Category Archives: Death

Eye Of Newt And Tongue Of Frog…..A Little Of This And Some Of That…

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Every time I do an internet search on depression and anxiety, I am amazed at the amount of sites that state that they have the best depression and anxiety cures.   They consist of  herbal remedies, prescription medications, yoga, spa, relaxation, lobotomies, the power of positive thinking, meditation, hydrotherapy, hypnotherapy, electric shock therapy, behavioral therapy, no therapy, instant cures, prayer, sweat lodge, leeches…  I am sure you get the idea.


I have a hard enough time picking a restaurant when I have more than two to choose from, there is no way I could see all those sites and then decide on what depression treatment would work best for me.  I would either be so overwhelmed by the choices and not be able to choose anything or I would close my eyes and point my finger and whatever ever my finger pointed to is what I would try for my depression and anxiety. 

I do not know how other people wade through all of that and pick what they think would work for them.  Most people I know who are dealing with severe depression are incapable of making decisions when there are that many items to choose from.  


Most of those sites claim to have the “best” cure for depression and anxiety.  Or they say they have the “only” true cure for depression and anxiety.  How can they know that theirs is the “best” cure or the “only” cure?  People are so different from each other and there is more than one cause for depression.  Even someone who takes a more traditional, medical approach for the treatment of their depression often end up having to try more than one medication before the right combination is found for them.  


After I tried to kill myself, I was not really given any choice about where I was going to get treatment from.  At the time we had no medical insurance, which meant that there was no way I could afford to go to a private psychiatrist.  The hospital told me and my family that I should go to a local mental health, out patient facility.  It is government funded, and the patients are charged for the services there based on their income.  


The only choice I really had at the time was whether I was going to get help or not.  If I did not get help, I believe my family would have had me committed into a state run mental health facility.  I chose the out patient facility.  I did not even have to worry about how I was going to get there.  My husband asked my mother to take me.  


I was pretty angry at the time, because I felt like they were treating me like a child.  However, now I see the wisdom in what they did.  They knew that I was not in a place where I could make any decisions about my own well being, so they made things very easy for me.  

After I started treatment there it took about 8 different medications and a trip to a state run mental health facility before the proper combination of medicine could be figured out for me.  I also see the counselor once a week.  So when I read the sites that claim to have the “best” or “only” cures, I am very skeptical.   I am not discounting their product and saying it has absolutely no value in the treatment of depression.  What I am saying though is that, in my opinion,  there is no singular thing that works on depression.  I believe that most people need to employ the use of more than one type of depression treatment/medication, and these sites advertising they way they do, can be very misleading to the newly diagnosed. 



I rarely recommend, or advise anyone about depression and anxiety treatments, but today I feel compelled to.  Choose carefully when deciding what treatment you think will work best for you.  Do not get discouraged if you have to use more than one type of treatment for your depression.  Finally, if you are like most people with severe depression and have a hard time choosing where to start, get someone you trust to help you make that decision.  There is no shame in asking for help.




 

Just going…..

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In the weeks that I blew off blogging, me and my life just kept going. Life was stressful for many reasons but I made it through experiencing less stress than I normally would have. I am sure that this is due in part to my medications, my counseling and where my head is at now.


One of my stresses actually came from the effexor I take for my depression. There seems to be a side effect to it that is not really talked about much. It caused me to miss the “big moment” more than once while doing the deed with my husband. I have to admit I really enjoy that part of my married life, so the thought of missing out on the “big moment” for years was a depressing thought. To make matters even more stressful, I tend to get a bit embarrassed when I have to talk about that particular subject, but I knew for the problem to be fixed I would have to talk to my male psychologist about it. For the life of me I could not figure out a way to say what I needed to say with out really saying it. The best I could come up with in my head was “Doctor, I am not having any orgasms because of the effexor.” Somehow the thought of being that blunt about it scared the stuffing out of me.


I called a female friend of mine for courage. She said I just needed to go right into the doctor’s office, the next time I had an appointment, and tell him exactly what the problem was. She assured me that he had probably heard that kind of thing more than once and would know just what to do. She did bolster my courage, but I was still tongue tied at the thought of actually saying it out loud.


A few days after I talked to my friend, it was time for me to go in and see both my psychiatrist and my counselor. I saw the counselor first. We had our usual session, things got talked about, and I avoided talking about the one issue that was in the forefront of my mind. Finally, when our session was about over I got enough courage to bring up the dreaded topic. I told the counselor that I had something that was very difficult for me to talk about, but that I absolutely needed to. She said “Ok”, and had a very strange look on her face. Almost like she was afraid at what I might say considering how serious I sounded. Then I just blurted it out “The effexor is making it so I cannot have an orgasm and I do not know how to tell the doctor that I cannot live that way for years because I enjoy it too much.” She laughed. Apparently, she was expecting me to bring something totally awful up and when I blurted out what I did she was shocked that it was something as simple as that. Her laughing actually caused me to relax and I was able to see a great deal of humor in how I handled the whole situation. The counselor assured me that this was an easy to fix problem, and that if I wanted her to, she would actually tell the doctor for me since the whole topic was embarrassing for me. I decided then that if I could tell her, then I certainly could talk to the psychiatrist about it.


After I left the counselor’s office, I walked over to the psychiatrist’s office. I was able to very calmly and without too much discomfort, explain to him the issues I was having with the effexor. He was great about it. He did not dwell on it, just let me know that if we added a low dose of wellbutrin to the mix it should take care of the problem. However, this fix lead to another problem. My husband would want to know why the doctor added another medication to my depression medications. That meant I would have to tell him that the medicine was to help me experience the “big moment” again, and then I would have to confess the fact that I had been faking things for weeks.


I thought and thought and could not come up with anything that would spare me any embarrassment with my husband. So I figured that I would just tell him, the way I did the counselor and the psychiatrist and be done with it. After much, hemming and hawing I got around to telling my husband about the medication and why I needed to take it and confessed my faking ways. I am so glad he is an understanding man.


All that stress over something so silly. It amazes me the amount of things I can turn into huge problems when the reality is, for the most part, that the problems are really just little bumps in my road and are easier to deal with then I think they will be.


At least this whole experience has made it so I get less embarrassed when I have to talk about this particular topic. Good thing too! The very next week I had an appointment with my medical doctor and one of his questions was to ask me how my sex life was, considering all the medications I am on. If he had asked that before I had dealt with the issue, I probably would have fallen out of my chair. As it was, I was able to look at him with a smile on my face and tell him it was just fine.

I Miss The Mom…

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quotes put here with permission from Anna Mashburn

“I miss the mom I used to have. I miss the mom who would do anything and everything.  I miss the mom who would spend time with me. I miss the mom that I could talk to.  I miss my fun and loving mom.” 


Sadness, hurt, abandonment, tears, and pain are some of the words I think of every time I read that quote.  I feel so sorry for the child who is expressing those feelings.  I feel such utter sadness because the child who wrote those words is my daughter.  



Maybe the best term to use for what depression has done to my family is collateral damage.  My husband and daughter are the innocent and injured by-standers in my war against depression and an anxiety disorder.  The wife and mother they had suffered an internal explosion, could barely function, and they were left to pick up the pieces and to hold the family together.

For too long my daughter felt like she had to “babysit” me when my husband was not home.  There were days when she had to remind me to take a shower or eat.  She felt this constant need to make me feel better, and she developed a habit of telling me she loved me at least twenty times a day as well as constantly asking me if I was happy. In essence she lost her mother.  I may have been in her life physically (sometimes), but I was certainly not there emotionally or mentally.   


Physically I was not with her as much as I would have been before the depression consumed me.  I could not leave the house most of the time, when she wanted to go do something.  That meant my husband and her would often have to go on outings without me.  Or because I could barely function, I would spend a lot of time in bed, so she was left to take care of herself.  


Having any type of meaningful conversation with me had to be very frustrating for her.  Most of the time I did not pay attention to what she may have been trying to talk to me about and if I did, most of the time I  would forget what she had said within about two minutes.


“I feel like you have pushed me away.  I feel like you don’t really mean I Love You.”


I just want to cry when I see those words.  I cannot blame her for thinking that though.  In my checked out, depressed state I did push people away, including her and my husband.  The thought processes going on in my head at the time rationalized me pushing them away. I told myself that by pushing them away, I was getting them used to taking care of themselves so that when I decided the time was right for me to end my life, it would make it easier for me to go through with it.

After seeing those words I went out and bought me and my daughter something special. I felt that it would reassure her that I do love her, even if I “checked out” again and could not express it properly.  I got us heart necklaces, the larger heart says “Mother”, the smaller heart says “Daughter”. 
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 I have also spent a great deal of time talking to her, reassuring her that I love her, and apologizing to her.  My hope is that once again she will feel as if I love her and not feel so sad and abandoned anymore.  I do not want her to  feel she has to be so grown up at her young age because she thinks she has to take care of me.

I have learned that my depression recovery is a family affair.  It is obvious what harm the major depression and anxiety disorder has caused me. What is less obvious is the harm and sadness that it has  caused to my family. Even now some days it is very difficult for me to focus on anything or anyone except for myself.  Just getting myself through the day is a huge task.  However, on the days when I can, I will make an effort to reassure my family that I still love and care about them.  Things will never be the way they were before the depression. I will never be the way I was before the depression.  It was not healthy.  I do, however, have a hope that when we all get on the other side of things, that we will be a stronger, healthier family because of what we all are struggling through now.

Long Time No Blog

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I apologize for taking a few days off from the blog without an explanation why.  Things have been interesting, discouraging, and thought provoking over the last few days.

My original purpose for starting this blog was to give me an outlet for my emotions, mostly so I would not express them inappropriately. That purpose sort of evolved more into using the blog as an outlet for me and putting myself out there for  other people to see and know that they are not alone in their depression.   

The blog has been helping me.  I like being able to have a place to put my thoughts and feelings.  I have enjoyed the feedback I have been getting from people in my email.  Working on this blog has become a very enjoyable thing for me to do everyday.  

However, recently I was told that by blogging about myself it showed how selfish and self-absorbed I am and that putting myself out there with my thoughts, feelings and struggles I am really just whining about things.  This really made me feel quite bad.

I needed to take a few days and reassess my motives and ambitions with regards to the blog.  What I have decided is that if something made me feel good, and gave me more self-confidence and was a positive outlet for me then it is something that I should continue to do.  

In fact, even though my husband does not  write in my blog, he likes to see what I have written and offer suggestions.  There is also what my daughter gets out of her picture of the day section.  She and my husband are both now on constant look out for the perfect picture of the day.  In a way, my blog has become a family affair.  

Maybe the person who gave me the negative feedback was having a bad day and that is what they felt after they read my blog, or it could be their honest every day feeling about these types of blogs.  The positive thing that came out of their negative comments is that it forced me to re-evaluate my motives for the blog.  There is nothing wrong with taking a good look at yourself to keep yourself on track.


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Communication 

I am learning that just like in any part of life, when a person is in the  process of recovering from depression, communication is so very important.  

My natural instinct is to keep my  honest and real feelings to myself and put on a “mask” of fake feelings and not properly communicate my wants or needs.  Most of the time, if I feel like I have to express something personal, I will only hit the surface, just enough to satisfy another person.


On the flip-side, I expect people to communicate fully with me, even when I do not do it in return.  That is not very nice of me to do.  


A few days ago, my husband and I got irritated with each other over a lack of communication.  I thought he was not communicating properly with me and he thought I was not communicating properly with him.  The thing we were NOT communicating about was a stupid grocery list.  I wanted more input from him, and he wanted more input from me, so that both of what we wanted would be represented on the grocery list.  Like most small things people argue about, it turned into a bigger thing than it should have. 


The reason it spiraled down into an argument is that both of us were too busy worrying about what the other wanted to properly communicate  our own wants.  For some reason, both of us perceived that in that situation if we had communicated what we wanted, it would have been selfish.  The reality of what happened is that he got irritated and I got irritated and the list never got done.



Later on that evening, he and I talked.  I expressed to him that it felt like he wanted me to read his mind and figure out what he wanted and he expressed feeling something similar.  We both felt frustrated.   We both realized that if we had spoken up and communicated our wants then the whole mess would have been avoided.  Not to mention, we both connected  a few dots and realized that there have been other occasions where frustrations and irritations could have been avoided if we had spoken up.  


On a more personal level, I see that by putting a “mask”on and hiding what I truly want, need or feel, I am setting up a situation that is bound for failure.  People cannot read my mind to know how I am doing on any given day.  That leads them to worry about what my emotional mind set is for the day.  If I communicated my feelings more, good or bad, then it would cause them less worry because they would not be trying to guess about what is going on in my head.  If things were bad, then they could share the burden or help with solutions, if they were going good then we could feel good together.  Also, the reality of wearing a “mask” to hide my feelings is very tiring work.


I also realized that many of my own personal stress, and aggravation comes from not communicating with other people. I end up doing something I really do not want to do (but never communicated that fact), then stressing because I feel like I am stuck doing something I never wanted to do in the first place.  Worrying because of feeling like I am not doing an adequate job, since I do not want to be doing it in the first place.  Which often leads to me feeling so anxious that I cannot leave the house, which leads to more guilt, worry and stress, and then more anxiousness.  

To take care of myself, to “be all I can be”,  I need to expend some serious mental effort and communicate properly. Keeping things inside is no longer acceptable.  Keeping things inside will eventually lead to me ending up in the hospital again.





Mirror, Mirror On The Wall

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I had an appointment with my counselor yesterday.  It lasted longer than usual, because she was running late, so she had my session run over to make up for the time.  She was running late because she had to see a lot o people.  It always tends to be a little busier on Tuesdays and Thursdays but today was much busier than normal. 


Tuesdays and Thursdays are intake days at the counseling center I go to.  Basically that means that whoever may have tried to hurt themselves or some one else or has a substance abuse problem and has encountered staff members at the local hospital, or sheriff’s department, or encountered anyone who is considered a mandatory reporter is ordered  to be seen at that practice at least once.  Because my counselor feels that to some extent I am still high risk, she likes to see me at least once a week.  Often she does not have anything available so I am given appointments on intake days.


Because she was running late, I had to sit longer than usual in the waiting room. It was a little difficult for me to sit there, with all the people I became very anxious.  I adopted my usual body language, arms crossed and no smile to discourage anyone from trying to talk to me.  I began to look around to see who all was in the waiting room with me. There was a group on the far side of the waiting room, where people wait when they are there to see the doctor.  Everyone in that group seemed to know each other and were having a very animated conversation.  On my side of the waiting room there was a lady who was around my age.  She was talking to one of the interns. She looked like she felt awful.  I could not help but over hear some of what she was saying to the intern.  I realized that she had very similar issues to me.  Even her body language was similar to mine. 


There was something about her that stuck with me, because after my appointment I was still thinking about her.  Finally, I realized what it was about her that had stuck with me.  She reminded me of how I was at the end of May, when I first started going there.  From how awful she looked, to her body language and how she was describing her anxiety and depression symptoms to the intern.  It truly was like looking in a mirror.  For the first time, I was able to see what I looked and acted like when things were at their very worst.


My family was caring and gentle enough to not tell me the truth about how bad I looked.  However, the nurse that I see at the counseling center, told me that when I saw him for the first time I looked awful and he was very worried about me.  I can see why now. The woman looked like she was walking on a very fine edge and was quickly becoming unbalanced.  She looked sad, worried and tired, very very tired.


I have been frustrated at times by the extra checking up on me that people, especially my husband, have been doing.  At times I have felt like I was being treated like a little kid.  However, after having had the opportunity to look into a mirror and see what I was like, I understand now why people have felt compelled to do those things.  They did not do them to intentionally make me feel as if I were a little child, but they did them out of love and concern because they could truly see on the outside what I had been like on the inside for a long time.


I am sure there have been other women in there who probably looked the way this woman did, but everything happens when it happens and how it happens for a reason.  Most likely the reason I did not see this in anyone else before is because I was not ready.  It certainly is a very heavy feeling to see yourself the way I saw myself yesterday.


I guess when I looked in a real mirror, I had blinders on.  I could see the bags under my eyes, and that I looked pale, but not really see what I actually looked like.  It is more than just what I saw in her face.  Her body too just had that sad, worried and tired look.  She walked like every inch of her was sore.  I am sure everyone has seen those commercials where the main line is “depression hurts”. I  have to tell you it does.  It seemed like I had an ever present ache in my whole body.  It never dawned on me that it would be visible to other people.


I am still trying to figure out what all I can take away from this experience.  At the very least, I think it gives me more of an understanding about why my husband is still very concerned about me.  I guess there are times when I am not having a good mental health day, that I probably look similar to that.  I think he knows when I am not having a good mental health day just by looking at my body and how I carry myself.  That explains to me why some days he seems very clingy.  Maybe what I need to take away from this, is that just like I am asking everyone to be patient with me, that I need to be patient with everyone else as well.

Look Forward

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Look forward.  For me those two words have several meanings.  A person can “look forward” to an exciting upcoming event.   Someone can “look forward”, as in have their eyes/mind looking toward their future. Or for me personally, when I “looked forward”, it was often to think about my death, and how I had nothing hopeful to look forward to. 


In all that time that I was checked out from the world, not only was death on my mind, but I also experienced little to no personal growth.  Now that I have woken up, the process can begin again.  It needs to begin again. If it does not, then I know that I will be in the same shape, or even worse than I was in not too long ago.  In a stuck place, where I was barely functioning and barely living.


I do see a dilemma.  While it is a positive step for me to look forward and think about and even make plans, I need to be careful about how far I look, how much I plan.  It will cause me to stress out, worry, and have all sorts of bad thoughts if I take too much on.  For the most part my life still needs to measured out in day to day kind of way.  


 The biggest and most worrisome thing for me was what kind of person am I going to be when when I get on the other side of this recovery process.  I have already decided that I do not want to be the person I was before the depression started, but there are some qualities of that former self that I do want.  I  certainly do not want to be who I was when I was “checked out”.  It becomes hard to predict who I will turn out to be.


I began to think about it in a new light.  This is can be a very interesting opportunity for me.  To some extent I will be able to pick and choose what qualities I want, and how I want to be.  There are not many adults who are in a position to be able to do that. This is very exiting!  The way  I keep thinking about it in my head when I think about what I will be like in a few years is “When I grow up I will….”.  because that is how it feels like to me.


I will grow up one day at a time.  I will work hard to leave behind the things that cause me to feel bad about myself and hold on tight to the things that build me up.  When I grow up, the foundation of who I am, will be built on a solid foundation.  I will have confidence in myself.  I will be happy with myself.  I will LOVE myself.  I will learn how to take problems and challenges in stride.  I will learn how to do these things one day  at a time, facing each new day with confidence and an attitude that is open to learning, and not worry about what the next day will throw at me.  I will LOVE myself.


I look forward to what I will learn today. Today I do LOVE myself.

Neither In Or Out

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I have blogged more than once about my anxiety and how it can and has prevented me from leaving the house on a frequent basis.  For example, today my husband had to work, and my daughter wanted me to take her to youth group, but the time of day we needed to go and where we were going caused my anxiety levels to increase dramatically.  In the end I had to tell her “No”.  She was very disappointed with me, and I was very sad because I had disappointed her.  So you can see how the anxiety I have can really get in the way of life, and not just mine.

There is another aspect to my anxiety that I have not blogged about.  It is not bad enough that I have horrible anxiety and panic attacks that prevent me from leaving the house often, but I also have a similar reaction when people come to my house.  Now isn’t that a kicker?

If I know someone is coming to my house a day or two before they are due to come, I start feeling anxious.  Even though the house is clean, I will go through and reclean it and turn into a horrible, mean, nag towards my husband and daughter so they will help and make things my image of  “perfect”.   We all know how easy it is to reach perfection. By the time my husband convinces me the house cannot get any cleaner, I am so stressed that I am miserable and have made everyone around me just as miserable.

If someone just shows up to my house, well then “it ain’t purty”.  As soon as they leave, I have to go to bed.  I stay in bed until the next day and hope that the stress of an unexpected visit will go away. 

I know why I have such a reaction when people come over.  My house is my safety zone.  It is and also represents the one place where I am “free to be me”.  I do not have to act like I am comfortable, because I already am.  I do not have to pretend like I want to talk to people, because I do not have to here.  I do not have to wear makeup and if it is a bad mental health day, I can stay in my pajamas all day.  Or I can have naked laundry day.  Having to leave it sometimes is bad, but to have people invade, and it feels like an invasion to me, my safety zone it is almost more than I can bear.

When I first started seeing my counselor, she did some kind of assessment on me to see what sort of services I qualified for from their practice.  I qualified for everything.  I am considered a high risk patient because of the suicide attempts.  One of the things I qualified for was some kind of extra service where these social workers would come to my house on the weekends or during the week, basically whenever I did not have an appointment and sort of provide me with extra support.  I liked the idea until my counselor let me know about the whole having to come to my house thing.  Then I had sort of melt down in her office.  I had not been seeing her long, so she did not know about the whole panic attack when people come over to my house thing.  She decided, after witnessing my panic attack, that it would do more harm than good to have the social workers show up to my house. 

I look at this and I can see how dramatically it affects me and my life, the unfortunate thing is that it affects my husband and daughter as well.  She cannot have friends spend the night over because of me not being able to handle people in the house and the noise they make (that is a story for another day).  My husband cannot have his guy friends over.  Depression and anxiety are diseases that take a toll on the whole family.

My hope is that one day I can feel less anxious about going places and way less anxious about my house being invaded by other people.  Sometimes it seems like this whole recovery process is taking so long.  I often have to remind myself that it does take a long time, and I have not been in treatment all that long.

Looking Back

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In the few short months that I have been in recovery for my major depression and an anxiety disorder, I can see a big difference in my life already.  I know that I still have a long way to go, but the process does not seem as daunting as it used to be.  At least for the moment.

In the beginning of my recovery process, I used to tell my counselor that I wanted to go back to the person I used to be before the depression.  I had that “old me” on a pedestal.  It represented everything that I had lost because of the depression, asthma, diabetes and the anxiety.  I was convinced that if I got that “old me” back, then I would be healed and my recovery process would be over.

I began to look back at who I used to be.  I was a mom who was running children all over the place for hours every afternoon.  The mom and wife who always made sure that supper was ready for the family, even with all that running around.  I was the mom and wife who cleaned and maintained the whole house, and was always available for the family to come to and talk with.  I was the mom who home schooled a child.  I was the mom and wife who……..Do you see a theme here?  I was everything that the family needed, but I was never anything for myself.

Even then I was unhappy.  I would never have acknowledged that I was unhappy and dis-satisfied, but I was. All, I had been looking at was the fact that I could accomplish so much in  a day, not the reality of who I was. Who I really was, was woman who had no voice, and no identity of her own.  I was not appreciated for who I was, but for the things I could do for others.  It is not my family’s fault that they could not appreciate me for who I was.  There was no way they could since so much of who I was , revolved around and was wrapped up in doing things for them.

Then suddenly, like a toy who has wound down, I was stuck.  Stuck in a life where I could do nothing for anyone, including myself. When I finally, got “unstuck”, the world had moved on, and had passed me by.  It was hard to think of my child as a teenager, when I still thought of her as that little girl from three years before.  In many ways, I still did not have an identity to call my own.  So I grasped onto that “old me” thinking that was my goal.

Once I started feeling better, and could semi-function I started trying to fit into that old mold of me.  It did not last for long, my medication quit working and I became overwhelmed with depression very quickly.    Looking back again, I started to see a pattern.  The pattern I saw was that I always seemed to wrap part or all of me up in what I could do for other people.  Most of the time my family, but at times it was other people too. At some point, I would always become frustrated and unhappy, and it always led to a depressed state.  Or if for whatever reason the relationships with the other people ended, and I could no longer get at least part of  my identity from them, it would leave me at a loss and also sad and depressed.

I began to think about the things I could see about myself when I was looking back. I realized that I was not the  “strong” person that I had thought I was.  I was someone whose whole world and identity were based on what I could do for others and not based on my own skills and accomplishments.  Looking back has made me rethink that goal of being the person I was before the depression got so bad that I “checked” out.

Panic, Panic, Panic

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I was inspired today. There was someone who is on my facebook friend’s list who posted that she was experiencing a panic/anxiety attack while she was at work and had no medication to help her get it under control. While we were talking back and forth I mentioned that I had been thinking of blogging about what a panic attack is like from the perspective of the person having it. Her response was that I “should do that, because not many people understand”

I can only describe what a panic attack is like from my perspective. I will do the best I can to make sure it is a well thought out and coherent description, but sometimes it is difficult to put some panic attack symptoms into words. My panic attacks may or may not be like someone else’s, however, I am sure there are some common elements in everyone’s panic attacks.

Something may happen that causes me extra stress, or it could be that I am worrying too much about something. It could be nothing at all. It does not have to be a huge earth shattering event to start me moving toward a panic attack.

Usually, my panic attacks start off gradually. I start feeling some extra stress. Without really paying attention to what I am doing I start rubbing my hands together, or taking deeps breaths and letting them out with a sighing sounds.

As the attack starts building up, I begin to feel a gnawing in my stomach. The thoughts in my head start racing. I cannot concentrate on any one thing. Very often I become very silent. Because my thoughts are racing, I have a hard time putting sentences together. I can try to distract myself, reading, cross stitching, crochet, but it is impossible to concentrate on those things as well. There is a deep seated fear in my gut, that seems to give fuel to the panic attack.

As the fear fuels the panic attack, I start experiencing stronger physical symptoms. My heart begins to beat rapidly, not as fast as it will get, but definitely much faster than usual. My breathing begins to become more rapid and it feels like I am close to not being able to get enough air in my body. The gnawing feeling in my stomach gives way to burning pain. There are times when I have to urinate more frequently, or even start having diarrhea as a result of the panic attack.

As my heart begins to pick up more speed and my breathing becomes worse, the panic becomes worse. I usually begin to cry. The only thing I can focus on is the fear, panic and a feeling that the physical symptoms will cause me to die.

I cannot catch my breath and my chest begins to hurt. My heart is pounding so hard and so fast that each time it pounds it hurts. My breathing is fast and now has a distinct wheeze to it. I am sweating profusely because my body is working hard. The physical symptoms have manifested to a point where they have triggered an asthma attack. At this point I “know” I am going to die. I feel that bad. The burning pain in my stomach has increased ten fold. I have to use my rescue inhaler because of the asthma attack, and the abuterol in it causes me to start shaking allover, adding to my misery.

Finally,there comes a point where I feel like I cannot sit up anymore. There is not a part of my body that is not aching. I feel that if something does not change very quickly, I will die. My head is hurting and I feel light headed. Walking is almost impossible to do. If I am around people I will go hide somewhere, I am embarrassed and do not want others to see me like this. If I am at home I will crawl into bed. I am full of fear and panic. I want nothing more than for this to end.

If I am at home and I can make it into bed, I will pull the covers over my head, which is comforting to me. I will lay there feeling my chest hurt, trying to catch my breath, and trying to let go of the fear that I am going to die. Gradually, everything starts slowing down and the fear and panic begin to seep away. Finally, out of sheer exhaustion I will fall asleep.

If I am not alone, I stay hidden until I can pull myself together. It takes a while, to get everything to slow down and to let go of the fear and panic. Usually, despite my efforts to be alone, someone will find me. If it is my husband, he will know that the best thing for me is to be alone. If it is someone else, they can usually figure out that something is wrong. With good intentions, they usually try and stay and “help” me, not really understanding that I need to be alone so that the panic attack can run its natural course. I try very hard to concentrate on slowing my breathing, and my heart rate. The fear and panic are still there. Eventually, the physical symptoms begin to subside, but mentally, my mind is still in panic attack mode.

At least with the physical symptoms easing off, some of my fear and panic start easing away. My mind is still racing though. I am usually silent and do not engage anyone in conversation. It is easier to pretend that everything is OK if I stay silent. I am worn out, wishing I was at home in my bed. As soon as possible, I will go home, change into pajamas and climb into bed, where the last of the panic and fear can go away.

Now that I take Effexor, which is an anti-depressant and an anti-anxiety medication, it is rare for me to have a full blown panic attack.  If I do start to have a panic attack, I have some extra anti-anxiety medication, vistiril, that starts working in about fifteen minutes.  It heads off a panic attack before it can become too intense.  Every once in a while, I will have a panic attack that does not respond to medication.  Those panic attacks are usually triggered by an immense amount of stress.

Things To Say To A Depressed Person

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It can be difficult to find the right thing to say to a friend or loved one who is suffering from depression.  You do not want to say the wrong thing that might upset them, at the same time you want to offer them heart felt and sincere support.  You also want whatever you say to acknowledge that they have the right to their feelings and not to minimize their depression.

1  I love you
While they may not respond with an “I love you” back, they do hear this and it helps, it counter acts some of that self hating dialogue they have in their head

2  I care
Again it helps counter act some of the self hating  dialoge they have in their head

3  You are not alone in this
This lets the depressed person know they have a support system.

4  Do you want a hug?
Always ask. Sometimes a depressed person wants a hug and it helps them feel better for a bit. However, some depressed people do not want to be touched.  I know when I am having a bad day and the depression seems to be in control, I do not want anyone touching me.  A hug would just push me over the edge

5   I am not going to leave or abandon you
It is very important that the depressed person hear this.  They know they are not being the best parent,spouse, friend but they cannot do anything about it.  However, this lets them know that no matter how badly they are at those things for now, you will be there for them.  Shortly after I started my recovery process I had a massive panic attack because I was convinced my husband was going to leave me because of how difficult the depression made our lives.  He had never even hinted that he would leave me but I built it up in my mind that he would.  When I finally told him what I had been thinking, he was able to reassure me by telling me he was not going anywhere.

6  Would you like to hold my hand and we can talk about it?
Depending on how each depressed person feels, holding a hand may be beneficial to them,  or they may not want to.  Either way, the depressed person knows you are willing to sit down with them and listen.

7  I can’t fully understand what you are feeling, but I can offer my compassion.
The depressed person can see that you are trying to support them even if you do not understand what is going on. with them

8  You are important to me
This lets the depressed person know that they have an important place in your heart and will help them feel loved.

As you can see all of these phrases have something in common.  They are positive statements, that are meant to validate and encourage the depressed loved one.  

Even when using these positive statements, it can be very frustrating when communicating with a depressed loved one.  It is very important that you maintain a healthy detachment and take care of your own emotional needs so that you can continue to be a comforting force in your depressed loved one’s life.