Ok, part 3, and hopefully the last that brings us to present day.
So, these meds. that I was now on (Effexor and Lorazepam) were daily doing more harm than good. It would seem that about an hour after taking the Lorazepam (in the morning and at night), my panic would come back worse than before. It became so bad, that my parents and I came to the conclusion that I needed to get off of the meds and just start from scratch, or "start with a clean slate."
Easier said than done. We decided that I should get off of the Effexor first and since I was already on the lowest dose available, I more or less stopped taking it cold turkey. That wasn't a fun week. Keep in mind, I had been taking Effexor every day for just about two years. The withdrawal was bad, or what I had considered bad at the time. It was like being in the twilight zone. I felt anxious and restless and was crying all the time asking my parents to "Please, make it stop." While these were difficult days for me, and my family, I was still taking the Lorazepam which helped with some of the withdrawal symptoms. Next up, the Lorazepam. Again, I was already taking the lowest dose available for this pill, and had hoped this one wouldn't be so hard to get off of. Wrong again.
Since this one was an actual pill, and not a capsule like the anti-depressant, I got a pill cutter and tried cutting them in halves, even down to a quarter of the pill. I felt like some kind of drug dealer, cutting up my pills and hoping it would help ease the withdrawal. Finally, one evening, I was having horrible panic attacks and at first my parents decided to give me more of the Lorazepam. It seemed that the more they gave me, the worse the panic would get, until finally they decided I was done. They were not allowing me to take any more of those and that started the worst days of my life. I had thought that the withdrawal from the Effexor was bad, turned out it was a walk in the park compared to what would come next.
When I tell the story about what happened during this withdrawal, I usually sum it up with "I went to hell and back" and let's just say the "back" part didn't happen as quickly as I'd hoped. Coming off of this stuff left me in such a blind panic that I can hardly describe it. I was more or less having a panic attack 24/7. I couldn't be alone for a minute which meant my parents (especially my mom) was with me at all times. I didn't sleep for four days straight, and I am NOT exaggerating. I couldn't even (try to) sleep alone, and I always had either my dad, mom, or brother camping out with me in the living room. I could hardly eat or drink anything because I was so scared and I was constantly shaking like a leaf. It was the worse week of my life and it was no picnic for my family either. They were just trying to keep me alive. They contemplated more than once about whether or not to take me to the emergency room because they knew I was getting dehydrated, malnourished, not to mention just out of control, but they were left with the fear that taking me in would mean I would get a shot of the same stuff I was trying to get away from, and then we'd be back to square one. I would literally try to pound my head against a wall or abruptly scream just so I would feel something other than the fear. I threatened to hurt myself and repeatedly asked my parents if I was dying. I don't think anybody will ever know the full extent of how horrible these days were except for my family that was here with me. The fear was indescribable and what was really only a week, felt like months of my life, the scariest months of my life at that. My family and I are Christians and very strong in our faith and I firmly believe the only thing that got me through this horrible time (and still gets me through) are prayers and hope and the knowledge that God has something great waiting for me on the other side of this mountain.
This all happened in March of 2009 and as time has passed things have gotten much better. It started with trying to get through hour by hour, then day by day, and so on. Now I have gotten to a point where I haven't had a panic attack in months. I still have some general anxiety but nothing that I'm not able to cope with. I am not on any meds still, even though I have been prescribed new ones, I refuse to take them and ever go back to what I dealt with.
While time does heal, it doesn't heal everything. I have been stuck in the house so long trying to get where I'm just comfortable there that now I have a social anxiety. I'm agoraphobic and now faced with the daunting task of exposure therapy to get my life back. I've spent two birthdays (19 & 20, should be great ones), two Christmas', one Thanksgiving, and countless other celebrations, in this house because of my fear. I've also missed the birth of my older brother's first child and my younger brother's high school graduation because of it and nothing will ever take away the guilt I feel for missing those major events. The time spent here hasn't been all a lost cause I suppose. I have been able to continue school with online courses and have made the dean's list for the two semesters i've been enrolled. I'm ready to get back out into the world and reclaim the life that was swiped out from under me. That is why I started writing this blog. I wanted to have something to hold me accountable for the progress I make and hopefully some support from others who have been through the same ordeal.
If you have a comment, feel free to leave it, I would love to hear any suggestions or words of encouragement. I could really use them. Hope all is well with those who read this and that your journey is taking you where you want to be.
Saturday, June 5, 2010
Monday, May 31, 2010
What got me here....
Part 2. (If you haven't read the previous entry, you might want to start there)
So, after this frightening episode with the antibiotic, I firmly believed everything would be fine. I had no idea my life would take such a drastic turn in the months to come. After I got over the walking pneumonia, I returned to everything as normal; school, my two jobs, and my social life. Something had changed, though. I had changed. My thought process was changing and, being that I was a veteran on the anxiety front, for someone my age anyway, I knew what was happening, but wanted to pretend like it wasn't. I began feeling twinges of anxiety during day to day activities that I had, just weeks ago, found mundane and simple. It started out with things like being stuck behind the cash register ringing up someones purchase at my retail job, or being nervous about meeting with my teachers for school. It then escalated to being afraid of sitting at stop lights when driving because I felt "stuck." Things kept getting worse and worse, while I tried to ignore them. I didn't tell my parents or anybody about what I was feeling because deep down I felt that if I said it out loud and discussed it, then it made it all real. I seemed to be keeping up the facade for a while but then came the day my family and I would never forget.
I suppose I remember that day so well because I've relived it over and over in my mind so many times, trying to figure out what exactly broke the camel's back that day. It was December 8, 2008. I had about two weeks left in the semester for school, and was dealing with the usual holiday rush at both my retail job and hostessing job at the restaurant, but nothing I didn't think I could handle. That day, I got up and got ready as usual. I had to meet with my English teacher that day (whom I was the most comfortable with out of all my teachers) and had some work to get done at the school. I noticed that I was feeling a bit more anxious than usual while waiting to see my teacher, but I brushed it off, knowing that in those past couple of weeks that had been fairly normal. It was particularly cold and gloomy that day so, I tried to make myself believe that this extra anxiousness was a product of the uncomfortable and somber weather. Thinking it may help, I decided to stop into Starbucks before I had to be at work (retail) and get a hot chocolate (definitely didn't need coffee). I remember sitting there thinking how off the whole day had felt. Again, I shrugged it off and headed to the mall early (the store I work at is in there) and figured I'd just walk into a few stores to kill time. I went into a few shops and ended up in a christian bookstore. It was in there, that I began to have a full blown, couldn't see straight, in tears, panic attack. After speaking with my mom on the phone and pacing back and forth, I ended up skipping out of the mall, and called work and lied that I had a flat tire and couldn't come in tonight. I felt like I was in my junior yr. of high school all over again, only worse. If that wasn't bad enough, I could barely drive home. I was suddenly more terrified than ever at being stuck at those stop lights and was in such panic that I would literally contemplate whether or not just to pull out into traffic just to get me out of there. Finally, I got home, but the panic didn't end there. Luckily, I was wise enough to take a Lorazepam the second I walked in the door, because I was in a state of non-stop panic until that pill kicked in. And that was it, the day when fear became a permanent fixture in my life.
Back to the drawing board, aka: the doctor. Being that I was already on Effexor and had Lorazepam on hand, I wasn't exactly sure what he could do for me, but I guess my parents thought maybe the meds needed "tweaking." The doctor decided to up my dose of Effexor. Strike one. This caused rapid heartbeat that was debilitating. Went back to the doctor and he says "Let's try Pristiq, it's the new and improved version of Effexor. I think it will work great for you." HAHAHA! That was funny! This was worse than any of them. This is what is now affectionately known in my house has the "hell pill." I had never felt in a darker place than I did when I was on that stuff. While taking it, I asked my parents if I was dying, and openly talked about wanting to hurt myself. It was a scary one. Strike two. Oh, and my doctor decided I should be taking Lorazepam once in the morning and once at night so my body would get used to them and I would stop feeling so fatigued and numb from taking them. Wrong. I was more numb, sleeping more than ever, and still had panic. Plus, my doctor failed to mention that taking that much of that stuff when you weigh about 110 lbs can quickly cause an addiction type situation. What a wonderful situation I was now in. Strike three.
I think by the next post I'll make it up to present day. Sadly the worst is still to come....
So, after this frightening episode with the antibiotic, I firmly believed everything would be fine. I had no idea my life would take such a drastic turn in the months to come. After I got over the walking pneumonia, I returned to everything as normal; school, my two jobs, and my social life. Something had changed, though. I had changed. My thought process was changing and, being that I was a veteran on the anxiety front, for someone my age anyway, I knew what was happening, but wanted to pretend like it wasn't. I began feeling twinges of anxiety during day to day activities that I had, just weeks ago, found mundane and simple. It started out with things like being stuck behind the cash register ringing up someones purchase at my retail job, or being nervous about meeting with my teachers for school. It then escalated to being afraid of sitting at stop lights when driving because I felt "stuck." Things kept getting worse and worse, while I tried to ignore them. I didn't tell my parents or anybody about what I was feeling because deep down I felt that if I said it out loud and discussed it, then it made it all real. I seemed to be keeping up the facade for a while but then came the day my family and I would never forget.
I suppose I remember that day so well because I've relived it over and over in my mind so many times, trying to figure out what exactly broke the camel's back that day. It was December 8, 2008. I had about two weeks left in the semester for school, and was dealing with the usual holiday rush at both my retail job and hostessing job at the restaurant, but nothing I didn't think I could handle. That day, I got up and got ready as usual. I had to meet with my English teacher that day (whom I was the most comfortable with out of all my teachers) and had some work to get done at the school. I noticed that I was feeling a bit more anxious than usual while waiting to see my teacher, but I brushed it off, knowing that in those past couple of weeks that had been fairly normal. It was particularly cold and gloomy that day so, I tried to make myself believe that this extra anxiousness was a product of the uncomfortable and somber weather. Thinking it may help, I decided to stop into Starbucks before I had to be at work (retail) and get a hot chocolate (definitely didn't need coffee). I remember sitting there thinking how off the whole day had felt. Again, I shrugged it off and headed to the mall early (the store I work at is in there) and figured I'd just walk into a few stores to kill time. I went into a few shops and ended up in a christian bookstore. It was in there, that I began to have a full blown, couldn't see straight, in tears, panic attack. After speaking with my mom on the phone and pacing back and forth, I ended up skipping out of the mall, and called work and lied that I had a flat tire and couldn't come in tonight. I felt like I was in my junior yr. of high school all over again, only worse. If that wasn't bad enough, I could barely drive home. I was suddenly more terrified than ever at being stuck at those stop lights and was in such panic that I would literally contemplate whether or not just to pull out into traffic just to get me out of there. Finally, I got home, but the panic didn't end there. Luckily, I was wise enough to take a Lorazepam the second I walked in the door, because I was in a state of non-stop panic until that pill kicked in. And that was it, the day when fear became a permanent fixture in my life.
Back to the drawing board, aka: the doctor. Being that I was already on Effexor and had Lorazepam on hand, I wasn't exactly sure what he could do for me, but I guess my parents thought maybe the meds needed "tweaking." The doctor decided to up my dose of Effexor. Strike one. This caused rapid heartbeat that was debilitating. Went back to the doctor and he says "Let's try Pristiq, it's the new and improved version of Effexor. I think it will work great for you." HAHAHA! That was funny! This was worse than any of them. This is what is now affectionately known in my house has the "hell pill." I had never felt in a darker place than I did when I was on that stuff. While taking it, I asked my parents if I was dying, and openly talked about wanting to hurt myself. It was a scary one. Strike two. Oh, and my doctor decided I should be taking Lorazepam once in the morning and once at night so my body would get used to them and I would stop feeling so fatigued and numb from taking them. Wrong. I was more numb, sleeping more than ever, and still had panic. Plus, my doctor failed to mention that taking that much of that stuff when you weigh about 110 lbs can quickly cause an addiction type situation. What a wonderful situation I was now in. Strike three.
I think by the next post I'll make it up to present day. Sadly the worst is still to come....
Thursday, May 27, 2010
Never say never....
I thought I'd never be a blogger.....that's what i get for saying never.
If ever there was a time that I feel like putting words down in black and white, it's now.
My name is Britt. I'm a 20 yr. old, community college student that lives with her parents. I'm by no means lazy; I have goals and dreams just like everyone else...I just have a disabling situation...it's one that I've had since I was 8 yrs old....and it's one that has come and gone like a summer storm. Sadly, it's raining on me again.
When I was about 8 yrs. old, I dealt with my first season of panic attacks. 8. I was just a kid. It was so foreign to me which made it that much more scary. I can honestly say that nothing in my life could have triggered this bout of fear. I had a great childhood. Parents that NEVER fought, were loving, and attentive. I had two brothers that gave me the usual grief, but was close to them both. Nothing traumatic. In fact, I was known for being an outgoing and bubbly child.
The one event, that I later realized was a trigger for this particular season with anxiety, was a random stomach bug that left me petrified of throwing up. And let me just say that I haven't actually been sick since that day (knock on wood) so the fear is virtually useless, but nevertheless, there. After months of praying, having to leave public school to be home-schooled, and scary sleepless nights, it left. Gone. Panic attacks no more. I went back to public school as if nothing ever happened, but realizing how lucky I was that I could fully have my normal life back. I went on to be as normal as the next kid. I played softball and volleyball, I joined a dance team in Jr. high and then high school. I ran in a beauty pageant when I was 14, and loved every minute of it. I had friends, I dated, and I was enjoying every minute of being young and free without a care in the world.
Second season. A trigger that snapped me right out of my dream world, not right away, but soon enough. While I was a bridesmaid in my older brother's wedding, and my younger brother was a groomsman, my younger brother passed out during the ceremony. In the blink of an eye, BAM...he was on the floor. Between the enormous "THUD" and the surge of adrenaline, it took everything I had from passing out myself from fear. After he got up and we realized it was just a case of locked knees, it became something that we all realized we would just laugh about later. No big deal. Right?.......right?
Wrong. While this one didn't cause considerable panic attacks, it caused me to now have a fear of being in quiet rooms with more than one person. This included classrooms, meetings, etc. It also gave me performance anxiety, which I was known for never having, but sure enough, I now couldn't dance on the dance team...and literally ran from giving speeches and presentations. (Being my junior yr in high school, this meant I was trying to ditch one class or the other at least one day each week). Eventually, it became too much to handle. So, I was finishing they year with home bound tutoring. As long as I wasn't in that "classroom" situation, I was fine. Completely livable. Except my parents knew how bad things had got last time and wanted me to be able to finish school actually AT school. So, we headed to the doctor who, of course, instantly prescribed me an anti-depressant and a sedative.
Yay...17 yrs. old and on my first anti-depressant. After a little trial and error, I found one that was tolerable (Effexor) and took the sedative (Lorazepam) only once in a blue moon. I went on to finish high school through homeschooling and still did everything else normally. Dating, being with friends, and working. Then came college. I had already planned to take my first two years at the local community college and opted to take all my classes through open learning, which meant I didn't have to worry about sitting in classroom (which was still a fear of mine). So there I was, 18 years old, going to school, and now working two jobs (one in retail and one in a restaurant). I felt on top of the world. I wasn't scared of anything and I was planning on taking the world by storm. I was loving my first steps of adulthood and was proud of my well-handled responsibilities. Then, in the nick of time, that train was derailed.
In November 2008, I came down with walking pneumonia. Not a big deal. Missed some work, some school, and just felt tired and lousy. My brother took me to the doctor, where I was prescribed some antibiotics. When I read the directions for the medicine it said it was preferred that I take them on an empty stomach. So, first thing in the morning I took one. It wasn't 10 minutes before I started feeling nauseated. I began freaking out, and especially panicking when I started to gag. My mother saw me freaking out and with no time to eat something, she gave me a peppermint and told me to suck on it. Luckily that worked fast and I didn't throw up from that wretched pill. At first, it seemed like no harm, no foul. But that one little experience had a more profound effect on me than any of us would have imagined.
Whew....seeing this in print is just exhausting as living it was. I'll pick up where I left off in my next post and hope that somebody will be waiting to read it. The craziest parts are to come....
If ever there was a time that I feel like putting words down in black and white, it's now.
My name is Britt. I'm a 20 yr. old, community college student that lives with her parents. I'm by no means lazy; I have goals and dreams just like everyone else...I just have a disabling situation...it's one that I've had since I was 8 yrs old....and it's one that has come and gone like a summer storm. Sadly, it's raining on me again.
When I was about 8 yrs. old, I dealt with my first season of panic attacks. 8. I was just a kid. It was so foreign to me which made it that much more scary. I can honestly say that nothing in my life could have triggered this bout of fear. I had a great childhood. Parents that NEVER fought, were loving, and attentive. I had two brothers that gave me the usual grief, but was close to them both. Nothing traumatic. In fact, I was known for being an outgoing and bubbly child.
The one event, that I later realized was a trigger for this particular season with anxiety, was a random stomach bug that left me petrified of throwing up. And let me just say that I haven't actually been sick since that day (knock on wood) so the fear is virtually useless, but nevertheless, there. After months of praying, having to leave public school to be home-schooled, and scary sleepless nights, it left. Gone. Panic attacks no more. I went back to public school as if nothing ever happened, but realizing how lucky I was that I could fully have my normal life back. I went on to be as normal as the next kid. I played softball and volleyball, I joined a dance team in Jr. high and then high school. I ran in a beauty pageant when I was 14, and loved every minute of it. I had friends, I dated, and I was enjoying every minute of being young and free without a care in the world.
Second season. A trigger that snapped me right out of my dream world, not right away, but soon enough. While I was a bridesmaid in my older brother's wedding, and my younger brother was a groomsman, my younger brother passed out during the ceremony. In the blink of an eye, BAM...he was on the floor. Between the enormous "THUD" and the surge of adrenaline, it took everything I had from passing out myself from fear. After he got up and we realized it was just a case of locked knees, it became something that we all realized we would just laugh about later. No big deal. Right?.......right?
Wrong. While this one didn't cause considerable panic attacks, it caused me to now have a fear of being in quiet rooms with more than one person. This included classrooms, meetings, etc. It also gave me performance anxiety, which I was known for never having, but sure enough, I now couldn't dance on the dance team...and literally ran from giving speeches and presentations. (Being my junior yr in high school, this meant I was trying to ditch one class or the other at least one day each week). Eventually, it became too much to handle. So, I was finishing they year with home bound tutoring. As long as I wasn't in that "classroom" situation, I was fine. Completely livable. Except my parents knew how bad things had got last time and wanted me to be able to finish school actually AT school. So, we headed to the doctor who, of course, instantly prescribed me an anti-depressant and a sedative.
Yay...17 yrs. old and on my first anti-depressant. After a little trial and error, I found one that was tolerable (Effexor) and took the sedative (Lorazepam) only once in a blue moon. I went on to finish high school through homeschooling and still did everything else normally. Dating, being with friends, and working. Then came college. I had already planned to take my first two years at the local community college and opted to take all my classes through open learning, which meant I didn't have to worry about sitting in classroom (which was still a fear of mine). So there I was, 18 years old, going to school, and now working two jobs (one in retail and one in a restaurant). I felt on top of the world. I wasn't scared of anything and I was planning on taking the world by storm. I was loving my first steps of adulthood and was proud of my well-handled responsibilities. Then, in the nick of time, that train was derailed.
In November 2008, I came down with walking pneumonia. Not a big deal. Missed some work, some school, and just felt tired and lousy. My brother took me to the doctor, where I was prescribed some antibiotics. When I read the directions for the medicine it said it was preferred that I take them on an empty stomach. So, first thing in the morning I took one. It wasn't 10 minutes before I started feeling nauseated. I began freaking out, and especially panicking when I started to gag. My mother saw me freaking out and with no time to eat something, she gave me a peppermint and told me to suck on it. Luckily that worked fast and I didn't throw up from that wretched pill. At first, it seemed like no harm, no foul. But that one little experience had a more profound effect on me than any of us would have imagined.
Whew....seeing this in print is just exhausting as living it was. I'll pick up where I left off in my next post and hope that somebody will be waiting to read it. The craziest parts are to come....
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