There was a time when I didn't fret. It seems a long time ago now. When I remember those days I see myself as calm and rational, spirited and carefree. All it took was one wayward relationship, just being in love with the wrong man, to send me into a game of cat and mouse with anxiety. As the relationship was ending the anxiety grew worse and worse. Each day began with a terrible sensation of dread. A night out with my partner meant feelings of insecurity, jealousy, hurt and rejection. A night out with friends meant checking my phone every few minutes and rushing away as soon as my boyfriend suggested I see him. In an effort to grasp some control I challenged this man to treat me better. He walked away. For the most part I held my head high and tried to appear strong. I told the famous lie, 'I'm fine', over and over again. Many people believed me, I can only assume because they saw no point in my staying in this dead end relationship. I ended up feeling very alone and shaky, playing the strong and brave Jane Eyre when, in fact, I was crumbling inside. I tried to reconnect with friends who I had grown distant from during the course of this relationship only to find myself ruining each evening by getting disgustingly drunk and crying, sometimes in the bathroom, usually in front of the entire party.
I remember my first anxiety attack extremely clearly. I was working as a casual teacher in a school I had never been in before and I was a bit nervous. Before the day began I had a conversation with the ex on my mobile outside the staffroom. It was civil and uninteresting. I hung up feeling unfulfilled. There were things I had wanted to say but the wall was up and there was no point. I had to teach many different classes that day. The first one I went into was a lovely year four class. Half way through a question and answer section of the lesson my breath slipped out of me, my head grew light, my heart boomed so loud in my ears I could not hear the children. The anxiety ripped my chest open, blinded my eyes and forced me to sit. I mumbled an apology and the room sat in silence as I fumbled for my composure. I knew I had to breathe. I had no choice. I needed this job and I needed to teach these children. I bit back tears as it occurred to me that I was at the mercy of my own irrational fears. That such fears could leap at me from seemingly nowhere and cripple me, humiliate me. I managed to stand and to continue to teach. I survived the day and was a ghost in the staffroom at break times. I taught the week and was not invited back there to teach again.
Every day became a struggle with these very physical feelings. Even as I type and remember, my hands are beginning to shake and my breath is squeezing painfully in my lungs. Anxiety is something that one suffers from, I mean really suffers. Some people endure it their entire lives, from childhood. Others people have a trigger, a specific, shocking or tragic event. I attribute my anxiety to a gradual erosion of my sense of self worth and confidence. It is unfair to imply that this deterioration was deliberate on the part of my ex. In fact, I should shoulder a good deal of the responsibility. It was
the familiar situation, 'he's just not that into you'. I took way too long to take the hint. About three years too long. There was an event after the first six months where I should have packed up and walked away. It crossed my mind, but I was already blinded. We were holidaying in Byron Bay and he was clearly considering being with me or another girl. One night he didn't come back to our accommodation but stayed with her. I should have left him there. Jumped in my car and driven away with no note or explanation. Instead I waited, had a rational conversation with him and was convinced. It was from that point that my stock in myself began to plummet and I invested it all in him.
The road to recovery was not as easy as many people might believe. Those who have not experienced anxiety and its pressure on daily life may not comprehend quite how constricting it may become. I had to take each day as a small step forward. I did not go out much but stayed at home, nursing my poor mental health. I would take criticism to the very core of my being and I would cry far more often than is healthy for a person. I would have to face each attack with a mantra; "this will pass, this will pass". I stubbornly fought against the advice to seek a psychiatrists help. Pretending to be happy was physically painful, but that is what I did. Some friendships deteriorated and then ended, through misunderstandings that I did not have the energy to explain. I was, at one point, told I was being selfish. This person did not know the full extent of the hell I was in. I had no choice but to walk away. To open the floodgates then would have appeared to be asking for pity.
Thankfully, I also had the true care and kindness of many great friends. People saw me drowning, despite my lies of happiness and health. I was invited into the warmth of their hearts and wrapped in their love. They forgave my absence and my distance. They nurtured me, brought me out of my shell and continued to remain patient and kind until I felt ready to release the pain and to accept their help. As the old year passed into the new year I felt reborn. A very relaxing new years celebration, a three week holiday in my favourite place on earth (Niseko) as a dear friend's guest, a special weekend wedding a little north of Sydney and then a magical one a long way north of Sydney. Each joyful event was a sign I was healing. The fear was abating, the mornings filled with dread and loathing were becoming fewer and fewer. The people who brought me back to life are so special to me now that my heart aches with love for them. The people who I fell away from during and as a result of the pain I was in, I feel ready to reach out to. I've come a long way from the girl who would cry at the thought of getting out of bed.
This has been an emotional piece to write. I am crying as I type these words because I know how lucky I am. I have managed to climb out of the abyss. Despite the relaxed days of happiness that I now experience one after the other, I keep a copy of, "Living with IT; A Survivor's Guide to Panic Attacks" by Bev Aisbett, on my shelf as a safety net. I know they can come back at any time without any warning. And they do. They come out of the blue on the best of days with no possible explanation. But my experience is mild. I am lucky that the trigger for my anxiety left my life, that I was able to live without it. I am so fortunate to have the family and friends I do, who saw me falling apart and were there for me. It is a painfully slow road to recovery, and I don't know if it will ever be complete, but I am getting there... step by step.
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