I don’t know why I choose to be so open about all aspects of my life but I think everyone has something to say and experiences to share. There have been times when someone was brave enough to put their issues out there and I was grateful for their bravery because it was something I may have struggled with also and was happy to have another perspective. It always helps to know you’re not alone in any situation. So if this helps anyone who might suffer from anxiety, it’s worth it. I think getting it out will be beneficial for me, too.
This morning I found myself anxious, as I often do. This is the point I grab my Comet, rubber
gloves, and scrub stuff. As I found
myself engaged in my typical activities to ward off my anxiety, I felt like
maybe writing some of it down would be more cathartic. I have struggled with anxiety and panic
attacks since I was young. I did odd
things as a kid that I realize now were signs of a classic case of OCD. My first experience with it is the most embarrassing
and hardest to tell but it is what it is.
The first example I can remember of my weirdness was when I became
obsessed with God and going to hell. I
remember the first time I was told about hell.
It scared me so much I ran around the room sobbing and
hyperventilating. It, quite literally, put the fear of God in
me. I became obsessed with prayer and going
to hell. I began praying constantly. It became a full-blown obsession. I prayed so often, I learned to do it
nonchalantly so no one would pick up on my strange and frequent little
quirk. That is, right up until I decided
my prayers would better make it to heaven if I could scoop up my words in the
air and push them upward to the sky. I
felt they would lift right up to God and I wouldn’t go to hell. I guess I decided I needed to add one more
thing to be just a little bit more weird.
This little motion couldn’t be done so subtly. I was caught a few times and asked what the
hell I was doing. It was very hard to
explain it away. There were even
pictures taken where I was caught mid-ritual.
It was difficult, but I eventually became embarrassed enough that I forced
myself to stop doing it. Although, I
remained convinced God would know I was too embarrassed to do my ritual to send
my prayers up to him. I just had to hope he would understand and let me off the
hook at some point.
I had a series of little hand gestures and throat clearing
things I had developed, as well, but nothing major. They weren’t completely out of control until
I started school at Conway. Don’t get me
wrong, I came to love going to school there.
I made great friends and it was an experience I’d never had before and
desperately needed. It’s just that the
initial change threw me into overdrive and that’s when everything really began
to manifest. I didn’t know any of these
people so everything I did was a first impression and all they would know of
me. Oh, the pressure! Every little thing made my heart race… Finding a classroom… Which bus do I take?... Who will I sit with at lunch?...
My first year at Conway is the first panic attack I ever
experienced. I had no idea what was happening
but I thought I was having a physical attack of some sort. It began with heat rushing up from my neck
and engulfing my face. It has always
started that way and has never changed.
What I remember most was my hands went numb. I couldn’t hold my pencil. It just kept rolling out of my hand and off
my desk. I made my way to the teacher’s
desk to tell her I was having a problem.
I didn’t really know what to say other than exactly what was
happening. I told her my hands were
numb. She looked very confused and I
really wish she had given me a little discretion during our exchange but she
spoke loudly and all of the kids in the class were in on my weird medical
phenomenon. I think I remained some sort
of anomaly to her the remainder of the year.
I think she knew something was up with me, but she wasn’t sure what. Maybe if we BOTH knew what was going on,
things would have happened a little bit more quietly that day. Her making me a public spectacle only made
the rest of my body go numb. She sent me
to the nurse and I wobbled to my desk because I couldn’t tell if my legs were
solid underneath me. I was having a very
“here but not here” sensation. I was
completely discombobulated. As I put my
belongings back in my backpack and made my way through the desks, one of the
guys in the class said, “Her hands aren’t numb.
She probably just got her period.”
Lucky for him, I had no fight in me.
But I will say it now: Fuck You,
Nick Porter. You googly –eyed asshole.
I made my way to the nurse and all they could really ascertain
was that I was pale and slightly incoherent. They gave me a slip and called my mom to come
get me. As I waited for my mom to get
there, I kept looking down and realizing that I had dropped my little blue slip
because I couldn’t feel my hands. I
finally gave up and left it lying on the floor.
I went home and began feeling fine again and after a few hours, it was
like it never happened.
After that episode, though, panic attacks became a regular
thing and it caused me to develop constant anxiety about having a panic
attack. It was then my rituals became a
solid part of my routine to keep bad things from happening. It’s a vicious cycle. I would do my best to stay calm and take deep
breaths and hope it would pass. I didn’t
understand what it was so I know teachers didn’t understand what it was. I was in English once and an attack came over
me and I guess I was white as a sheet and had a death grip on my desk so
intense that the teacher noticed me and stopped class to ask if I was
okay. That’s the worst possible thing
she could have done. In those moments,
all I wanted was to disappear and be left alone. Please, do anything but notice me or call me
out. I realize she thought she was doing
the proper thing and checking on my well-being but I felt like she had just fed
me to the wolves. I began going home a
lot during mid-day, (her class period).
I was already consumed with the fear of having a panic attack but then
the added fear of having one in HER class.
It would give her an opportunity to dim the lights, put the spotlight on
me so everyone could point and laugh at the mental girl who freezes and shakes
like an inbred Chihuahua.
I didn’t know how to explain to anyone what was happening to
me. I didn’t know it was a real thing
and I wasn’t the only person with this problem.
How do you tell someone that out of nowhere you become completely consumed
and frozen with fear? They will ask, “Fear
of what?” ….My answer? “…..Everything.” I was young, but I knew enough to know that
wasn’t going to make sense to a lot of people so I worked through it the best I
could. The amazing thing is; I
eventually overcame it. My social life
picked up and I became more interested in that and basically grew tired of the amount
of time and energy I was devoting to the anxiety. I either
grew out of it or just managed to somehow close the lid on it. It faded away, truly.
I have always been nervous and prone to overthinking but I
wasn’t experiencing states of debilitating and irrational panic anymore. If I stay busy, I’m right as rain. I’m a social butterfly and I feed off of
other people’s energy. I need it to
survive. I hate to admit that since I
made the decision to stay home, my old issues have resurfaced. The solitude has really wreaked havoc. If I’m left alone with my own thoughts for
too long, I will work very hard to drive myself crazy. I worry.
I worry all the time and if I can’t think of something to worry about, I’ll
make something up. If I get onto a worry
I can reason into a legitimate concern, I can throw myself into a pacing
frenzy.
I had my first panic attack of my adult life just a few
years ago. Only this time, I knew
exactly what it was. Jason is a champ
and puts up with my shit to the best of his abilities. He admits he doesn’t understand it and I can
see his frustration at times. He knows
when I’m in a bad state and will grab me and remind me to breathe. In those times, forgetting to breathe is
common.
I have episodes of paranoia where I feel like everything I do
is under a microscope and is being critiqued.
Someone, somewhere, goes home and checks off a list of why I suck
because I haven’t done everything perfectly.
“OOooh, Misty’s house isn’t clean enough *check* Reid’s eczema is flaring up *check*” My mom tells me this is a form of narcissism. Perhaps it is. Great…
Just one more thing. I’m always
waiting for the other shoe to drop; for someone to lower the boom and ruin my
world. These are not things I’m proud of,
you understand. Believe me, I wish I
didn’t have anxiety. It can really make
an otherwise sane person look really ridiculous and who wants to look
ridiculous? I’m very self-aware so I do
my best to maintain. I am a manic
cleaner because it’s how I stay busy and keep my mind quiet. It’s as though I believe I can scrub away my
worry. I have scrubbed till my hands
have bled before. That’s where I found
myself at 8 A.M. when I decided to write this down. I have no doubts that once I begin school in
Feb., I will improve 100%. I’ve been
happy to have this time to be home with my kids but I think the seclusion has
had a few negative effects on me. These
issues only started happening again after a few years of staying home. Sometimes only having yourself to talk to
makes you realize you’re not your biggest fan, lol. When I have people to talk to, I do quite
well and no longer recognize the girl who paces and worries about worrying. There are things I want to make sure I state
here: I don’t want to be one of those
people who paints a picture of everything being perfect. I don’t want to imply I’m unhappy. I also don’t want to come off like the little
housewife who lives a nice life but manages to find something to whine about
and is looking for pity. It’s just
something I suffer with and right now it’s at a peak. I’ll get a grip on it again but I think it
will require me to have outside stimulation to make that happen. Stay-at-home moms don’t often talk about some
of the harsh realities that come with the territory. It has its amazing points but it’s not all
rainbows, bubblegum, and Pinterest. It
can be lonely. It can socially stunt
you. Sometimes when you focus solely on
one thing, you let it become bigger than yourself. I mentioned feeling critiqued, but I’m the
one doing the critiquing. It’s my check
list and I’m my harshest critic.
I hope there’s one person out there who can relate to this
blog and not think I’m the weirdest person you’ve ever encountered. Some people may be shocked and have no idea
this is an issue for me. Maybe I’ll be
shocked to discover this is an issue for some of you. I feel better now. My urge to purge worked out and helped me
address some of my ridiculousness and in reading some of this back, it helps me
see that I am logical and see the issues so I’m not completely lost. I think I’ll finish cleaning now but at a
leisurely pace. Maybe open the shades
and let a little light in. I think I
already metaphorically let a little light in.
