The Zombie Effect

After the clinical study where I was initially given a placebo for several weeks, the physician heading the study decided that medicine was what I needed to combat may anxiety disorder. No therapy, no books, no anything other than medicine. No, not this doctor. He decided that what was best for me was to take six 1 mg Xanax/day. Now, I don't know if any of you have ever taken Xanax, but it's just like taking a valium. It relaxes you (a lot!!!). It even puts some people to sleep. Now imagine taking six of those a day. Instantly I went from being a 30 panic attack per day person to a zombie. I went to my job with my eyelids swollen and half closed. Caffine had a very minimal effect on the oh so potent pills that I had been prescribed and was desperate enough to take. I had to go to the nurse on several occasions because "I wasn't feeling well" and needed to lie down (i.e., sleep). Once again, my life came to a screeching halt. Eventually, over a period of weeks, my body begin to adapt to the medication, and I was able to handle the dosage a little better. But little did I know, this was only the beginning of a new chapter in living life with an anxiety disorder.

Oh no, not again!!!

Several months went by after the initial panic attack that I had, so I thought I was "in the clear." But, as we all are sometimes, I was woefully incorrect. The next panic attack happened with such a ferocity that I couldn't believe it. And it was followed by another one and another one, and so on. Pretty soon, I was having them every day, about 30 times a day. Some of the symptoms I experienced were heart palpitations (I always thought I was having a heart attack), hyperventilating, sweaty hands, involuntary muscle movements, disorientation, headaches, sweating, depersonalization, dizziness, shaking, and nausea. I cried and cried after each attack, dreading the next one, knowing that it was coming and it would be just as horrible the next time around. Life was miserable. I stopped going out, and home became my "safe place" (or as I look back on it now, my prison) even though I still had anxiety attacks there.

Panic attacks were still relatively new at this time. Some information was around, but not nearly enough. I decided to join a study to get some relief. Unfortunately, I got the placebo instead of the real medicine, and suffered for another 6 weeks as I had to leave the house to go to the clinician for my weekly study checkup. By this time, I had quit school and only left the house to go to work, where I suffered 8 hours a day trying to hide the panic attacks I had while I was there. I had also met someone through a friend, and he seemed nice enough on the telephone, so I agreed to a date. When he came to pick me up, we got in his car, went about three blocks, and I had a severe panic attack. I had to get back to home, back to my safe place. Surprisingly, this man (whom I later married) stood by me, and eventually, after getting to know him much better, he became a "safe person" for me. He was picking me up and dropping me off at work everyday because I could no longer drive. Why? Because I feared being a traffic jam and not being able to get to help in the event that I had that heart attack that I knew was coming. I mean, surely my body couldn't take much more of this punishment before it began to falter. But, my heart got rave reviews at the cardiologist's office, as did my other body parts while I went from doctor to doctor having every possible thing checked that could be wrong with me. I became a hypochondriac, and every disease, old and new, seemed to fit. Life was a living hell, and I couldn't escape it. Someone finally suggested that I go to a psychiatrist, and after my initial consultation, I began my introduction to the world of psychiatric meds.

First things first...

Most of us who have an anxiety disorder, OCD, and anxiety disorder, or any other disorders think WE are crazy and alone. We worry that someone will find out how crazy we are and our lives will be ruined (IF we are fully functional). Let me tell you right now that you are not alone and that so many people live with these secrets because of how "normal" people would view us if they knew. Well, there's no such thing as a "normal" person. Almost everybody has something going on in the emotional realm that's out of the norm, and if they haven't, they haven't lived long enough yet....give them time and they will. If nothing else, people suffer from depression -- many, many people. I have bouts with it and have since my first panic attack. But the one thing I've learned is that even though I might be down, I'm not out. You can always find something within yourself (healthy) or outside yourself (not quite as healthy) if you must to drag yourself out of the quicksand called depression. Don't give in to it. Anxiety and borderline personality disorders are hard enough without that particular component.

The first time I had a panic attack, I was 18 years old, working full time, and going to school full time. And I was as healthy as a horse (at least physically). I had no way of knowing that I was so affected by all those times when I was growing up and heard arguing and fighting and saw violence and was scared to death. Now, you might be thinking that you didn't have all of those things growing up in your house. And maybe you didn't. Maybe you just had a parent who wasn't as nurturing as they should have been. Maybe you were molested. You might have witnessed something traumatic. But there was definitely something in your past. I knew there was in mine, but everytime things became bad in my house as a child, I "swallowed" the pain. I just refused to think about it. And I did that over and over and over again. And it worked, or so I thought. How was I to know that all that pain and all that emotion could not be forever stifled. One way or another, you are going to feel it. And if you wait too long to do so, and don't deal with the pain of your childhood or whatever it was that you went through, it's coming back for you. It shows up in the way we trust, the way we have relationships, and in everything we do. Even when you swear that you'll be a much better parent than yours were (and you may be), some of what you went through will come out in your parenting. The most important thing is to stop denying the hurt and pain from the past. Acknowledge it, accept it, and get ready to deal with it. Because until you take this first step, you are far from understanding the disorder that is caused.

I'm sorry, I keep digressing. The first time I had a panic attack, I had worked all day, it was raining and I was parked far from my car and had to go directly to Spanish class. I was late, so I ran part of the way because I wasn't able to find a good spot in which to park. When I got to my class, I sat down, opened my book, and tried to concentrate. I was out of breath, breathing hard. But since I had been running, it really didn't phase me that much. After a while, however, I noticed that I was feeling a little bit lightheaded and strange. I picked up my books and left the class before it ended, heading to my car. Fumbled with the car keys and when I tried to open the door, I found that my hand was shaking. What was going on? Finally got into my car, and immediately my right leg began to shake violently, followed by my hands. My chest began to hurt; I couldn't breathe. A heart attack at 18? No way! I started my car and began looking for the hospital which was just a few blocks away. But nothing looked familiar anymore. I couldn't find it, so I kept driving -- looking, searching. Finally, when it felt like my head and chest were about to explode, I began to try to hit other cars that were driving towards me so I could get someone to help me. Fortunately, they avoided me, and I made it a couple of blocks to a gas station where I called home for help.

My dad and my brother came to get me. They took me to the hospital where a doctor checked my vitals, and told me to sit there. Sit there? I'm having a heart attack, damn it! Somebody needs to help me. Seconds turned to minutes, and minutes turned to hours. When the doctor finally came back, he checked my vitals again (which were all normal by now) and announced that I'd just had a panic attack. A what??? Yes, a panic attack. He said that it might be the only one, or somewhere down the road, there could be others. Why, oh why couldn't it have turned out to be that first possibility?

Let me introduce myself

I've always been a Type A personality, but I didn't really realize it until a few years ago. A serious achiever, I graduated high school early and met my first boyfriend in college. I grew up in a dysfunctional family, with a verbally and physically abusive father who was an alcoholic, and a mother who was very loving and nurturing, but whose actions when I was young led to my becoming a doormat for people as I became older. I realize now that my mother only wanted to "keep things quiet" because that was the generation she grew up in. People didn't make a lot of buzz about their business; that was too shameful. So, when I was approached and/or molested, my mother thought it best to just keep quiet. Every time she made that decision, it made me feel like I wasn't worth standing up for. So I never stood up for myself. Until now. Now, I have a story to tell, and I'm ready to tell it. It's about life and love, anxiety, relationships, dysfunctional families, obsessive compulsive disorder, and everything in between. You will laugh, you will cry, but most of all, you will know that YOU ARE NOT ALONE!!! And you will know that you are NOT your disorder. Stick around. I'll be back VERY soon with a blog about the first day that my anxiety reared its ugly head.