It's been three weeks since I finally started getting the help I so desperately needed. Originally embarassed and ashamed by my possible need for medication, I'm beginning to realize that it's okay. It's okay to ask for help. To come to the realization that I can't do it myself. It's okay to recognize that my brain chemicals might have been out of whack and medication and therapy could help get it back on track. While I was on antidepressants at the tail end of college, I got off them a couple years ago, thinking I was in a more stable place and didn't need them any more. Maybe I was right, maybe my thinking was premature, but I went to grad school and entered survival-mode, so I couldn't really tell anymore. But then this job started, and I started to experience something I had never felt before. Panic, anxiety, but I thought it was just stress and I needed to try harder to care less and be lucky and free. But I couldn't shake the thoughts, and it started affecting all aspects of my life, causing relationships to suffer and my soul start to die. I was ashamed that I was struggling, for my job looked so easy on paper. I shouldn't be feeling like I do, just try harder, it should be fun, what's wrong with me? Those were a few of the thoughts that prevented me from sleep.
I kept thinking it would get better with time. They always say a teachers first year with kids is super difficult, right? But I knew something was off, I just didn't have words for it. I had never even considered mental health or anxiety could be at the root of it. I just knew that I had become someone I didn't like, obsessing about work, breaking down often, feeling hopeless and helpless to do anything about it. I could see how it was affecting other aspects of my life, but I had no idea what to do since all my efforts just ended in greater discouragement and frustration with the ever worsening situation. Then I had a conversation.
Someone suggested a name.
And that suggestion started the process that led me to feel a little more sane.
Anxiety. It sounds like anxiety. I'd never thought of that. I had always imagined it to be only made up of panic attacks (which I had had several but just wrote it off as the stress getting to me).
So I started looking into what that really means. And I started trying to get help, but the displacement from the crisis made that quite the challenge. Eventually, I had another conversation that allowed me to see that there was hope. Things didn't always have to be like this. I just didn't know how to get there. Later, after returning to the States, still unable to go back to my own place, I had my first session of therapy. I've never been to therapy before, maybe because of stigma or finances or lack of opportunity, but I knew I couldn't get better by myself. My own will is strong, but didn't have the tools or wisdom to more itself along. That session was affirming, but the lady said the first step was to get on medication. The vicious loop of obsessive thoughts and anxiety and depression had to be broken to enable therapy and other work to be done successfully. Not knowing any different, I thought that's what I had to do, so I started the long search for a doctor in the frustrating American healthcare system. After hours of calling, I finally got through. They referred me elsewhere, and I went to a clinic to walk-in and get another appointment scheduled. A week later, I had that telehealth meeting and they prescribed medication. I was still ashamed and embarrassed to have "given in" to taking medication, but the desperation made me swallow my twisted interpretation of the situation and swallow the meds.
And wow, I'm so glad I did.
I know there are varying outlooks on antidepressants and meds for anxiety and other mental health issues, and I'll admit, I still struggle with the stigma that quietly floats around them. But I know chemical imbalances in the brain runs in my family, and I've heard that it can help stabilize you to start working through the underlying issues that add to the struggle. It's been three weeks since I started the medication, and I think the combination of that and two kinds of therapy has made a huge difference in my situation. I laugh again. I can find joy. I see beauty as I walk in the woods and sit by the creek. Meditation has also been key. I've also spent a great deal of time journaling, reading, processing that which I've been in too much of a process for the last 8 years. I've realized things I never consciously realized before. I bought an anxious thoughts workbook and have been working through that as well, and I'm deeply humbled and thankful for the seeming effects of this combination of help.
Last week was the first time in over half a year that I didn't feel anxiety on Sunday when thinking about the week ahead. My classes went alright, one was even a disaster, and I didn't freak out or break down like how things in the past were. The feeling of hope and positivity has become so foreign to me, it feels so weird, but so good to have it back. I'm terrified it's all a fluke and the anxiety will come back with a vengeance, but I will keep moving forward, giving myself room to feel and relax, recognizing that with every two steps forward, sometimes comes one step back.
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