Me, My Anxiety, and I'm Depressed

My experience may not be the same as everyone else's, but I think it's important for others to know that there ARE others, and they are not crazy.

A couple of years ago, it was bad... Worse than anything else I'd experienced. Well, except for one time, but I'll get to that later in a later post.

I had just move; and my ex had just broken up with me and was already dating someone new. I drowned in depression and faked every moment of excitement and happiness until I could almost feel it... then return to my room and hibernate until I had to do it again. Some weeks were worse than others. I did everything I could to distract myself. One week my outlet would be reading, and I'd finish multiple novels in that time. Another week my outlet would be video games, I played them until I was dreaming about them. Another week would be Netflix. I finished entire shows in days.

I wished I would die. I didn't want to commit suicide, I was just hoping and waiting for something to kill me. The best way to describe it was that I was embarrassed that I existed at all. And often times I was just so tired of dealing with everything - the anxiety, depression, all the physical exhaustion and encompassing pain - I wanted to die or go into a coma or something so I could catch my breath and take a break. Everything races by too fast and I just couldn't, and honestly still can't, keep up with it.

Depression was awful, but at least I could escape in moments in books and games and fell okay for just a little while. Anxiety is always there, always chasing me. And I'm positive that it's the root of my depression. My anxiety made everything I did embarrassing and awful and my obsessive thoughts were always around, focusing on the bad things of course.

I suffered from anxiety so severe that even just making a wrong turn going to school sent me into a whirlwind of terror and I would literally forget where I was. My GPS was on every day for every car trip - even if I'd been to that place many times before. I over analyzed everything until I would be holding my breath for as long as I could just to stop hyperventilating (not what you're supposed to do by the way, I would most certainly NOT recommend it).

Memories haunted me in ways I cannot even describe. Like nightmares during the day, nightmares you couldn't wake up from because they were true and real. Every single mistake - no matter how small - would have me tossing and turning at night. I would quite literally roll from side to side trying to escape a memory as if it had some physical presence on that side of the bed and I could escape by turning my back on it. It never worked.

I suffered from guilt, something I was taught by my mother and ex boyfriend. My mother told me to always apologize - even when it's not my fault. With my ex, everything was my fault. Reading what I've written before, I can see how completely devoted I was to being the bad guy while he was the good guy. I'd done something wrong.

I've never told anyone this... but I stopped eating. I made a lot of excuses to friends and family, and while many of them were true (I was sick to my stomach a lot and a lot of food did not appeal to me), the honest to god main reason was because I didn't think I deserved food. It was a form of punishment I laid down upon myself. Everything that triggered my anxiety or depression was something I had to punish myself for. I left class early, so I wouldn't eat that day. I forgot to text someone back, so I wouldn't eat that day. I cried all night, so I wouldn't eat that day. I stayed up all night reading, playing video games, or watching Netflix, so I wouldn't eat that day. I didn't study for a test, so I didn't eat that day. I got into a fight with my mom, so I didn't eat that day. I didn't leave my room all weekend, so I didn't eat all weekend.

When I finally did see a psychiatrist, she told me it was the worst case of anxiety she's ever seen in her 30 years of practice. I come back to this thought every time I think I'm going crazy or trying to explain to someone how I feel. Sometimes even thinking it makes me feel like I'm being dramatic, but I suppose that's just proof to how bad my anxiety really is.

My psychiatrist told me that I was never in a state of rest (which explains why I'm always exhausted). Even just psychically, I'm constantly in fight or flight mode. If anxiety levels were graded 1-10, a normal person would be in the 1-5 range. 1 when they are at peace and increasing up to 5 at their worst level of anxiety. She told me that I am always at a level of 10, and when I do break down it's because my anxiety increases beyond the scope of my control... It goes up to 12, 13, 14, 15... And then I break.

In a sick sort of way, I'm actually proud of myself for staying in control as much as I do. Whereas a normal person breaks at 5, I exist functionally at 10. No one else could do that! That was pretty cool. Sure, I was sick beyond all measure, but it proved that at the very least I had some strength inside me. That might sound ridiculous to some people, but being able to control my anxiety like that is one of my only points of pride.

I have more control over it than I think I do, and reminding myself of that sometimes helps. It also allows me to feel sorry for myself... which sounds awful when I say it, but when you're constantly feeling guilty for everything that happens even if it's out of your control, being able to say it's not my fault, I really am sick is like a miracle. Being able to feel sorry for myself because I'm so ridiculously sick that even my psychiatrist thinks I'm the absolutely worst case means I'm not actually crazy... Maybe "feeling sorry for myself" isn't the right way to put it; maybe it's more like I'm allowing myself to actually be sick.

I'm doing better now. I'm not doing great, I'm not even doing well, but I am doing better. A 40% may still be an F, but it's a great improvement to 20%. I'm on a lot of medication now... buproprion, buspirone, quetiapine, lorazapam, BC, even just normal vitamins and iron supplements... it's helping. I do feel a difference, but I'm in no way close to being cured.

I'm going to be honest with you, reader whoever you are or empty internet space if no one is reading this at all... I still punish myself by not eating. I still have days where I want to die. In fact, I very frequently imagine things happening to me - generally like knives slicing my throat open or getting in a car crash - with nonchalance. I still break, often and over little things. I still obsessively work on distractions. I still have trouble sleeping at night. I still can't escape my thoughts (what's it even like to have a quiet moment in your mind? I didn't even know that that could happen until someone else told me). I'm still obsessively guilty and if anyone uses a tone of voice in the wrong way, it stabs my heart like I've done something wrong to make them mad.

When will I be okay? Will I ever be okay? I don't know. I just know that a level 10 anxiety is normal day-to-day life for me and that I can always feel depression lurking around the corner.

But I haven't given up yet. If you're reading this and you also suffer from anxiety and/or depression, I hope you haven't given up either. Take my hand (figuratively), and know that you are not crazy, you are not alone, and it can get better.

Endometriosis and Why I Hate Doctors

In this post I wanted to bring up my health and my path to recovery. I doubt anyone reads this, but maybe my story can help someone else.

My health continued to decline. Not just my mental symptoms, but my physical symptoms. This post will focus on my physical health.

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My cramps from my period got worse every month, and I was overcome by pain and exhaustion. I would sit in my car after getting home from school for at least 10 minutes before I had the energy to go inside, and that was on a good day. On bad days, I sat for more than an hour. My back ached from doing anything, and after 15 minutes doing chores, I'd have to sit down and take a break. I couldn't even take a shit without crying in pain. Sometimes the pain was so bad that I wouldn't be able to move. The pain would build and build and build throughout the month. When I finally felt relief, I had to take time to recover. I was tired. So tired. Then I'd have a day or two of normality, so fresh that even my depression and anxiety seemed to pause. But then it would start again. Exhaustion creeping up, twinges of pains becoming more and more prominent... The cycle would start again.

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Throughout my adolescence and into my early 20's, none of the doctors I brought up pain and emotional turmoil thought much of it. Even my parents brushed it off. It's normal, lots of women experience period pain. It's normal, I'm just very hormonal. It's normal. It's normal. It's normal. My misery was normal. I was complaining about things that a female body just does. There's nothing to do. Nothing to change. I'm just dramatic. I'm just sensitive. I'm just mean. I'm just selfish. I'm just narcissistic... I blamed everything on hormones. Even my depression - it was because of hormones.

Only it wasn't normal. I wasn't being irrational. And I certainly wasn't experiencing the cliche and rather insulting stereotype of PMS 24/7. Something was wrong.

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Self-diagnosis only gets you so far... but I had given up on doctors.

A doctor I had back in Maryland had prescribed me narcotics for the pain, but looked no further into it. I didn't know any better, I was just relieved to have medication that worked. When I finally ran out of the meds a couple months after moving, things shifted dramatically. I went to a new doctor in San Diego for a new prescription. He refused to help me.

He didn't believe I needed them, and subtly accused me of being a drug addict trying to get a fix simply because I voiced concern over the waning effect of the drugs. I don't remember all of the conversation (I was a wreck at the time and could barely speak) but I will always remember the one comment that broke my faith in modern medicine and myself. "There are a ton of women who work for me in my practice, and none of them need narcotics for cramps." 

He wasn't telling me it was normal. He was telling me I was lying.

I was upset. There wasn't a single emotion I wasn't feeling that day. Anger. He didn't believe me. Sadness. No one ever believes me. Doubt. Maybe I just have a low tolerance for pain? Why can't I handle it like everyone else? Guilt. Am I subconsciously making this up for attention or to get out of responsibilities? What kind of a person am I?

I stopped going to doctors. They didn't believe me. I stopped talking about it to family. They didn't believe me. I took 4-6 extra strength Tylonel every 3 hours during my period (you're only supposed to do 2 pills every 6 hours. But it wasn't enough.). I didn't know what to do except brace myself for the next round of misery, be it depression, anxiety, obsessive guilt, exhaustion, pain, or all of the above.

I allowed myself to deteriorate.

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I don't know where I would be or who I would be if my fiance hadn't convinced me to see a new doctor.

I went to a physician's assistant that was the primary care for a friend of mine. I was so upset and I knew I wouldn't be able to talk once I got there, so I wrote every issue, problem, and complaint I could think of down on a piece of paper. All I did was hand her the paper and cry while she read it.

Then, a miracle happened... she believed me.

"Your pain is not normal. I think you have endometriosis. " What? "I can't be sure without running tests for other things, but you need to see an OBGYN." ... "I also think you have depression and anxiety issues. I want you to see a psychiatrist immediately."

Anxiety. Depression. I vaguely knew what those were. But endometriosis? She had to explain it to me.

The basic gist of it is as follows:

- 'Endometrial tissue' grows inside the uterus. It collects all the stuff that later becomes your period. When your body realizes it is not pregnant, this tissue spasms and cramps to shed the lining and voila! your period.
- With endometriosis, the tissue grows outside the uterus.... the ovaries, the pelvic wall, the outside of the uterus, the intestines, the bladder, really any organ.
- Now you have a normal function happening in all the wrong places in a very not-normal way.
- Every period you have, more tissue grows.
- Your body puts aside more and more nutrients, blood, etc. for the endometrial tissue outside the uterus. Exhaustion x10.
- ALL of it cramps and sheds the lining. Suddenly cramps are happening not just in the uterus, but all over your pelvic area. Pain x10.
- If left unchecked, tumors can grow. (stage 3)
- The most severe cases, the ovaries and uterus start to fuse together or to other organs. (stage 4)
- The pain you feel is not equivalent to the stage you're in. Some with stage 4 have no pain at all, and others are like me, stage 2 with extreme pain, lots of tissue everywhere but no tumors.

The only way to really tell if you have endometriosis is to cut you up and take a look. Surgery. Luckily it was non-invasive, but terrifying none the less. And no guarantee it's there.

I feel so lucky that we caught it. And I'm proud of myself for going through with the surgery, even though I was terrified, even though I had no guarantee that I would even have an answer after it was done. I guess I was just desperate.

The pain has improved immensely. Rarely do I have so much pain that I need to take medicine for it.

But I'm also still bitter and distrustful of doctors. I have met too many who don't want to help, too many who have swept me under the rug and stomped all over me. I found 3 doctors who finally took steps to help me, but 3/15 (or so) is not something I'd bet on.

If you think something is wrong, don't listen to your doctor. Because when you ignore your body and put your trust into doctors who could be wrong or could just not be listening to you. Get a second opinion. Get a third. Get a fourth. Keep going until you have an answer that makes sense to you.

For the record, through multiple forums I have heard of women being told the only way to treat endometreosis is by GETTING PREGNANT. Seriously, "Oh you have this, you have to get pregnant if you want help, that's the only way." What. The. Fuck. Don't believe that shit!!!!!!!! While having a baby has shown to help those with endometreosis, it's not the only fucking answer. Surgery. 3-month BC, and hormone injections are all possible options. You don't have to have a baby when you're 22 to find relief.

I wish I could tell you to trust doctors. I really really wish I could... But I can't, not in good conscious. One, doctors can be wrong. Doctors are humans and make mistakes; don't let their mistakes compromise your health. Two, doctors don't always listen - ESPECIALLY to women. Even female doctors give less credit to women than they do male patients. Maybe it has something to do with stereotypes that society pushes on us, I don't know, but I know from experience that it's true. Three, you know your body better than anyone. Don't let someone tell you you're find when you just know something is wrong.

Anyways, that's my rant for the day. I started writing this post weeks ago, and I've debated on posting it because I know how bitter and angry I must sound (because honestly, I still hold a huge grudge... I'm trying to let go, but it's still there burning inside me). But maybe it'll help you. Maybe it'll help your friend or family member or coworker. And maybe no one is reading this at all and it doesn't matter.

3 years later...

To no one's surprise - especially since I have no readers who could be surprised - I stopped writing this blog. It is now February 2016, and I only just realized that I had started this.

Reading through my very few posts was hard. Harder than I thought it would ever be... But it also brings to life the incredible changes that have happened in my life, and how different a person I am now.

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A lot has changed since my last post. I started dating someone a couple months after my last post (kinda on accident, and despite my own broken heart), and we've been inseparable ever since. Now, we're engaged to be married! Although I am very happy to be engaged to this wonderful man, it comes with tons of complications with my family. But that's a whole other story and not something I have the energy to get into today.

I was going to make a post updating on my health. I wrote for hours, going through and making changes and edits and adding things and taking out irrelevant thoughts... and then I realized how bitter I felt about what I was writing. I'm not yet finished writing it so it will most likely be my next post, but the entire situation still burns fresh for me, and makes me genuinely angry.

Many of the stories I'd like to write about are also emotionally charged ones that I still feel strongly connected to. I'm not sure why, but I can't stop clinging on to them. Hopefully, in writing them down I can clear my mind of them and move one. I make no promises to myself on the matter though; none of the promises to move on have ever been fulfilled. I no longer have unrealistic expectations of myself.

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In a lot of ways, I'm still that broken hearted girl who could barely keep it together... I'm not perfect. Sometimes it's still hard to simply exist, but I am doing better.

Until next time~

Who I was and who I am; and

Whom I'm meant to be...

Of whom I dream -

Standing tall -

Through storms across the sea.

That woman strong,

That woman proud,

Who I could one day be,

If I could save myself -

Create myself -

The hard salt eroded me.

-me