"Am I the only one I know
Waging my wars behind my face and above my throat?
Shadows will Scream that I'm alone
But I know we've made it this far, kid."
-Migraine, Twenty One Pilots
Lately, I have been so apathetic about life, I haven't been able to come up with anything worthwhile to write.
I have dealt with anxiety my whole life. When I was young, I thought I was just a neurotic whack job (well, that might be a little true...). Fear of aliens, sickness, dying, and the apocalypse kept me awake at night well into high school. My heart would race and I would be restless to the point where I thought I was dying. As an adult, I can look back and know I suffered from severe anxiety and panic attacks. That knowledge would have made my young life easier.
My anxiety worsened around the time I found out I wouldn't be able to have kids. Hearing the words, "It might be cancer," sent me into a tailspin. I am the kind of person who, when faced with a difficult situation, tries to find the humor as a coping strategy. Even though I am open about my feelings, I often mask how deeply affected I am for the sake of others.
When I got pregnant with Jules, things got better until after he was born. I ended up suffering from Post Partum Depression to the point where I wanted to give Julian away. I didn't want him. Having gone though everything I had to get him here, those feelings of indifference made me feel like a monster, but I never sought help. Eventually, my hormones evened out and I realized how much I loved him.
After about the first trimester of my pregnancy with Cora, I could tell something was wrong again. I had severe anxiety to the point where I didn't want to leave the house. I slipped into depression and went through every day thinking my family would be better off without me around. With encouragement from my family, I told my doctor what I was experiencing and he put me on a low dose of anxiety medication for the duration of my pregnancy. It helped considerably and I was able to function.
I went off the meds late in my pregnancy because I assumed it was better and again. But, I ended up with PPD after Cora got here. Since I recognized the issue, I figured I had a handle on it and I ignored it.
Eventually, it hit me that my anxiety had become crippling. I worried about every person who drove by my house. I worried about Nate dying on the way to work. I worried about the lady smiling at me on the street; what did the smile mean? I struggled to get off the couch. I didn't want to talk to anyone. I would lay on the floor, playing with Cora and a voice would tell me I didn't deserve to be alive. This was a few days ago.
The reason I am sharing this isn't so you all feel sorry for me. I'm not looking for attention or pity. In the last few days, I have seen several of my friends post on Facebook about their battles with anxiety and depression. If nothing else comes of my struggle, maybe I can at least offer some solidarity for those who are going through the same issues.
I have gone to the doctor and I am taking an antidepressant and an anxiety drug. I always thought it was a failure if a person had to be medicated for anxiety or depression because that means you can't control your emotions. But now, I realize that sometimes, you need help to overcome your demons. Even though I am still recovering, I feel hopeful that I am on the right path. I actually wish I would have talked to someone long ago.
So, if I seem distant, flaky, or quiet, please understand what I am going through. If you are going through the same struggles or you have in the past, rock on, you. You're not alone. Some may not understand what you're dealing with, but I think you'd be surprised by how many others know the struggle all too well. To quote my good friend Sarah (and channel some High School Musical), "We're all in this together!" Hang in there, yo. There is no shame in what you're going through.
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