It's not uncommon for people with mental illness to have messy homes. Some of the symptoms of mental illness include going catatonic and not being able to do anything. This can happen in both depression and anxiety but for different reasons. During a depressive episode, someone may not clean because they don't have the energy or they don't feel like it's worth it. With anxiety, someone may avoid cleaning because they feel overwhelmed or feel they just can't do it properly right now at this moment. When you have both anxiety and depression, it's just a catastrophe.
I must now come clean and confess my mess. It's disgusting, and I'm pretty sure a health hazard. Some weeks, I manage to wash my dishes three times a week. Other weeks, I avoid them like the plague, and then avoid them for a few more days after they start to smell. I should get to that, I tell myself. Yes, but not now. I'm too tired. I feel too restless to stand at a sink and wash dishes. It takes too much effort. I have a lot of excuses.
The piles of nastiness pile up faster than my excuses. Sometimes I have three trash bags in the apartment. The one in the garbage can is full, so I start a new one. I put that new one somewhere on a shelf or box, out of reach of the dog. Oh, that one is full. Time to start a new one. No, I haven't managed to take out any of the bags yet. I will do that...eventually!
Sometimes I run out of clean underwear for two or three days before I actually do laundry. Like I said, it's a health hazard.
I've tried to take a page out of Dana White's playbook and just do a little at a time. This "little at a time" only lasts for one day or so. I checked out Clean Mama's blog and followed her Instagram, but I scoff every time I see her post. Cleaning takes a lot more effort than she suggests. It's easy if you keep up with it! That's what they say. And maybe it is easier when you only have one bag of trash to take out instead of three, but even that one bag of trash requires a lot of effort when you have to walk out of your apartment, down the stairs, and 50 yards to the nearest dumpster.
I don't have any solutions to this health hazard problem yet. I have to constantly catch myself leaving trash or stuff all over and then have to force myself to put the item in its correct place. Doing this is exhausting. Maybe it becomes easier over time, but cleaning seems to require so much mindfulness and energy that I don't have right now. It's extremely disheartening, and I beat myself up constantly for not having a clean apartment and for not being able to do the basics, such as wash my dishes and put away laundry.
My therapist says that chores can always be done another day, but I'm not so sure that's the case when you have maggots in your house, and you're not sure where they're coming from. But at least getting maggots on my ceiling encouraged me to finally take out the trash.
Showing posts with label anxiety. Show all posts
Showing posts with label anxiety. Show all posts
Saturday, November 2, 2019
Sunday, September 22, 2019
Mental Health in the U.S. Workplace
By now, I think many people are well aware that there are limited protections for workers in the U.S., and when it comes to healthcare, employees are at the mercy of employers. Even though I was not a good fit for my last position, I was afraid to leave because I would lose my insurance if I did.
In order to keep up with the large workload that I had, I had to work overtime, which meant I worked 45-50 hours a week (for less than $40,000 per year). To be honest, even working an extra hour or two a day didn't help me keep up with the work. I felt constantly overwhelmed. I did eventually have a mental breakdown, and it took four weeks for me to recover and finally go back to work full time. During that time, I was able to use my vacation hours and sick time, and thankfully, my supervisors didn't give me too much flak.
I got the flak later. The last couple of months before I left my position, I decided to stop working overtime because I was incredibly stressed out and didn't feel like I could handle it without my health taking another dive. But the department head then gave me a huge spill about how salary workers are required to work overtime sometimes, and that I had to work overtime to finish projects before I left the company. It made my blood boil. I had worked overtime for a few years, and it was my last two months. It was pure bullpoop. I angrily responded I couldn't work overtime because I was in pain, and she required that I submit a doctor's note. So I did. I was so pissed off that I asked two different doctors for notes. If she wanted notes, she was gonna get them. I thought about perhaps contacting a lawyer and trying to figure out how to invoke ADA. Perhaps I should have gone to HR to ask for accommodations, but I didn't trust them. HR exists to protect the company from getting sued, not to protect the employees.
In the U.S., there is nothing to stop a boss from abusing salaried workers. And let's be honest. Requiring salaried workers to work overtime every single day in order to keep up with the workload is abuse. It's extremely unhealthy and causes harm to the workforce and productivity. Working long hours can lead to burnout and to the development of physical and mental health disorders, such as tension headaches, anxiety, and depression. (By "requiring" here I mean that there are many employers who will say to your face that you shouldn't have to work overtime or you should only work overtime occasionally, but then there is an implicit company culture that suggests you should be working overtime and checking email all the time.)
The U.S. does have the Americans with Disabilities Act, which requires employers to provide accommodations to employees with disabilities. But I feel like the act doesn't do enough to protect those with disabilities. And is mental illness a disability in the first place? My mental illness did cause me to procrastinate, and I feel it took me longer to get started and to complete work than expected. However, I'm still not sure that my anxiety could have been considered a disability, even though my doctors had classified it as "severe."
In my supervisors' defense, I didn't tell them I had been diagnosed with multiple mental illnesses or that my anxiety disorder caused physical symptoms, such as stomachaches and headaches. I felt uncomfortable disclosing my conditions because I thought they would have treated me even more poorly than before due to the stigma of mental illness (and yet, here I am talking about it on the Internet, a more public forum than the workplace). I thought there might have been a possibility that I could have been fired since my mental illness slowed my work down and reduced my output.
Mental illness does negatively impact my work, and it cause delays in productivity. I feel like the stress of the workplace environment, working overtime, and just generally struggling to complete daily tasks makes mental health worse, and that supervisors who do not provide compassion or mercy for struggling employees only add to the employees' distress and pain. I wish there were more protections for disabilities and mental illness in the U.S. workplace.
In order to keep up with the large workload that I had, I had to work overtime, which meant I worked 45-50 hours a week (for less than $40,000 per year). To be honest, even working an extra hour or two a day didn't help me keep up with the work. I felt constantly overwhelmed. I did eventually have a mental breakdown, and it took four weeks for me to recover and finally go back to work full time. During that time, I was able to use my vacation hours and sick time, and thankfully, my supervisors didn't give me too much flak.
I got the flak later. The last couple of months before I left my position, I decided to stop working overtime because I was incredibly stressed out and didn't feel like I could handle it without my health taking another dive. But the department head then gave me a huge spill about how salary workers are required to work overtime sometimes, and that I had to work overtime to finish projects before I left the company. It made my blood boil. I had worked overtime for a few years, and it was my last two months. It was pure bullpoop. I angrily responded I couldn't work overtime because I was in pain, and she required that I submit a doctor's note. So I did. I was so pissed off that I asked two different doctors for notes. If she wanted notes, she was gonna get them. I thought about perhaps contacting a lawyer and trying to figure out how to invoke ADA. Perhaps I should have gone to HR to ask for accommodations, but I didn't trust them. HR exists to protect the company from getting sued, not to protect the employees.
In the U.S., there is nothing to stop a boss from abusing salaried workers. And let's be honest. Requiring salaried workers to work overtime every single day in order to keep up with the workload is abuse. It's extremely unhealthy and causes harm to the workforce and productivity. Working long hours can lead to burnout and to the development of physical and mental health disorders, such as tension headaches, anxiety, and depression. (By "requiring" here I mean that there are many employers who will say to your face that you shouldn't have to work overtime or you should only work overtime occasionally, but then there is an implicit company culture that suggests you should be working overtime and checking email all the time.)
The U.S. does have the Americans with Disabilities Act, which requires employers to provide accommodations to employees with disabilities. But I feel like the act doesn't do enough to protect those with disabilities. And is mental illness a disability in the first place? My mental illness did cause me to procrastinate, and I feel it took me longer to get started and to complete work than expected. However, I'm still not sure that my anxiety could have been considered a disability, even though my doctors had classified it as "severe."
In my supervisors' defense, I didn't tell them I had been diagnosed with multiple mental illnesses or that my anxiety disorder caused physical symptoms, such as stomachaches and headaches. I felt uncomfortable disclosing my conditions because I thought they would have treated me even more poorly than before due to the stigma of mental illness (and yet, here I am talking about it on the Internet, a more public forum than the workplace). I thought there might have been a possibility that I could have been fired since my mental illness slowed my work down and reduced my output.
Mental illness does negatively impact my work, and it cause delays in productivity. I feel like the stress of the workplace environment, working overtime, and just generally struggling to complete daily tasks makes mental health worse, and that supervisors who do not provide compassion or mercy for struggling employees only add to the employees' distress and pain. I wish there were more protections for disabilities and mental illness in the U.S. workplace.
Sunday, May 12, 2019
The Perils and Perks of Medication
A lot has changed since the last time I wrote in 2018. I was officially diagnosed with generalized anxiety disorder, and my primary care doctor persuaded me to go on medication. I took escitalopram (Lexapro) since it was thought to cause fewer side effects than other SSRIs (selective serotonin reuptake inhibtors; essentially the medicine blocks neurons from absorbing serotonin so that the serotonin lingers longer between the synapses inbetween neurons, causing your serotonin levels to artificially increase).
Side effects warnings are always terrifying. The FDA requires companies to list all side effects, even those that are rare but have been reported, such as death or blood clots. The worse side effects are typically the rarest, but my anxious brain latches onto them, focusing on the biggest threat (even though they are highly improbably). So, as you can imagine, after I read the side effects of the medication, I did not want to take it. My biggest fear is that I would experience depression again. I didn't want to go to that dark place a third time. However, my doctor was convinced that since we had exhausted our other venues, which included yoga, therapy, and reducing caffeine intake, he thought it was best that I go on the medication. I eventually relented.
SSRIs are drugs that take a while to build up in your system before they can actually work. While the medication was building up, I did experience some side effects. The two biggest side effects for me were nausea and feeling tired 24/7. I struggled to get work done in the office, and all I wanted to do was nap. Even though the pharmacy recommended that I take the medicine in the morning, I decided to take the medicine at night so that I could hopefully avoid falling asleep at my desk. It did work. I felt like I had fewer side effects throughout the day, but I also feel like the medicine didn't work as well. I also felt more anxiety during the day, though not as much without the medicine.
The medication did work. It didn't prevent all of the anxiety, but it did numb it so that I could combat it with my thoughts. I felt calmer and had less trouble falling asleep at night. For once in my life, I felt normal and that the anxiety that I was feeling was manageable.
Fast forward to February when I decided to foster a dog (and eventually adopt him). That dog managed to grab a full bottle of medication that I had just gotten from the pharmacy off of the table, and he destroyed the bottle. He ripped the plastic to pieces. When I opened the door to my apartment and saw what had happened, I gasped and went into panic mode. I immediately cleaned up the plastic and counted the pills. Phew. All 30 were accounted for, and the dog hadn't eaten any. But I hadn't vacuumed that carpet in over 4 weeks (nasty, I know). I tossed the pills in the garbage and didn't look back. There was no way I was putting those in my mouth.
I still had half a bottle from last month, so I started to ration the pills. Going off SSRIs cold turkey leads to some very unpleasant side effects, and those side effects tend to mimic anxiety. It sucked. I took the pills every other day and then every three days, hoping the pharmacy would refill the prescription soon before I ran out of pills. I ran out three weeks ago, and these last few weeks have been extremely difficult. I've had a lot of nausea and brain zaps. I also dealt with muscle pain and vertigo. It's felt like an emotional roller coaster, and sometimes I cried at the drop of a hat. For three days last week, I had insomnia, especially on the days before and after my annual performance review at work. However, since American insurance companies only pay for so much medication a month, I didn't think I could afford another bottle of pills without insurance. I didn't even bother to call and negotiate since negotiating is just unpleasant for a doormat like me and I expected to get denied anyway.
I just got the automatic refill on Saturday, but I still haven't taken it yet. The anxiety is welling up, and I'm so anxious that I can't even sit down to enjoy some leisure time. I turned on the Xbox to play a video game, but then turned it off when I thought I most likely couldn't beat the difficult level I'm stuck on. I laid down in bed to take a nap with my dog curled by myself, but I was unfortunately unable to calm my mind. I think I should start the medicine again, but I feel anxious about it, not as anxious as before I started it, but anxious enough that I'm not ready to take another pill.
Since adopting my dog, I've been getting more bruises. I had a huge system of 4-5 bruises on my thigh where you can typically see a large vein. There were bruises on my other thigh, on my calves, and on my forearms. I don't know how they got there. It could be that all the walking we do is causing me to bruise. I haven't gotten as many bruises since I've been off the medication, and I think I'll talk to my doctor before starting again. I should have called my doctor weeks ago, but I've been putting it off. If I'm going to get my anxiety back on track, I'll need to make that phone call.
Side effects warnings are always terrifying. The FDA requires companies to list all side effects, even those that are rare but have been reported, such as death or blood clots. The worse side effects are typically the rarest, but my anxious brain latches onto them, focusing on the biggest threat (even though they are highly improbably). So, as you can imagine, after I read the side effects of the medication, I did not want to take it. My biggest fear is that I would experience depression again. I didn't want to go to that dark place a third time. However, my doctor was convinced that since we had exhausted our other venues, which included yoga, therapy, and reducing caffeine intake, he thought it was best that I go on the medication. I eventually relented.
SSRIs are drugs that take a while to build up in your system before they can actually work. While the medication was building up, I did experience some side effects. The two biggest side effects for me were nausea and feeling tired 24/7. I struggled to get work done in the office, and all I wanted to do was nap. Even though the pharmacy recommended that I take the medicine in the morning, I decided to take the medicine at night so that I could hopefully avoid falling asleep at my desk. It did work. I felt like I had fewer side effects throughout the day, but I also feel like the medicine didn't work as well. I also felt more anxiety during the day, though not as much without the medicine.
The medication did work. It didn't prevent all of the anxiety, but it did numb it so that I could combat it with my thoughts. I felt calmer and had less trouble falling asleep at night. For once in my life, I felt normal and that the anxiety that I was feeling was manageable.
Fast forward to February when I decided to foster a dog (and eventually adopt him). That dog managed to grab a full bottle of medication that I had just gotten from the pharmacy off of the table, and he destroyed the bottle. He ripped the plastic to pieces. When I opened the door to my apartment and saw what had happened, I gasped and went into panic mode. I immediately cleaned up the plastic and counted the pills. Phew. All 30 were accounted for, and the dog hadn't eaten any. But I hadn't vacuumed that carpet in over 4 weeks (nasty, I know). I tossed the pills in the garbage and didn't look back. There was no way I was putting those in my mouth.
I still had half a bottle from last month, so I started to ration the pills. Going off SSRIs cold turkey leads to some very unpleasant side effects, and those side effects tend to mimic anxiety. It sucked. I took the pills every other day and then every three days, hoping the pharmacy would refill the prescription soon before I ran out of pills. I ran out three weeks ago, and these last few weeks have been extremely difficult. I've had a lot of nausea and brain zaps. I also dealt with muscle pain and vertigo. It's felt like an emotional roller coaster, and sometimes I cried at the drop of a hat. For three days last week, I had insomnia, especially on the days before and after my annual performance review at work. However, since American insurance companies only pay for so much medication a month, I didn't think I could afford another bottle of pills without insurance. I didn't even bother to call and negotiate since negotiating is just unpleasant for a doormat like me and I expected to get denied anyway.
I just got the automatic refill on Saturday, but I still haven't taken it yet. The anxiety is welling up, and I'm so anxious that I can't even sit down to enjoy some leisure time. I turned on the Xbox to play a video game, but then turned it off when I thought I most likely couldn't beat the difficult level I'm stuck on. I laid down in bed to take a nap with my dog curled by myself, but I was unfortunately unable to calm my mind. I think I should start the medicine again, but I feel anxious about it, not as anxious as before I started it, but anxious enough that I'm not ready to take another pill.
Since adopting my dog, I've been getting more bruises. I had a huge system of 4-5 bruises on my thigh where you can typically see a large vein. There were bruises on my other thigh, on my calves, and on my forearms. I don't know how they got there. It could be that all the walking we do is causing me to bruise. I haven't gotten as many bruises since I've been off the medication, and I think I'll talk to my doctor before starting again. I should have called my doctor weeks ago, but I've been putting it off. If I'm going to get my anxiety back on track, I'll need to make that phone call.
Thursday, October 4, 2018
I'm Gonna Fail!
In my undergraduate sophomore year in college, every time I had a test or quiz, the same scene would play out.
"I'm gonna fail!" I would exclaim while stressing over the pages in front of me, but my roommate rolled her eyes. "No, you're not."
And she was always right. I almost always passed with A's and sometimes B's. I only failed one quiz in my college career, and I dropped the class soon after that once I realized I had spread myself too thin. I agonized over my decision to drop the class, and I felt like a complete failure. I had even spoke with a professor about my decision, and he seemed very nonchalant about the whole situation. He had dropped many classes before, and he was no where near perfect. Even though he had a Ph.D., he actually had made C's in his undergraduate years. To him, dropping one class wasn't a big deal, but to me, it felt like a mountain.
I was reminded of this memory while listening to Hermoine Granger fret over her O.W.L.S. in the sixth book, Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince. I completely understood how she felt, as she started to convenience herself that she was going to fail every single test. In the end, Hermoine got top marks, but she was still disappointed that she didn't get the very top mark for one class. Almost all outstanding and one exceeds expectations, and she felt like a failure.
I frequently have that problem. I constantly feel like a failure even when one thing goes wrong. I forgot to check the quotations in this manuscript; I'm a failure. I didn't manage to vacuum the floors this Saturday; I'm a failure. I made an awkward joke and it fell flat; I'm a failure.
It's cliche to constantly repeat that everyone makes mistakes, but it's true. It's okay to make a mistake. It's okay to mess up. It's as common as people passing stools. It's just a thing we must accept in life, but it's still really hard to accept. Do I have any worth if I make mistakes? If I don't get straight A's or have the best work performance, do I even deserve any good feelings that may be sent my way?
And this is where self-compassion comes in. Self-Compassion is sort of the "new" self-esteem. It's about forgiving yourself and treating yourself with kindness. I'm not very good at, but I am trying to practice it. I practice it by giving myself a break, even if I haven't finished all my work. I practice by forgiving myself for missing an email, and reminding myself that I'm not an idiot, just overwhelmed. I also practice self-compassion by taking a deep breath whenever my brain tries to bully me and convince me I'm worthless, and then reminding myself that making one mistake doesn't mean I'm worthless. It just means I'm human.
"I'm gonna fail!" I would exclaim while stressing over the pages in front of me, but my roommate rolled her eyes. "No, you're not."
And she was always right. I almost always passed with A's and sometimes B's. I only failed one quiz in my college career, and I dropped the class soon after that once I realized I had spread myself too thin. I agonized over my decision to drop the class, and I felt like a complete failure. I had even spoke with a professor about my decision, and he seemed very nonchalant about the whole situation. He had dropped many classes before, and he was no where near perfect. Even though he had a Ph.D., he actually had made C's in his undergraduate years. To him, dropping one class wasn't a big deal, but to me, it felt like a mountain.
I was reminded of this memory while listening to Hermoine Granger fret over her O.W.L.S. in the sixth book, Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince. I completely understood how she felt, as she started to convenience herself that she was going to fail every single test. In the end, Hermoine got top marks, but she was still disappointed that she didn't get the very top mark for one class. Almost all outstanding and one exceeds expectations, and she felt like a failure.
I frequently have that problem. I constantly feel like a failure even when one thing goes wrong. I forgot to check the quotations in this manuscript; I'm a failure. I didn't manage to vacuum the floors this Saturday; I'm a failure. I made an awkward joke and it fell flat; I'm a failure.
It's cliche to constantly repeat that everyone makes mistakes, but it's true. It's okay to make a mistake. It's okay to mess up. It's as common as people passing stools. It's just a thing we must accept in life, but it's still really hard to accept. Do I have any worth if I make mistakes? If I don't get straight A's or have the best work performance, do I even deserve any good feelings that may be sent my way?
And this is where self-compassion comes in. Self-Compassion is sort of the "new" self-esteem. It's about forgiving yourself and treating yourself with kindness. I'm not very good at, but I am trying to practice it. I practice it by giving myself a break, even if I haven't finished all my work. I practice by forgiving myself for missing an email, and reminding myself that I'm not an idiot, just overwhelmed. I also practice self-compassion by taking a deep breath whenever my brain tries to bully me and convince me I'm worthless, and then reminding myself that making one mistake doesn't mean I'm worthless. It just means I'm human.
Monday, July 30, 2018
Irrational Anxiety
I've tried to sit down and write this post a couple times this week. I usually begin by convincing myself that I need to search social media and look at other people's works to get my brain going, but I'm beginning to think that that's just a cop out. It's as if my anxiety is taking control of my unconscious thoughts. What if people don't like my post? What if I mess up? What if someone actually wants to talk to me and comments on the posts I write? It seems a little silly, doesn't it? But the anxiety is like a little bug that hijacks your thoughts, and if you're not careful, you can become its zombie.
I have experienced more anxiety in these past ten months than I have in my entire life. I am experiencing anxiety over things that generally didn't bother me as much in the past. Two days ago, I decided that I wanted to go home to visit my pets. I discussed the plans with my parents, found a surprisingly cheap plane ticket, and then procrastinated. When my mom asked why I hadn't bought it yet, I told her I'd buy it later. I put it off until about 9 or 10 at night.
Once I finally sat down to buy the ticket, I could feel the anxiety rising, and it felt absolutely ridiculous. All I was doing was buying a plane ticket. I wanted to go home. I wanted to see my family, but I began to worry about everything that was out of my control. I started thinking about plane hijackings, bad weather, seeing an abusive ex at an airport, just having to deal with people in general. On some level, I knew my worries were completely irrational and not at all important at the moment. All I wanted to do was book a plane ticket. I wasn't getting on the plane for another couple of months. I could worry about those things later, but the worry about them almost prevented me from buying the ticket. I deliberated a lot until I finally clicked on confirm. Once I clicked confirm and walked away from my computer, the anxiety melted away.
I struggled to do something that I wanted all because of the anxiety and fear of the unknown. Sometimes just knowing the facts doesn't help either. Do I know that flying by plane is much safer than riding by car? Oh, yes, I do know that, but did that stop the worrying and tension I felt in my body? Nope. Not a bit.
The only thing that helped me to overcome the anxiety was to push past the fears holding me back and do what I was afraid of anyway. It reminded me of what Rachel (from Rachel and Jun) mentioned in her vlog on anxiety. The only way to really overcome the anxiety is to do what you're afraid of, and it sucks. It's extremely unpleasant, both in your thoughts and in your body. In my case, I can feel my thoughts screaming at me, "We're all gonna die!" and I can feel my muscles contracting and sometimes shaking. I constantly have to remind myself to relax my foot because it always seems to be contracted and lifted whenever I think about something that makes me anxious. My leg muscles have been extra tight lightly, and my headaches are starting up again. My jaw always hurts more after a day of high anxiety.
It would be easier and much less painful to avoid whatever makes me anxious, but then I wouldn't be able to function as a human being. I wouldn't be able to go to work, fly home to see my family, go to the grocery store, take public transportation, or even just go outside and take a walk in my neighborhood. And there are many times when I don't do the things I want to do because I'm afraid I might run into someone. I simply surpress the fear by deciding not to go outside that day, and many times on the weekends, I don't go outside at all. It's not completely terrible, and staying at home has some perks, but it does prevent me from getting work done. And at the end of it all, I have all these errands and chores that I should have done but procrastinated on because of anxiety.
It's a difficult and exhausting disorder to live with, and I am doubtful that it'll ever go away. I have always tended towards the anxious side and anxiety runs in my family. I just didn't realize all this until I was much older and could finally understand what anxiety felt like and how it was holding me back. I do feel utterly ridiculous sometimes that I struggle to complete tasks that most people can do without thinking. I have done them without thinking anxious thoughts in the past, but now? Now it's different for some reason. Now it's harder to control the anxiety, and it's more pervasive than ever. I haven't had a full night of sleep since September, but in order to break through the anxiety, I have to keep pushing myself. It's a constant struggle. I just hope one day I'll get to the other side of this disorder and come out finally with some well earned rest and a quiet mind.
I have experienced more anxiety in these past ten months than I have in my entire life. I am experiencing anxiety over things that generally didn't bother me as much in the past. Two days ago, I decided that I wanted to go home to visit my pets. I discussed the plans with my parents, found a surprisingly cheap plane ticket, and then procrastinated. When my mom asked why I hadn't bought it yet, I told her I'd buy it later. I put it off until about 9 or 10 at night.
Once I finally sat down to buy the ticket, I could feel the anxiety rising, and it felt absolutely ridiculous. All I was doing was buying a plane ticket. I wanted to go home. I wanted to see my family, but I began to worry about everything that was out of my control. I started thinking about plane hijackings, bad weather, seeing an abusive ex at an airport, just having to deal with people in general. On some level, I knew my worries were completely irrational and not at all important at the moment. All I wanted to do was book a plane ticket. I wasn't getting on the plane for another couple of months. I could worry about those things later, but the worry about them almost prevented me from buying the ticket. I deliberated a lot until I finally clicked on confirm. Once I clicked confirm and walked away from my computer, the anxiety melted away.
I struggled to do something that I wanted all because of the anxiety and fear of the unknown. Sometimes just knowing the facts doesn't help either. Do I know that flying by plane is much safer than riding by car? Oh, yes, I do know that, but did that stop the worrying and tension I felt in my body? Nope. Not a bit.
The only thing that helped me to overcome the anxiety was to push past the fears holding me back and do what I was afraid of anyway. It reminded me of what Rachel (from Rachel and Jun) mentioned in her vlog on anxiety. The only way to really overcome the anxiety is to do what you're afraid of, and it sucks. It's extremely unpleasant, both in your thoughts and in your body. In my case, I can feel my thoughts screaming at me, "We're all gonna die!" and I can feel my muscles contracting and sometimes shaking. I constantly have to remind myself to relax my foot because it always seems to be contracted and lifted whenever I think about something that makes me anxious. My leg muscles have been extra tight lightly, and my headaches are starting up again. My jaw always hurts more after a day of high anxiety.
It would be easier and much less painful to avoid whatever makes me anxious, but then I wouldn't be able to function as a human being. I wouldn't be able to go to work, fly home to see my family, go to the grocery store, take public transportation, or even just go outside and take a walk in my neighborhood. And there are many times when I don't do the things I want to do because I'm afraid I might run into someone. I simply surpress the fear by deciding not to go outside that day, and many times on the weekends, I don't go outside at all. It's not completely terrible, and staying at home has some perks, but it does prevent me from getting work done. And at the end of it all, I have all these errands and chores that I should have done but procrastinated on because of anxiety.
It's a difficult and exhausting disorder to live with, and I am doubtful that it'll ever go away. I have always tended towards the anxious side and anxiety runs in my family. I just didn't realize all this until I was much older and could finally understand what anxiety felt like and how it was holding me back. I do feel utterly ridiculous sometimes that I struggle to complete tasks that most people can do without thinking. I have done them without thinking anxious thoughts in the past, but now? Now it's different for some reason. Now it's harder to control the anxiety, and it's more pervasive than ever. I haven't had a full night of sleep since September, but in order to break through the anxiety, I have to keep pushing myself. It's a constant struggle. I just hope one day I'll get to the other side of this disorder and come out finally with some well earned rest and a quiet mind.
Sunday, December 17, 2017
Anxiety Explosion
This September I took prednisone for an allergic reaction to fenugreek leaves. Unfortunately, the doctor prescribed a rather large dose, and within 24 hours, I had taken over 120mg of prednisone, which I do not recommend for anyone. At all. It's best, in my opinion, to avoid prednisone, if at all possible. My doctor likened it to a nuclear bomb going off in your body. That nuclear bomb broke my anxiety regulator and released the anxiety goblins.
Although I have had some anxious tendencies in the past, I haven't ever experienced anxiety attacks like I have in the past two months. A couple of times at night I purposely woke up my boyfriend out of fear that something was wrong. I went to the emergency room so many times that the last time I went, the doctor didn't run any tests and suggested I talk to a psychiatric nurse instead. I felt angry and upset yet a bit embarrassed and humiliated. The doctors at the emergency room were "starting to refuse to treat me" or at least that's what I told myself. The truth is the doctor saw that I had a problem, but it wasn't the problem I thought I had. I wasn't dying. I was having an anxiety attack.
It's hard to admit that I have an anxiety problem. I don't quite fit the GAD diagnosis since I've only had symptoms for three months, but once three months turn into six, I'll fit the diagnosis. The point of my starting counseling was to hopefully stop the anxiety and prevent it from turning into a disorder. While the anxiety has gone down, it hasn't stopped being symptomatic.
The largest anxiety that I have is health anxiety, followed by relationship anxiety, then followed by general anxiety. I don't want to be one of those people. You know, the people who talk about their anxiety, almost as if their anxiety rules their lives. I don't want anxiety to rule my every move, but not talking about and pretending that it can't possibly be anxiety is causing somatic symptoms. I have tingling hands, heart palpitations, lumps in my throat, constant throbbing tension headaches, but I denied that I have anxiety. After all of the doctor visits, I can no longer deny reality. I have anxiety.
Lisa Scott over at The Worry Games suggests that we should be proud of our anxiety, but I'm not proud of it. I'm really upset that I have this type of personality that lends itself to anxiety in the first place. I was angry at my parents for passing their anxious genes to me and not teaching me good mental health practices. I was angry at my bosses for making me work so much and possibly making the anxiety worse. I was angry at myself for not seeing anxiety for what it was earlier in the process.
But now that I've made some peace with the anxiety, I've started to come down from that tense high, and now, I can breathe a bit easier. I feel I still have a long way to go, but at least I'm no longer waking my boyfriend at 3am, asking him if we should go to the emergency room because of heart palpitations. I can't say that I'm proud of it, and I still see it as a hindrance rather than a gift, but maybe one day I'll see it as my ally instead of my enemy.
Although I have had some anxious tendencies in the past, I haven't ever experienced anxiety attacks like I have in the past two months. A couple of times at night I purposely woke up my boyfriend out of fear that something was wrong. I went to the emergency room so many times that the last time I went, the doctor didn't run any tests and suggested I talk to a psychiatric nurse instead. I felt angry and upset yet a bit embarrassed and humiliated. The doctors at the emergency room were "starting to refuse to treat me" or at least that's what I told myself. The truth is the doctor saw that I had a problem, but it wasn't the problem I thought I had. I wasn't dying. I was having an anxiety attack.
It's hard to admit that I have an anxiety problem. I don't quite fit the GAD diagnosis since I've only had symptoms for three months, but once three months turn into six, I'll fit the diagnosis. The point of my starting counseling was to hopefully stop the anxiety and prevent it from turning into a disorder. While the anxiety has gone down, it hasn't stopped being symptomatic.
The largest anxiety that I have is health anxiety, followed by relationship anxiety, then followed by general anxiety. I don't want to be one of those people. You know, the people who talk about their anxiety, almost as if their anxiety rules their lives. I don't want anxiety to rule my every move, but not talking about and pretending that it can't possibly be anxiety is causing somatic symptoms. I have tingling hands, heart palpitations, lumps in my throat, constant throbbing tension headaches, but I denied that I have anxiety. After all of the doctor visits, I can no longer deny reality. I have anxiety.
Lisa Scott over at The Worry Games suggests that we should be proud of our anxiety, but I'm not proud of it. I'm really upset that I have this type of personality that lends itself to anxiety in the first place. I was angry at my parents for passing their anxious genes to me and not teaching me good mental health practices. I was angry at my bosses for making me work so much and possibly making the anxiety worse. I was angry at myself for not seeing anxiety for what it was earlier in the process.
But now that I've made some peace with the anxiety, I've started to come down from that tense high, and now, I can breathe a bit easier. I feel I still have a long way to go, but at least I'm no longer waking my boyfriend at 3am, asking him if we should go to the emergency room because of heart palpitations. I can't say that I'm proud of it, and I still see it as a hindrance rather than a gift, but maybe one day I'll see it as my ally instead of my enemy.
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