Where I've been...

There were days when I literally thought I was about to die.  Because why wouldn't I be about to die when I felt like this?  Sleep was my escape. And my biggest fear.  What if I closed my eyes?  Will I wake up?  But at the same time, my mind longed for the calm sleep might bring. For those ten minutes after waking up, my mind was calm. My body was calm. The relief was so fleeting that I didn't want to open my eyes. But I had to. And just like that it was gone.  My heart would start to race. My mind would start to race.  There would be people coming over today.  Get up. Get up!  GET UP! I hid in bed until I absolutely had to be up. Fifteen minutes til they get here. Ten minutes til they get here. Five minutes, you have to go open the door. You can't hide forever!

For the last few years, I have been living with anxiety.  Anxiety and panic attacks.  Anxiety, panic attacks and depression.  The last few months have finally brought me some relief.  As I've talked with people, I've come to realize how common this is.  In that moment, when you think there is absolutely nobody in the world who feels as rotten or as scared as you do, I'm here to tell you there are. 

I remember when we were first married, I would cry.  But I wouldn't know why. And Jake didn't know why or how to help me.  I couldn't tell him why I was crying.   I couldn't tell him what to do to help me, because I didn't know myself!  Now I blame it on mild anxiety that I think I've always had. Fast forward several years.  Work was rocky at best. The company was stretching to make ends meet their commitments.  Everyday someone else was getting laid off.  The big kicker was when Jake was telling me how they were selling office chairs and phones just so they could make payroll.

Insert hyper breathing, night sweats, and constant fear.  What would happen if Jake lost his job?  We made so little to begin with there's absolutely no way we could survive, keep the house, AND eat if he lost his job.  Que the anxiety. 

When Jake first started his job in Jackson, it was November and we hadn't been able to sell the house to move.  We couldn't afford an apartment, we could barely afford the gas to get him to Jackson each week.  He lived in a hotel for three months.  Every night for three months I would cry myself into panic attacks.  I missed him so much.  I didn't know what was going to happen.  I just knew he was going to die driving there in the winter. I just knew that while he was at dinner he would get into an accident with his drunk coworkers. I just knew that every time I sent him out the door it was going to be the last time I saw him. 

After we moved and got the house sold, things started to calm down a little bit.  I was able to focus on the things that needed to be done.  I had gone to a doctor when we first moved here, and she told me that the chest pains I was having, the difficulty breathing and the big black cloud over me sounded like anxiety and depression.  I was prescribed something and I went on my way. I didn't like how it made me feel.  I was in a bigger, grayer, albeit somewhat happier, cloud.  I was numb to the things around me.  I quit taking them just so I didn't feel that kind of crappy. 

After we moved into our new house, there was so much to do.  We needed a new roof. We needed to put in a yard. We needed to paint.  We needed to put up a fence.  We needed to winterize. We needed to do this and this and that and this. When will we ever find the time? When will we ever have enough money?  Oh my gosh, I think I'm dying. 

Then I found myself riding my bike.  I needed an outlet for all of the extra energy and flusterings that I was having.  That year I rode in the Little Red Ride.  I had completed a goal, I had worked hard and I felt SO accomplished. What do you call a runner's high from a bike ride? I felt the best that I could ever remember feeling.  Totally worth every bit of work.

Part of my anxiety is thinking about and fearing death.  I understand we will all die.  I understand that we can't always avoid it. But in my mind it was always imminent. Every time I had a little pain it was a new disease. Every time I didn't feel well I had moments to live. Every time I couldn't sleep it was because Jake was about to die in his sleep.

I would lay in bed.  Every possible sickness or condition I could have, I had. I looked them up on the internet where I would read about them, then suddenly I have those exact symptoms.  What if I die before I can fully repent? That's a quick road to outer darkness for me!  I laid in bed singing primary songs in my head night after night, just so that when I died, I had pleasant thoughts in my head. Waiting for the pains in my body to go away. They didn't. I couldn't make them go away. The more I tried, the worse they felt.  My legs hurt. I was having chest pains.  For sure I'm not going to wake up in the morning.  But somehow I always did.  Before I opened my eyes, I would lay there thinking of happy things.  Vacations we had taken, a book I was just reading.  Jake, my rock, my sweetheart. 

One night, I couldn't stand it anymore. With the seasonal pressure, the lack of sleep, and a body full of fear,  I had a full out, gargantuan panic attack. Crying.  Hyperventilating.  I was inconsolable.  I woke Jake up in the early, early morning hours.  He was able to calm me down. We prayed. He held me.  And I was finally able to get some sleep. 

That next couple of weeks were literally spent on the couch hiding under a blanket. I was hiding from the world. I was hiding so I didn't have to talk to people who would inevitably ask me how I was doing. I wanted to shield them from the answer. I'm dying. I'm sorry we couldn't get to know each other better, have a good life.  There was a party.  The house we went to was very large, made from very large logs with very high ceilings and more very large logs.  The entire party, all I could do was brace myself for when it all came crashing down.  Where's the best place to take cover from the logs that weighed tons and realistically would crush me to death the instant they fell? Nowhere.

How did I get here? How had I gone so far? How was I ever going to even be able to function again? I didn't know, but I did know that it wasn't normal for me to feel as horrible as I was.  Nobody else seemed to be running around making escape plans, avoiding eye contact, or bracing for the imminent grip of death about to over power them. 

Relationships were suffering.  Some of my closest friends were barely my friends anymore.  I had a hard time talking to people.  I couldn't look people in the eye. I was struggling to juggle the zillion things I had to do every day.  I was overwhelmed. I didn't have anyone to talk to. I didn't want to bug people. To drop this heavy bomb on someone who had their own problems.  I was writing my own tombstone with this- this THING that wouldn't go away.  There was a lot of hiding.  From people. From anyone who might be able to lend a friendly thought or word.  From those around who I could previously be close to and not bat an eye.  Hiding from the world.  Hoping people would cancel our plans.  Don't look at me. I'm insignificant. Just let me be alone until I'm gone. But I couldn't. People were still depending on me. I put on a happy face and did what I had to do.  There were church responsibilities, family responsibilities, babysitting, piano lessons, work, neighborhood responsibilities,  home duties, more work. There wasn't room for anything else!  Only my tears and pains.

I'm a story teller.  If I'm telling you a story in person, I'll slaughter it.  You may not even have a clue what my story is about and it most likely won't come out funny.  But in my head, the stories flow.  Driving is horrible, cars crashing, rocks falling.  Keeping the front door unlocked so when I need to call an ambulance, they'll be able to get in.  Carrying the house phone in my back pocket so when I dialed for the ambulance they can trace the call to our house.  Wanting to keep the door locked so when the ax murderer comes, I'll have time to call police.  But there's no police, so I'm going to die.  There's a tornado, grab the baby and the cats and head for the basement.  The bears are going to eat us while we're camping, where's the gun?  The forest will burn down, turn your cars the right way.  If there's a possibility for my mind to run, it will.

Anticipation set me off.  The buildup, the expectations I put on things, the weird desire to make everything perfect. I can't be late. I have no good reason to be late.  People may not be depending on me or they might be. What if I don't meet their expectations? Are they going to be looking at me like I'm some sort of freak?   After the event passes, that's when the anxiety kicks in. It's like I was holding my breath for the entire time and it is all released at the same time.  It starts with the chest pain. Then the chest pain gets me scared, which makes me breathe harder and then it goes on from there. 

I went to a doctor.  It was nice to have someone tell me that I wasn't crazy, that there were reasons why I was feeling so fabulous, and that it was possible to come out of it.  I was finally feeling validated. I began taking supplements and was given "emergency" pills for those unbearable moments.  I took a lot of those at first.  They made me feel happy. They let me breathe more normal. I could almost function.

There were some days when I still felt like I was drowning.  Everyday, making mental lists of what I needed to do, putting them in priority of what needed to be done the most, beating myself mercilessly when things weren't done and done perfectly.  I realized I had too much on my plate and it was time to cut back. I didn't replace piano kids when they quit lessons, I resigned from our neighborhood committee, I was released from some of my church responsibilities, I cut back on the number of hours I was putting in to working. As soon as I did this, the pressure started to release. I had put so much pressure on myself to be perfect. I wasn't allowed to be late.  I wasn't allowed to say no. What was my reason I wasn't able to do something? Kids? No. I was too busy? Lamer.  I finally had time to breathe. 

I absolutely love Wyoming summers.  There's yard work, kayaking and biking to be done.  My nerves calmed immensely when the warm weather came. I didn't need supplements anymore.  I still had little moments of stress.  I had my emergency pills, taking only a half when I needed it. My mind still raced, my heart still raced.  But I felt like it was manageable. I was functioning and more importantly, happy. 

The last straw. The be-ultimate anxiety attack.  I am still not even sure what caused it.   My chest started pounding. It was so tight. I couldn't breathe.  I could barely cry.  It wasn't a heart attack, for some reason I just knew it wasn't.  The fear waxed strong because I was in the middle of piano lessons.  It was so hard to breathe. To talk.  No doubt the worst lesson anyone has ever been to. Poor girl.  The next day, I went to the doctor. She gave me a daily medication. And I finally felt relief after just a few days.

Even though I had physical relief, I could still feel my mind wander. It was making up stories without my permission. It was giving me ideas about things that were nonexistent.  About how people felt about me. About how I felt about people. About upcoming situations and expectations.  I was ready to be over it. Dosages were increased and she suggested exercise and therapy.

The exercise. Man oh man.  I have to force myself to do it. Sometimes it is so, so, so very hard to do it.  I physically cannot get out of bed early.  Sometimes it's nine o'clock at night before I get to it because I keep putting it off. But when I do it I feel great. So super tired, because it's bedtime, but otherwise great.  It gets my heart going, it clears my mind. As gross as it sounds, getting sweaty and stinky is super is clarifying.

And then there's therapy. It's for crazy people. Isn't it? Axe wielding, depressed, murderers, right? Not so much. I can honestly say that this has helped more than anything.  I have gone to a couple of people that have really helped sort through things in my head. I learned that I was making up those stories.  Now that I know about these stories, I can stop them in their tracks.  They're not allowed anymore.  Out!  I was also called out for not letting people have the chance to help me and to listen to me.  I never mind when people come and talk to me, I love to be able to help others. I'm always offering to others. So why shouldn't I let people have that same chance? I would suggest a good therapis to anyone who might be considering it.

I keep hoping that one day it will all go away.  All the stress, the anxiety, all of the physical pains.   I don't like that I have to dope myself up to be able to function. I don't like that I'll probably have to deal with some of these things for my rest of my life.  I don't like how it affects people around me.  But I feel blessed that I have had support from so many. It turns out you aren't a burden and people don't mind when you talk to them.  I have learned a lot about myself. Jake and I are closer than ever because, well, he's awesome. 

It's also been reaffirmed to me that my Heavenly Father really does know me and love me.  What an important thing that I needed to relearn.  Maybe I'm so stubborn that this is the only way for that to sink in.  And as I look back, still not completely over everything, if the only way for me to learn that was to go through all of this, I would gladly do it again.  During this Easter season, I know that I'm not alone in my anxieties and trials and sorrows.  Not only have other people gone through these  same things, but I also know that my Savior has felt everything that I'm feeling.  I don't feel alone anymore, I feel my Savior's love daily. 

If you find yourself afraid to go to sleep at night, say a little prayer.  Seek help from those who love you and from our Heavenly Father who will never leave you!