New article up on The Mighty a few days ago!
New article up on The Mighty a few days ago!
It’s September 10th, which means it’s World Suicide Prevention Day. TWLOHA’s slogan this year being Find What You Were Made For.
I really struggled with this. I’ve been in a bit of a low period lately, so it’s all too easy to shut out the positive. Once I realized that that’s what I was doing I found that the answers were actually pretty simple.
I Was Made For my art. I was made for my music and my writing; for my creativity.
I Was Made For these amazing people I get to call friends who understand and are there for me, and in return be there for them. To give them back the love and hope they’ve given me.
I Was Made For the chance to be a voice in this world. A voice to raise awareness. To fight the stigma of mental health. To fight for equality.
I Was Made For being more than my depression and anxieties. More than my BPD. My disorders do not define me.
I Was Made For something I haven’t figured out yet. But I have to believe I will.
I Was Made For this. Here. Today. Tomorrow.
Stay. Find what you were made for.
Yeah, guess how well the girl with severe anxiety and panic disorder is dealing with the fact that she’ll be having a fucking organ removed in 10 days?
Not so much. At all.
As far as surgeries go, this is one of the more minor ones. I know that. Everyone is telling me this. But I already know and just repeating the same thing to me doesn’t help.
They ask what scares me about it – fucking everything. Hospitals in general, IV’s – two things I’ve encountered way too fucking often lately. What if I my anxiety gets too out of hand and I have a panic attack while they’re getting me ready to go under. I get dizzy and emotional, I can’t think properly therefore I can’t speak and say what’s wrong, and on a few occasions, I feel so faint that I actually pass out. Hell, maybe that’d work in my favour…
I was talking with my doctor today at an appointment, and pathetically typical me asked what if I wake up, to which she responds “That doesn’t happen anymore.” But it happened. Great.
Then there’s that whole bitch of a thing – being put to sleep. I’ve had to do it once before for my wisdom teeth – didn’t like it then, don’t like it now. It’s the most vulnerable state – a room full of strangers, an operating table. Some person controlling the drugs being pumped into you to make you sleep and others with scalpels and god knows what other medical shit to get the organ out. Also what the hell do they do with the organ?
Recovery. Pain. I can’t deal with the thought of having a fucking staple punched into me – knowing it’s there and then having it removed. Surgeons are often lazy – staples are quicker than stitches, doc says. But she’ll make a note about it, and she’ll be there to assist to help me feel more comfortable.
A few people have asked if I’m actually going to do it, have the surgery. They see the level of anxiety it’s causing that they’re actually asking.
I’m in pain. A lot of pain, everyday. It’s happening no matter how much I cry and bitch about it. I don’t want to have to take these pain meds every single day. I don’t want the decision to be taken away from me if it suddenly becomes an emergency.
I want it over with. I don’t want to go through it at all – but who does? I’m scared and I want it over with.
I’ve been living with the diagnosis of Panic Disorder for 5 years.
Last week, I had one of the worst panic attacks I’ve ever had in my life. And I’ve had some really bad ones.
The frustrating thing at the time was there wasn’t even really a trigger. Things were relatively fine throughout the day. That’s always one of the big struggles living with an anxiety disorder – sometimes, it just happens; no real reason or trigger and so it makes it that much more difficult to deal with, for both yourself and whoever you’re with.
I was sitting in the passenger seat on the way home. I’d began feeling the usual nausea and dizziness, so I rested my head and closed my eyes, trying to breathe through it. But it just got so much worse so fast. All at once my heart started pounding, my breathing was shallow and quick, and I could feel any ounce of strength I had draining and I was positive I was going to pass out right there in my seat. Feeling that weak – that faint – is one of the worst feelings I’ve ever known. You’re so vulnerable and helpless and I could barely hear my mom in the driver’s seat asking me all these questions I didn’t have the strength or knowledge to answer. My body felt overheated but I was also shivering, cold sweat on my forehead. And then worst of all – the tingling sensations in my hands and lips that always come during a panic attack. Except this time was different. This was worse. All of this is happening to me, and my panic spiked even higher when I noticed I couldn’t move my fingers. It was the strangest, scariest thing. I’ve never felt that before during a panic attack – like I was actually paralyzed. I’m looking at my hands as they’re tingling and when I realize I can’t move or bend my fingers, I go into full-on hyperventilation and panic. I remember bursting into tears and cried out that I couldn’t move my hands. It took maybe an hour or so before I calmed down enough before I could bend my fingers again into a fist.
I don’t know what the hell that was. I can only hope that it was the first and last time being that severe.
During all of this, my mom made us go to the hospital since we were already in the car just a few minutes away. I convinced her in the waiting room to just go home because being there was just making it worse – it was so crowded and it was going to take forever to see anyone for my symptoms. When we got home she said she finally realized she had to do some of her own research on how to help and deal during one of my panic attacks, which was nice to hear.
Because we don’t always know why our anxiety or a panic attack is triggered. There isn’t always a reason. And being asked over and over again things you simply cannot answer, especially while it’s happening, is beyond unhelpful.