I’m going back to therapy.
Even just typing the words, makes my chest tighten. I have lived with anxiety for the majority of my life. It’s hereditary and pretty much everyone on my mother’s side of the family is on some kind of medication for anxiety, depression, or bipolar disorder. I have always found a way to cope, whether it be with exercise, a bubble bath, blogging (to my ever growing audience on Tumblr once every year.. lol jk) or just simply talking to a friend. Over the past three months or so, it’s gotten progressively worse. It’s terrifying, it’s paralyzing, and honestly it’s the most helpless feeling I’ve ever experienced in my entire life.
I had never experienced a true panic attack until this summer. It started by losing my breath, which caused me to panic, which made me even more nervous and gave me a stomach ache, which then caused me to sweat profusely, and lastly left me in tears. Oh, by the way, all of this while working. I called my boyfriend in sheer panic. Unsure of what to do or why I felt this way. He eventually talked me mostly out of it, and I went on with my shift. The scariest part of it all is being able to identify that there is something wrong, but no knowing what it is. It’s like your mind knows something that you don’t. Yes, my job is stressful, my personal life has it’s flaws, and my relationship isn’t always perfect. But overall, I've got it pretty freakin great if I do say so myself. I work hard, I love my job, the group of friend’s I have around me right now are some of the best people I’ve ever known, my family supports me in everything that I do, and I think I’ve finally found the man I want to spend the rest of my life with. So why? Why do I so frequently get these panic attacks?
I’ve been struggling so hard to answer that question for myself, and for those around me... because God knows I feel like such a burden when I get this way. It’s debilitating in a way I didn’t know was possible. I don’t like to leave my apartment that much anymore, and going out to eat is a constant struggle because I psych myself out enough in social situations to the point where I can't even swallow. It’s embarrassing, because what do you tell your loved ones or your friends when they want to go out and you can’t even talk yourself out of bed? I toss and turn without taking a sleep-aid every night. Anxiety has a full grip on me right now, and everyone around me knows it.
I didn’t want to go to therapy. In fact, I almost didn’t answer the phone when the psychiatrist called me back the other day. It’s one of the most difficult things in the world to have to admit that you need help, when typically you’re the one who is supposed to be helping others with the same issues as you are experiencing. So while first responders might look like they have it all together, I assure you, we’re battling a lot of the same demons everyone else is... sometimes even worse. But we show up. We show up because we have this calling- this need to help others when they’re at their lowest points. This need to protect those who cannot protect themselves, and this desperation to try and change even just one person’s life for the better.
So I’ll go to therapy, if not for myself, for my family, my friends, and everyone else who is depending on me to be there for them when they need me. Because I will be there- no matter what. Clear minded, and unafraid of the unknown. I will come out of this stronger than I was before.
“Do not fear the rain, for it is only here to help you grow.”- Jennae Ceceila
