Ya know, I really am not sure what is wrong with me. [Oh, the laughs and comments I can hear from the peanut gallery!] Honestly, I know what I have "been told" is wrong with me (depression, panic disorder and agoraphobia, general anxiety, social anxiety - yes, because plain anxiety just isn't enough) and I really have no clue what all is "on paper" from throughout the years.
I know there is a big huge PTSD stamp in one medical file because I remember the conversation, "You know once I write this, it makes it concrete" as we wrote my medical leave papers. I know there are probably plenty of ICD-9 codes that have been submitted through the years with my name attached to them.
The thought has crossed my mind plenty of times to simply inquire, "what is wrong with me" and I have never been able to actually ask it. Not sure if it was fear of knowing or fear of someone telling me that there was nothing wrong with me.
Sometimes I wonder if knowing really changes anything. Well, ok, yes it does. I remember when the PTSD was finally figured out. There was more of a relief than anything else. To realize that there was an explanation for what I was feeling and going through, made it not so scary. Yes, it was still just as hard to work with and work through, yet now it had a face to it. I read and researched it, and in the end took power from it. Sure, it still rolls around - like the guy who came up behind me today unexpectedly. I turned around, he was in my personal space which caught me off guard and I froze. Luckily, I was in my friend's office who knows my history and after he left, she was able to tell me to breathe, remember where I was, and calm down.
Whatever be my emotional ailments, I have been so happy to know that I have been moving in a positive direction with most of them. I seem to be slipping a little in the social interaction column though. I'm not the big super social person anyway so why would it even dawn on me that I have been continually cancelling dinner invites, coming up with excuses to not go to activities, dodging birthday parties, and pretty much hiding out. I realized tonight, that in the past 4-5 months, I have gradually talked to less and less people - on purpose. I am doing less and less activities - by choice. When I am out in public settings, the anxiety gets riled up pretty quick. It doesn't paralyze me as it used to, and yet it is there in a large dose. I just usually say to myself, "I know what this is, it is not going to kill me, so just keep moving." Then I try to get finished as quick as I can so I can get out of there.
Sometimes I am "afraid" (it is not that I am fearful, it is more a really huge uncomfortableness) and sometimes I just really do not feel like interacting or being around others. Here's the crazy part of it....then I may have one day where I am the uber-socialite. Of course that is generally followed by several days of not going out of the house unless I just have to. It kind of has me a bit confused as I think about it. Maybe it is just a phase, maybe it's this dreary winter we have had, maybe I'm just still crazy (I say with a smile).
I remember what it was like. I would just stand at my front door with my hand on the knob. It had already been a struggle to just get up, get dressed, and act like I was going to go out. I would stand there and just plead with myself, "please don't make me go out there." My heart would race, my body would shake, I would start sweating, and I would eventually give in, "No, Blewy, you don't have to" and I would calm down and go crawl into bed. It was even a war to walk out on the porch to toss the trash into the can. It was bad. If I did manage to make it to the car, I often turned around at the end of the road and came back. It took me a long time to ever tell anyone I struggled so much, it was scary and it was shameful. I am sure people thought I had the plague or something as my list of ailments to explain my un-socialness slowly grew. Somehow I got a grip on it and I hope I will never let it get that bad again.
You see, everything used to be to that kind of an extreme. The depression, anxiety, panic, all of it. There was no "all or nothing" because it was so heavy in "all" that there was really nothing else to balance it out. I think that is why when things start to bother me again I get a little freaked out. I remember life in the extreme - and I don't care to return there. I would like to think that I can't get back to that point and yet I can't guarantee it.
The things we have learned in class have been my saving grace. Maybe things got to such an extreme because I did not know how to slow it down once things were in motion. There were no lifelines or safety nets in place. One moment all is well, the next you were wondering how you got back on rock bottom so quickly. I didn't even understand the warning signs telling me to slow down, breathe, or relax. I have those now and still, I sometimes forget. I hear the train coming and have to remind myself, "Oh, hey, all I have to do is step off the tracks." I only get hit head on now if I choose to stand there and let it.
And so some days I just kind of think and ponder. No huge epiphanies, no big life changes, just my brain churning out new versions of old information. Different ways to look at things, different choices that can be made. I pick up something out of it all and say, "well, look at that" and examine it a bit before putting it back down and picking up another piece.
Then, I just take a breath, and go on.
