Where it all began.

“I have been a lot more distressed about [things] before, but part of me wonders if I’m just too jaded and tired to care.” — My journal, March 29, 2018

This was one of my first journal entries on Penzu (which I highly recommend, by the way) and I really feel it sums up the majority if not all of my “bad” anxiety and depression days. I recognized that things had been worse in my life and I’ve felt worse about my situation, and yet somehow I still felt anxious and apathetic at the same time.

On March 29, 2018 I thought things were just the status quo for me – sadly, this wasn’t a one-off feeling – but my journal entry a few days later, on March 31, described my first anxiety attack in years.

“I was feeling anxious again, as I had been all weekend, but it got to the point where nothing could distract me, and I was dashing between not wanting to do anything and wanting to do anything because it’s a distraction. I tried everything that usually works – I tried coloring, watching documentaries or Suits or movies, playing games on my phone, anything. I did a bit of purging and cleaning but I’m still so weak from this parasite that I couldn’t really physically move anything that was significant. Then I tried vacuuming and the vacuum wasn’t working properly so I gave up on that… Then Cam noticed I’d been sitting in the same spot for a long time, and asked what was up with me, what’s wrong.

I didn’t know what to tell him, so I said nothing. Technically, nothing was bothering me, at least not something I could put my finger on.

Then the panic attack started. I couldn’t get out of my head, and every time I stood up I would get dizzy and sick-feeling, so I would sit back down, but all I wanted to do was to move. Move my body, get some energy out, but it wasn’t working. Cam came around the corner from the kitchen and started getting freaked out because I was all sweaty and couldn’t stop fidgeting… I felt terrible, but instead of showing compassion he just seemed to get more frustrated. I wanted to go for a walk but then the next second I wouldn’t want to, so he suggested a bath but that is the LAST thing I need – get naked and wait for a tub to fill, and then sit still? Forget it.”

Reading that journal entry now, almost a year later, it upsets me.

How could it not?

The big thing that I take from this is that it passes. I felt better, and I saw my doctor. I ended up coming home with an emergency prescription slip for Citalopram if I felt I needed to go back on and a bottle of 30 Lorazepam for what I referred to as my “inevitable slipback”. My doctor was much more optimistic and called the Lorazepam a “contingency plan” because he believes in me more than I do in myself when I’m in that state, but he’s right.

I ended up throwing the Citalopram script out a few months later, because it expired without me having even glanced at it. It’s the small wins.

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