The Truth About My "Illness"

In my "About Me" I claim that I'm a lot like JD from Scrubs. And I am. I'm goofy, I'm a bit of a woman, I have man-love for the guys in my life...I don't land as many ladies in bed as he does, but I certainly mess up relationships as regularly as he does...and he's constantly on the prowl for approval from friends and mentors.

Unfortunately, TV Land is nothing like Real Life Land...I wanted to write just now that RLL is a helluva lot worse than TVL, but it's not. It just has a lot more to offer, and some of those things can be pretty harsh and unwelcoming. While a situation like the one I have with OAOA would work perfectly well in a sitcom...what I've been dealing with for the past couple months simply wouldn't. See, there's nothing too happy or too funny that you can't put into a sitcom...but there are some things that are too hard to touch on, even for Scrubs, which deals with death and pain on a regular basis.

Maybe I'm not giving Scrubs enough credit. Anyways, here's the deal.

I'm dealing with an acute case of Panic Disorder/Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. As much as I want to portray my life on here as fun and interesting and exciting...which it is...there's also this part of me that has been struggling more than I've ever struggled in my life, and I haven't talked about it on here in fear of losing readers. But it occurred to me that the whole reason I started this blog in the first place was to help myself get out all of the emotions that I have no where to place...the emotions that some of my friends and family, and people like OAOA, just won't understand.

I had Panic Attacks when I was much younger, in my earlier teens, but they subsided with some medication. The depression, however, was something that I continued to struggle with way up until, well, now. Depression is an ugly beast. It can incapacitate you in ways you didn't think possible. But I've discovered recently that there are other ways to be incapacitated that make depression seem like a better option.

I'm not a drug user. Never have been, never will be. So whatever prompted me to try a hallucinogenic drug called Salvia right before the new year is beyond me. It was supposed to be this calming, out of body, spiritual experience...I suppose for someone who is in the right state of mind. Unfortunately, my experience was the opposite. It was the most terrifying thing that I had ever been through, and I panicked so greatly, wanting it to be over that had my friend not been there to watch me, I might not be sitting here writing these words to you.

In the subsequent weeks, I had flashbacks to the trip, severe panic attacks, and persistent symptoms of vertigo, numbness, tingling, dissociation, hot flashes. One flashback was so bad that I took myself straight to the ER.

I was pretty sure that I had done something permanent to myself. That I had altered my brain chemistry, unlocked some latent psychosis or schizophrenia, and that I was permanently damaged. I was in danger of becoming agoraphobic. I couldn't go out for extended periods of time, I couldn't see my friends, I constantly felt terribly physically ill...in every sense of the word I thought my life was over because of a stupid mistake I made.

And of course, OAOA wasn't there for me when I needed her most.

I saw every doctor to make sure I was okay. I saw a neurologist, I saw an optometrist, I saw an Ear, Nose, Throat Doctor, I'm seeing a Psychiatrist, and I had my blood taken to make sure everything was working properly.

All tests came back immaculate. I'm the healthiest 25 year old on the planet. I don't have to see another doctor for another five years, and my psychiatrist is assuring me I'm not schizo. She hasn't even diagnosed me with anything in particular, Panic Disorder and Post Traumatic Stress are my own diagnoses based on my symptoms and what I've read on the internet. She just has "General Anxiety" written down. Apparently I'm making a huge mountain out of a molehill.

But how could I not? I saw the end of my life. I literally thought that in mere moments I would lose control and be dead. And that memory lingers on within me.

This past week, the symptoms started to subside. I started to feel myself again. I went out to that show with OAOA, had my first beer in nine weeks, and I didn't freak out. THAT situation above all should have made me freak out. But it didn't. So I felt capable. I felt back on track.

Last night was supposed to be a guy's night. Five of us were going to get together at my best friend Dan's...the place where the whole bad trip went down in the first place...have a few beers and then head out into the city. I was really looking forward to it, because I hadn't had a night like that in months. I should have known better though. Merely talking about the experience is enough to induce a flashback/panic attack to the whole experience, so actually being in the location that it happened with the person that it happened is a recipe for disaster. Ever since, I had had trouble going back into his apartment. There were times where I literally waited outside for him to go in and get something, because I just couldn't step foot. Then again, there were times where I successfully spent hours there...stressful hours...but still, no panic.

Last night though, I was there for 15 minutes, and then BOOM. I was back into having the salvia trip. Dan and I were in the middle of a conversation and I said to him "Excuse me, I'm having a panic attack." And he was just like "Ooookay."

The whole experience lasted maybe fifteen to thirty seconds. I stepped out of his apartment and sat down on the steps in the hallway, closed my eyes, took a few deep breaths, and willed it away. But I was shaking. I was petrified. I knew I was going to be okay, but I had no interest in hanging out any longer, I wanted to go home, somewhere safe, and just...be.

Two of my friends, who were not friends with Dan, were supposed to be coming over to help show Dan's new friend around Philadelphia. When I canceled, the other two didn't come, leaving just Dan with his friend. I felt completely awful.

I spent the evening ruminating on how well I had done recently, how I took a huge step back, how I completely ruined a friend's evening, and acted out of control. That just made it worse. Sometimes I have tiny panic attacks that are easy for me to deal with, so easy that I don't even have to mention to anyone that I'm having them...but when I have one as strong as the one I did last night...well, I feel like it sets me back twenty steps. I feel like the day after I had the original bad trip. Like my life is in complete disarray and there's nothing I can do to fix it.

I'm supposed to go out tonight to my friend Andrew's birthday, about an hour away from my apartment. It scares me to want to go that far in case I feel the need to leave. Dan's apartment was literally around the corner from mine and I couldn't stay. Granted, his apartment is the trigger of all triggers...it's the place where all my current fears were unlocked, and I haven't had a panic attack NEARLY that bad in a place that wasn't his, or when I wasn't around him. So I'm sure I'll be okay. What kills me is that, right now, I can't be around my best friend or the place where he lives...

And it doesn't change the fact that I'm scared. Truly scared. I know I can't go back and change it...but of all the things in my life I wish I hadn't done, whether they were bad financial decisions, bad relationship decisions, or whatever...I wish I had never taken that drug.

Some days I feel like I've got all the strength in the world to get over this.

Today I don't.

-K

P.S. Regarding Pam, I emailed her when I got finished with OAOA, sent her something real nice, and asked if she wanted to get a cup of coffee with me on Sunday. I haven't heard from her. I know I'm not supposed to over-analyze, perhaps she's just busy...but I was hoping to hear from her again. Not a good Friday.

My Hump Day

I think favorites are funny. The whole idea of a favorite is a tad over emphatic, since there's always a better something out there. Being the "best" is impossible.

I even mentioned to my friend Dan last night how when Scrubs finally goes off the air, "Community" will be my new favorite show because it's the only other one that consistently gets me to laugh out loud, and the humor is as sharp and as edgy as Scrubs. I'm also a Chevy Chase fan until I die.

Let's not talk about the end of Scrubs right now though. :(

So when it comes to days of the week, or even months of the year, it's always interesting for me to hear people's favorites and least favorites. Although I don't think I've ever heard anyone say, "Dude, I love Wednesdays." Or any variation thereof containing Wednesday. I have to stop saying dude.

I, too, very much dislike Wednesdays, and it's apparent why. People give Mondays crap, but I also feel there is a manner of acceptance on Monday shared by fellow co-workers. (I'm going by the normal 9-5, Monday to Friday work week demographic. There very well could be people who can't wait for their Mondays or Wednesdays). On Monday, everyone may be grumpy, but at least they're all grumpy together, and the grumpiness is empathized. It's a new work week, no one wants to be here, except for that consistently and exuberantly cheery human being who you think is probably a psycho at home, because nobody can be THAT happy all the time. Everyone knows that person.

Even Sundays can get at bad rep. Sunday evenings at least. Because you've always got that looming fear of Monday over your head, or that guilt that you actually relaxed over the weekend instead of getting things done. Sundays can be subtely mean in that way.

Tuesday I just can't explain.

But Wednesdays can wreak havoc on a person's life, each and every week, especially if the weeks have become mundane. It's that mid-point (hence the hump) where you're close enough to the weekend to start thinking about it (unlike Mondays or Tuesdays), but far enough from it that it seems like it'll never come (unlike Thursdays and Fridays). If you're week isn't good by Wednesday, it's tough at this point to rebound, and I've found it's the hardest day to pull yourself out of bed. You reflect on what you have or haven't already done this week, and how you're going to make it through the the next two days.

Grrr, this is why I watch Scrubs. Because I find myself falling into the half-empty category...especially on Wednesdays. I'm working on viewing life with a more half-full perspective. When I found myself having trouble getting out of bed this morning, I heard myself saying "I can't." And I pondered what that really meant. How often do I say I can't? How often does it actually mean "I don't want to?"

When you think about it, 9 times out of 10, or even more, we CAN do the things we think we can't. We just don't want to. Either because it's hard or we're scared. So even when we (or I) tell ourselves "I can't be happy,"...I'm inclined to believe we just don't want to do the things required for us to be happy.

So when I find myself thinking "I can't handle Wednesdays", I really mean that I don't want to handle Wednesdays. Because every Wednesday I come out alive. I'm just not accepting that Wednesday is a part of life, and that it'd actually be easier if I welcomed it, just like every other negative life experience.

I was going to go into the idea of daydreams and having fun with situations in order to get through tough days (and I had a nice JD's Fantasies clip to go with it. I'll save that for another post), but I think I've touched on something more important. So here's a more serious clip from Scrubs.

What do you find yourself saying you can't do? I bet you that you can do it. Whether you want to or not.

-Spontaneous K