I'm not sure who out there knows what, or who wants to know what about my present condition. Alex had mentioned that he's been getting a few status update requests from folks so I figured I would just put on here my version of the story. The short story version is that I am currently working my way out of a session of Panic Disorder and Major Depression Disorder, I have a few days left of treatment and I can see the light at the end of the tunnel of this dark abyss.
The long story version (for those that may be interested in it) is as follows:
My first panic attack happened in New Hampshire on 3/26/2017. We were in the car looking for a place to stop for dinner. I felt perfectly normal (though a tad hungry) one second, and the next second I was in a full blown panic attack. Alex pulled the car over where I jumped out and started taking off some layers of clothes because I was sweating. My whole body was shaking convulsively, I felt like I wanted to throw-up but nothing would come out. My head was spinning and my heart was pounding. And then I heard myself screaming "I'm dying, I'm dying" at the top of my lungs (and for those of you who know me well know that the volume of my voice has never even been to the range of half way to my lungs). It was an out of body experience, I could see/hear myself acting strange but I had no control to be able to stop it. Alex took me to the closest place with food in hopes that something to eat would help, but eating and drinking only made it worse. Eventually I was lying/shaking on the floor of a McDonald's, at one point convinced that God, Jesus and my mom were in the stall with me (and then distressed when they all left me). All the while I was shouting at the top of my lungs. Alex had no idea what was going on and ended up calling 911. At the nearby medical center I was told that it was a panic attack and they gave me some medicine to help take the edge off and to ease the nausea then sent me on my way home.
I was fine after that, tired...but fine. Until two weeks later on 4/14/2017 while driving across the street from my work to pick up lunch I had another one, again it was out of nowhere. I was sitting at a red light feeling good then the light turned green and I went into another panic attack. Since I recognized it for what it was I tried to control it, but eventually my brain/body detached that from that control, I went into the "I'm dying" phase and was driven to another ER. That was the day the Panic Disorder set in, everyday after that I woke up panicky (shaky and nauseous). It didn't always escalate to a full blown attack but it was enough to cause me to loose my concentration on anything else. I worked with a psychologist on coping and grounding mechanisms, and I tried refocusing my attention on other things in hopes that if I just forgot about it would go away.
Just when I thought I was getting a handle on it and started having good days, everything crashed down and I ended up in a deep depression. I was shaking and felt nauseous all the time, I had to force myself to eat, I didn't want to see/talk to anyone, I couldn't focus on anything, I'd go through sobbing fits, I was exhausted. The only thoughts that ran through my head were thoughts of guilt (for not being able to function and leaving everyone else to cover for me, at home and at work), thoughts of shame (for not being strong enough to overcome this mind-game my body was playing with me...I have family members that have battled cancer with more dignity and grace than I was dealing with this), thoughts of being a burden. All of these eventually rolled into the thoughts of it just being easier if I died. I no longer felt comfortable at home, I didn't feel comfortable staying at my dad's house (which sits on a peaceful pond and should theoretically relax anyone), I didn't feel like my PCP, psychologist, or the staff at an outpatient facility were ever going to be able to help me and that I'd be stuck for in this darkness. I lost the sense of who I was and all of the things that used to be my "happy thoughts". A couple of ER trips later after particularly bad days it was decided that I needed to be admitted to an inpatient facility.
And so McLean Hospital became my new home for 8 days. At first it felt surreal thinking about the fact that I was in a mental hospital, that whole notion of "I never thought it would happen to me" kind of deal. But then I soon realized that I was with "my people". There were people there with almost the exact same story as mine. I finally felt like I was with people who understood what I was going through. We all felt sick, guilty, ashamed, stuck. There was a feeling of camaraderie, even though each of our battles were different and our own, we helped each other stay positive during the bad moments and entertained during the good moments. The staff was amazing and kept on top of every detail about every patient, so even though we were essentially in lock-down and every step we took in the hall was written down, we knew it was for our own good. My favorite part about being there was the escape from the real world. The first day I had some visitors but then decided that I just wanted to be shut-off completely from the outside so that I could focus on myself. And so for 8 days I went to group meetings, had one-on-one sessions with a psychologist and psychiatrist, had vital checks, colored and other assorted arts, listened to music and did yoga, learned all sorts of grounding/coping/mindfulness techniques, and played games. I met people from all different walks of life and listened to many different types of stories. There was no judging, just empathy for each other. To be honest, I kind of miss all of my fellow McLean inmates, they were a huge help in my treatment process.
When that 8 days was over, I was scared to go home. Towards the end of my stay I did have a better understanding and acceptance of this illness (it took a long time for me to recognize the panic and depression as an actual illness) and felt more equipped to deal with it on the outside, but I had been working on my techniques in a world where I was my only responsibility and I wasn't confident that they would translate well in the home life. My doctor and I ultimately decided the best course of action would be to go back home and then do a partial hospitalization program, that way I could get re-acclimated into my life, while still having the structure and support from the group therapy.
And so that is where I sit today. I have completed 6 days of outpatient care thus far, and only have 4 more to go. Overall, I feel mostly like I am back to my old self. My head still feels a tad foggy, but I am confident that my psychiatrist will be able to help me tweak any meds that could be causing that (and at least it is nowhere near as foggy and groggy as it has been...I can at least function now). I am also still working on building up my stamina so I don't get tired so easily.
With all of this said, I just want to say thank you to everyone in my support system who has helped me and my family over these past few months, and for all the well wishes that were passed along to me. I am truly blessed to have such amazing people in my life, especially after hearing stories from people who didn't get to go home to a strong support system. I love you all.
One last note before I go: between Post Pardum Depression and now this episode I have come to realize that even though I am unlucky to have that depression gene in my dna, at least God has blessed me with the immediate physical ailments that caused me to seek treatment immediately both times, so even though they were a sucky few months....they were only a sucky few months. I have met so many people that just suffer with the mental aspects of depression for years, decades even before finding help. Sure life is hard, and we will all experience good days and bad days, ups and downs, but if you are finding yourself in that dark pit of loneliness, despair and unhappiness and feel there is no way out, I strongly encourage you to tell your doctor. Many people feel too ashamed and would rather suffer than try to find a way out....but depression is an illness, and even if you don't want to take medicine to balance out those brain chemicals, there are other forms of cognitive treatment that could help. Give yourself a chance to find that light at the end of the tunnel.
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