Anxiety, panic attacks and the last and final fightΒ with my father
I suffered from moderate depression in 2015-2017. Depression included really bad anxiety attacks, which often turned into decent panic attacks.
With the help of the therapy, I got back on my feet and was in a really good state of mind for a long time.
Now, however, stress and Covid restrictions have caused anxiety to raise its head again for a long time. In March, for the first time in a long time, I had a very bad panic attack.
I then reapplied for mental health treatment and was prescribed a medication for anxiety and depression. Iβm really bad at always eating those antidepressants because I donβt like the foggy feeling they give you. However, this time the doctor explained that the drugs only start to work properly after about two weeks of use. This had not been told by any doctor before, so I have always left out medications after a couple of days of use. I used these drugs in a tube for a week and then I gave up. Drugs are not my thing.
I am currently stuck in Finland due to a corona, the intention was to return to Italy long time ago. During this time, I have lived in my parents βhouse, and they are living in our summer cottage.
The last really bad anxiety attack was two weeks ago on Thursday.
I had been really anxious all week until then and didnβt seem to get a grip on anything at all. On Thursday, I decided to rely on good old-fashioned alcohol as an attempt to alleviate anxiety. However, it didnβt help and my alcohol softening brain decided that now itβs a good idea to take those anxiety medications in addition to this.
I took one, no help. I'll take another, no help. Eventually, I lift half of the drug strip down my throat. I realize really quickly how fucking the idiotic idea it was. In a panic, I called the emergency center, I was really sick and I knew that I messed up bad.
Help came and for some reason the police also arrived with paramedics at the scene.
I eventually went to the hospital with the paramedics and apparently at this point the police had contacted my parents.
My dad has an idiotic way of keeping his hunting guns on the floor next to the locker. Finnish law says that guns must be kept in the locker, so of course the police have to deal with this.
Police confiscated all improperly stored weapons and cartridges.Β
When the next day I finally got out of the hospital and got to the house, the traditional accusation that is my fault, of course, that the guns were taken away began. Phew.
My father is one of those people who refuses to take any responsibility for his own mistakes. Often I feel like he doesnβt even understand that he himself has made a mistake and no matter how you rationalize it for him, he doesnβt understand it.
Heβs also one of those people whoβs used to getting his will through intimidation and screaming tactics and Iβm frankly totally tired of it.
This episode was just the last rivet. The few conversations weβve been trying to have since the event have always ended with him telling me how that and that thing is my fault. It is easier for my own mental health at this point to say thank you and goodbye.
I donβt think weβre going to talk for a long time. My decision will hold even for the rest of my life that if I donβt get a genuine apology for that gun issue, I have nothing to talk to him about.
Making this decision helped in a way with my anxiety and brought an even stronger desire to deal with the so-called childhood traumas, so to speak, that still prevent me from living life to the fullest in many ways. I also believe that many things of childhood are a big part of my anxiety today.
Effective of this, I plan to start this week with a whole new attitude.Β
Β I wish everyone a super awesome week!
