which is always a tall glass of Ovaltine and milk (again, I just have to). Then I can start my life.

Anxiety comes in many flavors. Besides General Anxiety Disorder (GAD, as in EGADS!), there is Agoraphobia. Agoraphobia is fear of open spaces, translated as fear of the market place. What it is in real life is fear of leaving ones home, or in a severe case, fear of leaving even a certain room in your home. My anxiety disorder manifested with agoraphobia from the beginning. The whole package was so bad that not only could I not stand to leave my apartment, I couldn't stop the fear and panic even in my apartment. This went on for 2 years. That was 26 years ago.

The feeling of fear and dread has never been completely gone in all that time. There are better years and worse years. Right now I'm in a not-great-but-I've-been-worse phase. I'm working 3.5 hours a day, 3 days a week for a doctor, so that's better than I've been in the past. But I've also always got a feeling of tension, like a live wire running through my veins. I go out, but not often and not if I can avoid it. The grocery and work is pretty much it for me. This time around depression is also a major factor. Face it, living with anxiety is depressing! I see people around me living in a world free of constant dread and wish it could be me. I feel like I'm hosting a party in hell inside me, yet all around me is beauty and comfort. I just can't seem to bring it into my body and mind.

And that, my friends, is hell, with a view.