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!