Don't Tell Me to Calm Down

Anxiety. It's a real thing. 

I am not weak. I am human. I am real. This is my anxiety story. 

In 1997, my first husband and oldest daughter were killed in a car accident. I had been a high strung person before this event, but, the stress of it tumbled me right over the edge from stressed-out to full-blown panic. But it took a while. It was a long fall. That's the thing about it. It builds and builds and builds, until it is a tidal wave, a tsunami. You have no idea it is coming. The sirens going off in your head? They don't help. You don't hear them until it is too late. You're too close to the shore to get to safety. 

It was the summer of 2005. I was re-married and had a three-year-old little boy (yes, our amazing kid, Emerson) with my new husband. It was a Monday night/Tuesday morning. I was watching CSI:Miami, and like a freight train, out of nowhere, it hit me. I was dying. I was having a heart attack. There was no way I was making it to the hospital. I was going to die right here. On the floor of my bedroom. I toughed it out for several hours until I finally drove myself to the Emergency Room. They gave me some Ativan. It calmed me for a while. But the next night was a repeat of the night before. I wondered if this was going to be a constant in my life. 

I had panic attacks on and off for the next year. Yes. Several times a week for the next year. When I wasn't having a panic attack, I was anxious, worried, wringing my hands, pacing, crying. By the end of 2005, I was taking so much Ativan that I was a zombie. I started to get depressed. I called it the Ativan hangover. While the Ativan took care of the immediate panic, it slowed me down so much that I was lethargic, hopeless, doomed. 

Then I found out that I was pregnant. Ativan is a category D for pregnancy. What does that mean? D means DON'T. Now I was even more anxious. How in the world was I going to survive without being able to take the Ativan? I couldn't think about it. What was the worst thing that could happen if I took the Ativan while I was pregnant? A cleft palate. Could that be fixed with surgery? Yes. My doctor told me that the stress was equally bad for the baby. I would take the Ativan as needed throughout the pregnancy. I am not sure if it was sheer willpower, guilt, hormones, or what, but I did not need to take the Ativan nearly as much while I was pregnant. And then, just like that, one day I woke up, and the anxiety had virtually disappeared. 

I had feelings of creeping anxiety once in a while after that, but no panic attacks. I had a stash of Ativan, which gave me the comfort of knowing that it was there if I felt a panic attack creeping in. 

Then, in the winter of 2016/2017, it came back. With a vengeance. It woke me up in the middle of the night. I ran out of the house in my pajamas and drove myself to the Emergency Room. I sat in the parking lot and let Ativan after Ativan dissolve under my tongue, until it started getting light outside. I drove myself home, and I was okay for a few days. But there wasn't a second that went by that I wasn't worried about the next one. 

Jim thought I needed to get away. He got a room, took me out for dinner, drinks. I stayed awake all night. This one was bad. Really bad. I had forgotten my Ativan, so I couldn't do anything but sit there and freak out. It wasn't any better by morning. We got home, I unpacked, and lost my shit. I drove myself, braless, in a flannel shirt and old leggings, to the Emergency Room. Again, I sat there in the parking lot, eating Ativan. 

I was almost out of my stash of Ativan that I had kept in my drawer since 2005. I did have a doctor that gave me a few refills, just to ease my mind, but I had rarely touched it until now. I went to see the doctor again. I explained the situation. I had taken a total of 30mg of Ativan over the last 11 years. The doctor did not want to give me any more Ativan. Needless to say, this sent me spiraling. I hadn't NEEDED the Ativan since 2005, but the doc was worried that I might become dependent. The doc wanted me on an every day medication. I was not willing to do that. I had tried that years before, and it just made me feel like shit. I knew myself. I knew how to control the bad patches with Ativan. I used the Ativan as it was meant to be used. Now what was I going to do? 

Then, overnight, the feeling subsided. The overwhelming sense of doom and gloom was gone. I still have thoughts about "what am I going to do the next time", but they are few and far between. I know there will probably be a next time, but I am not worried about that now. 

Anxiety is real. It is horrible. I wouldn't wish it on my worst enemy. I am truly blessed that Jim has learned how to deal with me when I am in the throes of the monster. It has taken him a while, but he knows what I need, and, more importantly, don't need, when it happens. I am grateful that I have supportive people around me. I am grateful that even my kids get it. They know how to help me when I am stressed or anxious. I am happy that I have been able to control the anxiety pretty well, all things considered. 

Not everyone is that lucky.