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ABIL Personal Stories and More
SHIRLEY'S STORY
IT WORKED FOR ME: WAYS TO START YOUR DAY
GET ON THE BUS
HOW TO FIND A THERAPIST
HOW TO CHOOSE A PROFESSIONAL
COURAGE: THE LESSON ANXIETY
TAUGHT ME
IT WORKED FOR ME
An Unexpected Setback
I'm not sure when it all started...
Growing Up with Social Phobia
From Sharpshooter to
Housebound
Step-by-Step
From a Man's Perspective
The next problem occurred when I was standing in line at the grocery store. This was during the Post-World War II days, when ration stamps forced standing in long lines. I though, "I can't stand in these lines, I'm very dizzy and I might pass out!" I began to fear standing in lines.
While I could go to other people's houses, my preference for the comfort of
my own
home was seriously increasing. When I expressed my concern from time to time
to my
family physician about what was happening to me, he said, "You've got young
children,
a lot of responsibility and this is to be expected." But, my situation grew
more
severe. I faced terrible feelings of anxiety each morning and was afraid to
be alone or
to be in crowds. Several years later in another new community, I was invited to attend a worship service. I thought, "How can I go to a church when I'm not comfortable going anywhere or staying anywhere for a long time?" So my friend had her minister pay me a visit. After asking me a lot of questions about myself, he looked me right straight in the eye and very gently said, "I think there are a lot of things going on within you that you're not talking about." I began to realize how insecure I was and how little self-esteem I had. Everyone believed me to be a happy person because I never let them know my real feelings. I learned that role at a young age. Living that lie was very lonely and painful.
I began to go to church and was invited to attend small study groups.
Although I
wouldn't drive, a friend offered her services and I began to feel
comfortable with my
new friends. Gradually I accepted offers to go shopping and began to trust
myself.
After I moved to Richmond, Virginia, I joined the staff of Parents
Anonymous. The
local newspaper did a story on my volunteering with an emphasis on my
agoraphobia.
When people with similar conditions began to call me after the article was
published, I
realized I had the makings for a support group. Out of that, the first ABIL
meeting
was held in 1986 with myself and three others.
It's normal for each of us to look for a "quick fix," but the journey to
wholeness
is a long process. Finding our way out can be different for each of us, and
what
connects us is taking control of our own lives and taking the first steps.
There is
medical help, in the form of medicine, effective counseling, and belonging
to an ABIL
support group where we come together with people like us to learn to believe
in
ourselves again.
We have only touched the "tip of the iceberg" in reaching out to people with
anxiety
and panic disorders. The support system works. We have so many success
stories.
People borrow courage from each other, get help, and return to productive
lives again,
not only benefiting themselves, but their families and their communities.
I usually feel my worst in the mornings,
especially if I'm under stress or anxiety
has been acting up. Here are a few things I do to help start my day.
Taking a few extra minutes each morning to be good to yourself is time well
spent.
It can help give you a positive attitude which can work wonders on how you
go about
the rest of your day. These things have helped me get through when times are
bad
and...when things are good...given me a wonderful gift: waking up with a
smile!
GET ON THE BUS Arriving at the Lincoln Memorial, things began to slowly improve. My husband showed up without a hitch, and the kids were great. The fact that I love D.C., there's so much to see and do, and our schedule was such that we had to keep moving, helped me regain both my confidence and my perspective. At the end of the day, though, I knew I had to return to that BUS and make the trip home with the kids. I couldn't cop out by getting in the car. That would disappoint my daughter and admit defeat. The ride back was better, although my self-talk was clearly still not positive. I just wanted to GET BACK and GET HOME! I remember thinking: "hurry, hurry, just get me back." I was clearly exhausted upon my return, but not from being with the kids on the tour. It was from FIGHTING the anxiety every step of the way, instead of FLOWING with it and letting it PASS. I swore NEVER AGAIN to volunteer to take another field trip on a BUS! However, time passes, and this spring it was my son's turn to make the same trip. At first, my husband signed up to chaperone as a 'guy thing' (whew!), but then found out he had to go out of town for a conference, so it fell to the possibility of my accompanying my son instead. What should I do? Thoughts of the last trip kept parading through my head, and relieving it all was far from a pleasant experience. However, I decided since I went with my daughter when she was ending elementary school, then turn about was fair play, and my son also deserved a parent to go with him. From the beginning, I knew I had to get control of my "stinkin' thinkin'". My very best friend would not be there to hold my hand (as she literally did at times during the first trip), no husband would be bringing up the rear; in other words, I'd have to fly without any 'safety nets'. I had to go without my 'outs' and trust in myself and my abilities and capabilities. I had to remember all the knowledge I had gleaned from the books I had read, the people I had listened to who suffer with the same disorder and what I had learned from my interaction with them, all the skills I had acquired from PRACTICING, and believe that it would all pay off, trusting the end results to be different this time around. The day before, however, I began to start the worry process because I was hit with a pint-sized version of the dreaded stomach bug. Not debilitating enough to send me off to bed, but sick just the same. My heart raced and my negative thoughts kicked in...."what if I'm too sick tomorrow to go?" "how can I let my son down?" and (of course) "what if I'm SICK ON THE BUS?" (the BUS in this story, as you can tell, obviously takes on a life of its own!!!). The next morning dawned clear and bright, a perfect day for a field trip. Yes, I still had the remains of the stomach flu. But I gave myself a good dose of POSITIVE self-talk, and believed that NOTHING AWFUL WOULD HAPPEN. If I was sick on the BUS, so be it. If I had panic attacks, so be it. Neither illness nor panic was a new experience for me and I would handle things the best way I knew how (and I was well-armed with knowledge and skills). Before I boarded the bus early that morning, I took a few deep cleansing breaths of first-morning-fresh air, then found my seat, reclined it a little, opened the magazine I had brought along, and began to talk to the very nice mom sitting beside me. The trip had begun. There was no turning back. There was no opting out. So, you ask...was I sick? Yes, once (and in the awful BUS bathroom!). Did I freak out over it? NOPE. Did I sometimes feel anxious? YOU BET. But I kept remembering all those wonderful ABIL people that I had have the honor of knowing over the years and all they have taught me from their own vast wealth of experiences, and I thought about Shirley and hearing her regularly say "feel the fear and do it anyway", and I kept conjuring up in my mind the acronym that appeared in the last ABIL newsletter: F.E.A.R.--False Evidence Appearing Real. Because that's what a panic attack is, you know--False Evidence Appearing Real. We scan our bodies and our environment until we find something that feels a bit strange or different and we then GO WITH IT, until it feels like we (and it) are raging out of control. And of course we're not out of control. Never have been. Never will be. And, of course, we're not now, nor have we ever been, nor ever will be raging, in any way, shape or form. THAT'S IT. THAT'S ALL. Now, am I saying having panic disorder/anxiety attacks/phobias are an easy thing? Never out of my mouth will you hear those words. Am I saying it feels good (or that it doesn't feel bad?)--not on your life. But I AM saying that it is a part (but only a part--I am so much more than my anxiety) of who I am; what makes me, ME. It is a part of who we all are, and we can not only live with it and have a full life, but we can live with it graciously and generously (like our Shirley did). We can help those like ourselves who may not quite be in the same place we are, and we can educate those who don't understand what it is we live with. We can do that with our own individual voices, and by our own example of not giving in or giving up, and with our monetary donations to organizations that speak with a strong voice (like ABIL does) to get out the word to others.
You know what? The field trip was actually fun. Really fun. And know what
else? I
actually fell asleep on the ride back home on the BUS!!! A far cry from the
trip a few
years back, and a success story to share with you and to remember myself
when the
going will sometimes gets tough again. Oh. One final word of wisdom for all
of
you...if you get the chance, get on the BUS. Like me, you may be pleasantly
surprised.
HOW TO FIND A THERAPIST Over the years I've also come to understand that the relationship between therapist and client has become more complicated as my recovery has progressed. In the beginning (1980s), I wanted desperately to know what was wrong with me, and that I wasn't going crazy. Through reading and through talking with many others who share the same experiences, I have learned a lot about anxiety and panic disorders, and my requirements of a therapist have changed. I now need someone who is knowledgeable and current on the treatments of anxiety; but also someone who I can have faith in. Part of my struggle with panic disorder has been a fight for control, and this can get in the way of my treatment. I have found that once I've established trust with a therapist, then I must work with them and be honest with them, even if it is painful. I'm getting a little ahead of myself. Let's start off with some of the early steps I take when I'm looking for a therapist. (I've moved many times over the past twenty years, so I've had the opportunity to make this quest often). First I start off with a physical from my primary care physician, to rule out other problems. Many people are limited by their insurance provider list, if they are lucky enough to have insurance. If you do not have insurance you can contact your Mental Health Association to see if they have a list of therapists that they work with, or will work with you on a sliding scale. A university is also a possible place to start. A personal reference from someone who has worked with a therapist is usually my first preference. In the spring of this year I decided I wanted to look at my options with medications; and I had some hurdles I wanted professional help with. I began my search with my insurance company. Once I had my provider list, I began asking people I knew whom they might recommend. I found no personal recommendations in my area, so I went the next step; looking for professional recommendations. I asked other doctors I trusted (my PCP, OB, Dentist, etc.) if they could recommend a therapist who specialized in anxiety. I also checked with organizations like ADAA and did research on the internet for therapists who offered anxiety programs in my area.
Once I located a couple of therapists, I called their offices with a list of
general questions. I asked what does the therapist specialize in (i.e.
Generalized
Anxiety, OCD, Family Counseling, etc.). I then asked to speak with the
therapist to ask
some more specific questions about my situation. Sometimes the initial
conversation can
be done over the phone, or may require an initial consultation.
When talking to a prospective therapist, pay attention to how you feel. Some
of the
things I look for include:
HOW TO CHOOSE A
PROFESSIONAL Mental health professionals have an ethical duty to stay abreast of the latest research developments in their field. Unfortunately, some professionals have not kept up and are underutilizing treatments that could provide substantial improvements for those who struggle with an anxiety disorder. An obvious reason for underutilization may be that the professional is not specifically trained in cognitive-behavioral therapy which systematically helps people change their unrealistic beliefs and avoidance behaviors that help to strengthen these beliefs. A professional is less likely to be helpful to someone who has an anxiety disorder if his or her theoretical approach is more generally focused on life problems or is a long-term approach primarily focused on uncovering unconscious conflicts. So it is very important when choosing a professional that one makes sure this person is aware of and has competency in the latest effective treatments for anxiety disorders.
The following guidelines are recommended for choosing a professional:
COURAGE: THE LESSON
ANXIETY TAUGHT ME I look back on that week and am proud of the way that my friends, neighbors, co-workers and I dealt with the fear and the sadness. Not just by sharing feelings and stories of how we cried, but also by raising each other's spirits. My friends and I laughed, joked, and listened to music as we waited for hours in a car to get through security to enter Fort Belvoir. We made the best of a bad situation...taking out our frustrations and anger on each other would have only made things worse. Unable to find an American flag, I bought red, white and blue ribbons to make pins for myself and my friends at work. I lit candles outside that Friday, smiling as I saw my neighbors doing the same. We all did little things to help each other go on with our lives despite being afraid. This is courage: going on and doing the right thing despite being afraid. This is what coping with an anxiety disorder has taught me, and why I think my fellow ABIL members are some of the bravest people I have ever met. The seeds of courage are within each one of us. We need only to learn how to help them grow.
IT WORKED FOR ME Certainly an understanding of and adherence to (most of the time), a well-balanced diet, limiting caffeine intake, sufficient rest, and a certain amount of playtime. Educating myself about anxiety disorders in general and my specific diagnosis in particular through reading, attending conferences and seminars, and availing myself of helpful video and audio tapes also were thrown in the bag. Working with a therapist or doctor, learning relaxation techniques, diaphragmatic breathing, and attending support group meetings went in, too. ALL of these have been put into my bag at various stages of my life and many, if not all, remain there today. However, I want to tell you about very specific and concrete things I have found to be integral tools. I always carry a book to read--something light, even whimsical. I pitch in a magazine or two, just to read the short articles or enjoy the lovely layout. Inspirational materials can also be found--daily religious or meditative readings or poetry that has struck me over time not just for the pleasure and delight it may bring but because of the life significance it has. Also inside my bag are games to play: a pack of cards, a travel-sized board game to share with others, a crossword puzzle book and a word search or two. Writing paper, sharpened pencils, and a pen. A cassette player with headphones; my journal. And last but not least a coloring book and crayons (ah, the lovely and calming scent of a box of crayons) round out the equipment and fill the bag to the brim. I share these things with you for your consideration for your own tool bag--some things you may already have in your bag, some you might want to add. If any of this helps in any way, I'm delighted!
An Unexpected Setback In March of this year, I again found myself in that place where I vowed privately that I would never be again, that I would rather die than experience the pain. This time the causes were primarily a medical condition and bad timing with medication withdrawal. Some months before, my psychiatrist had me slowly withdraw from my antidepressant so that he could prescribe something safer for an older adult. I had been on this medication for 11 years, and my withdrawal took place over a period of several months with no problems. I had an appointment with my cardiologist regarding an aortic valve stenosis, a congenital narrowing of the valve that was first identified when I was in my 30's. This defect was never a problem nor did I have any restrictions of my activities. Over the years I have seen my doctor between every two to five years. However, at my last appointment, the doctor, after checking my echocardiogram, saw that the narrowing had increased to the degree which demanded that I restrict my activities - no hiking, jogging, etc. Walking, which I do as exercise, was, however, encouraged by my doctor. The narrowing of this valve increases with age (I'm 61) and neither exercise nor diet has any effect on how quickly or slowly this happens. My doctor told me I'd need a valve replacement within two years - that means open-heart surgery to place a mechanical valve in my heart. After the surgery, I will be free to continue my normal activities with no restrictions, but I must take an anticoagulant drug for the rest of my life and I will need regular blood tests every two to three weeks. I have always had a phobia of medical procedures. Dental appointments cause me more than the usual distress. In the past, I've often been terrified by these appointments, throwing up before going into the office. Just going to my primary care physician's office could torment me. This has improved over the years fortunately, but hearing that open-heart surgery is to be part of my future stunned me. Although I was and am symptom-free, I can expect symptoms to appear with no time frame. Some of the symptoms, feelings of faintness, shortness of breath, and a very fast heartbeat, are familiar to me and I know to you. They are what we can experience with panic disorder. How will I know the difference if a symptom should arise? My doctor did not tell me and would not tell me. He spent no more than ten minutes with me after giving me this news and telling me of my restrictions though he knew my history of panic disorder. Therefore, I took the initiative to learn as much as I could about aortic valve stenosis. At times, over these past months, I became immobilized. The first thing my psychiatrist did was to get me back on my previous antidepressant. This plus anti-anxiety medication did not relieve the distress which was affecting my functioning. My psychiatrist then prescribed a benzodiazapine, which proved to be a great help. Reviewing what has happened to me, the onset of my depression and anxiety became separated from the initial source which was the news from my cardiologist. It seemed to now have a life of its own. My fear was all encompassing. The old, familiar and dreaded emotions returned. Fortunately, with the help of my psychiatrist and his expertise, and also seeing my psychologist to discuss alternatives and to review the tools that I had to aid me in my recovery, I began to make progress. Although I continued to work at my morning part-time job, there were some afternoons and weekends when I did little more than what was necessary, but again, I could see improvement. Then for the second time (as happened during my previous crisis, and in fact, was a major cause), I had an attack of vertigo one morning. This initially caused me to panic. But I decided that I could not let this take away from the progress I had made. I got up from bed slowly, and after a time the vertigo symptoms began to ease. Although I still have the vertigo after many weeks, it is positional and affects me mostly when I lie down, get up, bend over, etc. It is very uncomfortable, but I have not let it control my activities as it did years before, and I am hopeful that it will disappear in time.
I have a follow-up appointment with my cardiologist this month and it
frightens me.
I don't know how I will respond if I am told that my condition now
necessitates a
catheterization of my heart. This invasive test determines more than the
echocardiogram and has some risks. It gives precise details of the narrowing
of the aortic valve
and from this test, the doctor can ascertain if surgery is recommended.
Those things that caused my setback in part are: I'm not sure when it all started... I am not really sure when it all started. I remember being happy and content as a little girl. I was a little overweight, well...maybe a lot, but other than that, life was decent. I had a few good friends; one in particular, a little redheaded girl that I played with almost every day. I liked to be free; I wasn't a clingy child. Family life was a little difficult. There were many times when I stood in front of the windows wondering when my dad would return home or if he would come home alive. I worried about my mother and my sister. There were also times when I hid in my bedroom, scared of my father coming home, sometimes hoping that he wouldn't. I have always been quite imaginative. School was my least favorite place to be. I got teased and I felt out of place. Everyone was in a group; I wasn't. My teachers didn't think much of me. When I was about nine or ten years old, my mother had to go out of town on a business trip. This is the first clear memory I have of feeling a thing called panic. My life has never been the same since. I was due to stay with a family that lived around the corner. They were friends of the family and had two little girls. One was my sister's age and the other mine. We each played with the two. My mom dropped us off at their house for the weekend. It was around the beginning of January and it was snowing outside. We played for days, having a great time. The family also had a little boy who was inside sick with a bad stomach virus the whole time. This did not even cross my mind until one day I was sitting on the couch with Katie, the little girl I was playing with, and she developed the virus that I would soon catch. That, I believe, is when my phobias started. It sounds stupid and unrealistic but I had never thrown up to this point. I panicked when she got sick and I called my father wanting to go home. He would not pick me up. He told me that I had to stay there. I don't understand why...was he that busy that he couldn't come get his little girl? I stayed the remainder of the time. My mom came and picked up my sister and me after she returned home. Approximately three days later, I woke up in the middle of the night. I had no idea what was happening. It was all so quick. I was very ill, vomiting everywhere. My mom talked me through the whole night and took care of me for the next two or three days. She is the reason I am where I am today; she gave me strength. I didn't think much of what happened that night after the fact. I think I got sick one more time in the fifth grade. The next road ahead of me was my middle school years; years that I will never forget...probably the worst of them all. I had shrunken in size enormously and I had plenty of friends but not the best ones. This is when I really got hit with the disorder. I hated school. There were many days when I refused to go. I was afraid of being remotely close to anyone who was sick. My parents literally had to drag me to school. I saw every type of doctor imaginable...a neurologist, a psychologist and a psychiatrist. Nothing made me feel better. My main fear was that I would get sick in school or in public. There were times when I wouldn't leave the house...I wouldn't even go into a mall. My parents were so upset and frustrated; they didn't know what to do. The last resort was to admit me to a psychiatric hospital. I think this was a small step to a long road of recovery. I was terrified the first few days. I tried to think of every option to escape but it wasn't going to happen. I ended up making some wonderful friends and not feeling so alone, although there were times when I contemplated hurting myself. The doctors said I had school phobia. At this time not many people had heard of things like obsessive compulsive disorder, panic attacks, phobias and agoraphobia. I was in the hospital for about a month or two. I had school there. When I was released and went back to school, things were still shaky. I had frequent panic attacks. I had severe OCD. I would wash my hands as many as a hundred times in a row, until they were practically raw. I would come home from school and immediately throw the clothing that I had worn that day away and never wear it again. I constantly confided in my mom and she seemed like the only person who believed me. I don't blame people who don't understand...it IS an unimaginable disease. I started going to groups for people with phobias and that helped a little, but there was such an age difference: "Where were all the kids? Was I alone?" That made it ever scarier. Now I know where they were. I'll never forget one day in school. I would often skip classes and hide in the bathroom stalls.. I was doing just that and there was another girl in the bathroom, my age, ducked down on the floor crying. I asked if she was okay and she replied that she was scared to go to class - that she had panic attacks. I continued to get therapy as I entered high school. I had been on every antidepressant and tranquilizer you could name; none of them made me feel better. I seemed to be getting a little bit better in high school. I found a medication that seemed to work for the first time. In my junior year, my grades boosted up a little. I felt great during my senior year, I guess the medication had worked. I had a job, my grades were excellent and my friendships flourished. I still had phobias and sometimes the panic attacks were strong. Through the help of a particular psychologist, who specialized and knew a lot about this disorder, I began to understand why. That was the key. I applied to college in the summer of '95 and was accepted into The School of Fine Arts at a leading state university. I couldn't believe I had made it this far. I am now a senior in the Arts program and my grades are excellent. I graduate next spring. I will always have panic disorder and OCD, but with the right medications, support from a loving mom, sister and father and creative ways to channel negative energy, I have had the strength to succeed and overcome this. If I could give any advice to people my age who are suffering from any of these problems it would be: DON'T BE ASHAMED, YOU ARE NORMAL, TAKE YOUR FEARS AND DEAL WITH THEM BY TURNING THEM INTO SOMETHING PRODUCTIVE AND CREATIVE. You would be surprised how therapeutic a craft or a poem can be. Find someone you can trust, and face your fear. The more times you deal with what you are afraid of, you will see its not so bad.
There is another special lady who always gave
me confidence and hope to go on. Thank you Shirley Green! We love and miss
you.
My first memory of the disorder was when I was to sing a solo in front of the school. I got through it, but I was shaking all over and in my voice. I remember trying to locate my teacher before my performance to see if she could get a replacement. My next remembrance of a similar situation was in seventh grade, when I was in gymnastics and had to perform again in front of the school. This time I did reach the teacher before hand and managed to get out of it. I also sang in our church choir and was to sing a solo. The scenario was: three girls sitting in front of the audience--one was me. The first girl proceeded with her song and, as she sang, I turned to the girl next to me and asked if she could sing my part. That was the most humiliating experience I ever had. When it was over, my mother wanted to know what was wrong with me in a not-so-nice tone. I think I stayed away from anything that would put me in the spotlight like that again. Around the age of sixteen, however, I thought I found a cure. The cure was alcohol. I turned from "Miss Introvert" into "The Life of the Party." All the fears went away, temporarily. I believe by the age of eighteen I crossed that invisible line of alcoholism. I became a binge alcoholic at about seventeen or eighteen, in an effort to cope with my anxiety. At age twenty-five I enrolled in a business college, and in one of my classes I was to give a report in front of the class. I was not looking forward to it. As I proceeded with the report, one of the administrators walked in to sit in on the class. I was somewhat intimidated by her for some reason. Shortly thereafter, all the symptoms appeared--the sweating, pounding chest, trembling and feeling like I could not breathe. I looked at the instructor and told him I had to sit down. I continued with the report while seated, but I was totally humiliated. I did not want ever to return to that class, but I told myself I would--and I did. I don't really know how, except that I was determined to finish the class. It seems like a series of these episodes followed on a regular basis. I could not stand going to the grocery store, especially checking-out at the register. I could hardly sign my name on the check and would sometimes leave the store altogether. I have had several panic attacks in social situations and would have a few drinks to be able to handle them. I now had two problems to deal with. I continued this destructive period, using alcohol to cope with my anxiety, until I arrived at a desperate and frantic bottom in my life. Since age thirty, I have been able to maintain my sobriety through a 12-step program. I was fortunate that I did not have to go to several doctors before a diagnosis of anxiety disorder was made. Later, after attending several ABIL meetings, I realized that I have social phobia. I now take prescribed medication for this condition and have been able to chair meetings, co-facilitate a group in a local hospital, give presentations at company orientation programs and attend several social functions. I feel like a new person. One step at a time, I take small risks and practice the things I fear. I still have not done everything I want to do, but I feel very hopeful about the future.
From Sharpshooter to
Housebound In 1980, while grocery shopping with my 2 year old son, I became ill--dizziness, nausea, tightness in my chest, rapid heart rate, blurred vision, and feeling like I was losing control of my bowels. Thoughts ran through my head--who would take care of my baby when I passed out, and what would they do with my groceries? I was so afraid, I grabbed my son and ran. By the time we got home, I felt better. I was sure something in the store made me sick. At that time I was a correctional officer in a male prison. I had graduated top of my class in both Basic Training and Advanced Officer's Training. I was a sharpshooter and a member of the state's hostage negotiation team. During late 1980 and throughout 1981, I became increasingly uncomfortable being locked inside the prison. I got so I could not travel without feeling the same physical symptoms as in the grocery store. My job performance failed. I always had a feeling of impending doom. I remarried in 1982 and quit my job. I began seeing a therapist who believed I was depressed. I began an antidepressant, gained 40 pounds and became depressed! My anxiety level never decreased and I had approximately 20 panic attacks a day. In late 1983 I went to work for a doctor because I believed he could take care of me if I got sick. I was convinced I was dying and saw more than fifteen doctors over ten years. I was in the medical hospital 29 times in ten years, mostly at my request, with a diagnosis of dehydration. From 1983 to 1988 I got worse. I continued therapy the entire time and was in the local psychiatric hospital three times--always with a diagnosis of depression. I lost my job because I was always sick and missed work. I never went anywhere and became totally housebound from July, 1989 through January,1990. Through unusual circumstances I was told about a specialist in panic anxiety disorder and I called him. He was 90 miles away and I could not go for an appointment. In January, 1990, I called him and made arrangements to enter his hospital the next day. I drove myself the 90 miles. With education, exposure to feared places, trust in my therapist, attending ABIL meetings in the Richmond area, and proper medication, I began my recovery. I was discharged March 1, 1990. I returned to grocery shopping, malls, beauty parlors, the dentist and traveling. I went back to college where I have a 4.0 in paraprofessional counseling, returned to singing publicly, resumed an active participation in local politics and became the facilitator for an ABIL group in my home town.
I am on medication that blocks the panic and anticipatory anxiety. I still
get
anxious when I do new things or am under a lot of pressure, but I have
learned how to
deal with this through ABIL. Without the education, exposure to feared
situations and
the continued work with ABIL, I am sure I would still be housebound.
Recovery is a
continuing process, one that takes determination and practice.
After I had been absent from school for two weeks, my parents sent me to a mental hospital. It was strange to me that at the moment I entered my hospital room, the anxiety disappeared. The hospital was a "safe place," and I felt normal again. I had a complete range of tests, all of which came back normal. After being released from the hospital, unsure about where the panic came from, I returned to high school and managed to graduate in June. When I was a freshman at college, my anxiety attacks returned. Gradually I began avoiding certain places on campus, even classrooms, for fear of having an attack. I got involved in an unhealthy relationship with a "safe person." He went shopping for me, cleaned my room, did my laundry, etc. My dormitory became a "safe place." I made it through the following fall semester, but my agoraphobia got progressively worse. In my last couple of weeks at school, I never left my dorm room at all, not even to attend classes. I even avoided the campus cafeteria and relied on Domino's Pizza and my "safe person" to get by. Finally, during an overwhelming attack of anxiety, I was accompanied by the dean of the college in an ambulance to the hospital. After years of hard work in therapy, I have learned that my problems resulted in part from the overprotection I was given as a child. Because I was born with a visual disorder, my parents and even my sisters felt an unusual need to protect me. Even as late as age four, I wasn't permitted to climb staircases by myself. Usually my mother carried me up and I developed a fear of staircases which I still struggle with as an adult. Throughout my childhood I was lacking the normal experiences for a child my age. I was immature compared to my peers, extremely shy and lacking in social skills. As a result, I was a target for being ridiculed by other children and developed a fear of school. I especially feared authority figures and was often afraid of my teachers. I did my best to blend in with the background so that I wouldn't be noticed. I developed the resourceful habit of untying my shoes before every class. If the teacher looked my way, I would "look busy" by tying my shoe laces. I endured the terrifying experience of being completely torn away from my "safe environment" when I was forced to leave my college campus. I spent three months in a mental hospital where I experienced such agonizing anxiety that I could barely walk. Eventually, the anxiety was so unbearable that I had no choice but to surrender to it. Accepting my emotional state was not only the most difficult part, but also the turning point to my recovery. I used my anxiety as motivation to work very hard in therapy. After being discharged from the hospital, I took the brave step of leaving home. Although I felt protected living with my family, the environment there inhibited my growth. I moved from the secluded lifestyle in suburbia to a boarding house in downtown Richmond. The director of the home became a mentor to me. A former agoraphobic herself, she was understanding of my problem. I managed to make some wonderful and supportive friends who gradually helped "desensitize" me by taking me out into the city. I slowly became accustomed to riding the city bus and accepted short term clerical assignments through a temporary employment agency. Surprisingly to me, I was able to do well most of the time and was able to move forward in small steps. From attending just a couple of ABIL meetings, I noticed that a lot of agoraphobics share the trait of having been denied the freedom to build independence. Many of us have experienced situations or relationships that inhibited or put limitations on our growth. Many agoraphobics have been raised in strict households with parents or siblings who are quick to intervene. This is especially the case with females in our society, which I believe contributes to the fact that the majority of agoraphobics are women. Commonly, an agoraphobic experiences the first anxiety attack in his or her late teens or early twenties. At this age, I was expected to be an adult, but I had never practiced the skills necessary for maturity. To recover from my anxieties, I needed to build experiences that I had missed when I was younger. Like any building process, it was slow. Because of the suffering involved, the hardest part was to let time pass and to be patient with my weaknesses. However, life as a recovered agoraphobic is worth all the effort. Becoming independent was scary but as I continue the building process, I find that this is also an enriching and fun time of self-discovery. I have replaced the old habit of taking things too seriously with a sense of humor. The dreadful anxiety that I experienced as an agoraphobic has bloomed into an eagerness to experience and enjoy life to the fullest. Today, at age 25, I have lived successfully on my own for three years and fulfilled my dream of a career in child care. My family and I have grown closer as they have developed confidence in me and are learning to "let go."
The panic attacks continued and I made a few more trips to the doctor's office but still nothing was found wrong that would explain the problems I was experiencing. I was still doing a poor job of letting the doctor know my feelings and symptoms. The attacks continued. Several years later I read an article about anxiety disorder and panic attacks. Someone described my exact feelings. They were able to put it into words. After several years of suffering and no real explanation as to why, I knew. Panic Attack. The illness had a name. Soon other articles appeared on the subject and each article taught me a little more. The more I learned about Panic Disorder, the more determined I became to get over this problem. I began a long process of thinking and making lists of things that may have caused my panic attacks. Some of my personality traits that I knew were contributing factors were painful to accept, but I knew I had to accept them before I could do anything about them. Some of life's experiences that I was certain contributed were also hard to relive, but I was as honest as I could be and I considered everything I felt was a contributing factor. To get a better picture of my problem I made a pie graph assigning each facet the size of slice according to the importance I felt it played in causing my panic disorder. A picture emerged that gave me an idea as to what possibly caused my problem. I began using coping methods that are being taught by professionals today. Some things I decided to forget and forgive, to let go of. Things I had carried for years I had to deal with. Other things I just decided to accept; I had felt the pain, time to let it go. Some personality traits were altered, the good ones I tried to strengthen, others I worked toward controlling. The graphs began to change as I dealt with my problems. Some important aspects of my life began to get smaller portions of the pie as I reevaluated myself. It made me feel better. I was improving.
I feel the more I learn about my problem the better. I can deal with it. I
have
found the support and encouragement from the ABIL support group to be
inspiring and
helpful. I expect to recover fully. I'm working on it. |
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