Trigger warning: this blog talks about depression and anxiety and the impact it can have on someone
Before I hit rock bottom there were times I just wanted to run – away, anywhere, just somewhere I could sleep for a few days. I even contemplated crashing my car into the garage – an accident small enough to make me go to bed for a few days to recover. I did not really want the injuries – just the chance to sleep in peace. I went about the day in a sort of daze, or fibro-fog. I got annoyed or upset really easily because I just felt so devoid of energy. It felt like there was a chain around my neck holding me in place, not allowing me to escape from what had become a living nightmare.
It took a complete burn out for me to finally stop. By this point though, my body and my mind had had enough. The anxiety and stress was riddled throughout me, I was exhausted mentally and physically, I was terrified, distraught and to top it all off, guilty – why couldn’t I cope? I could not breath or talk properly due to the tightness in my chest due to fear and exhaustion, I could not sleep due to the palpitations, could not eat properly due to the nausea and I most definitely was utterly scared off seeing anyone. To leave one room to go to another was a real ordeal – I had to check around corners and make my way slowly as I hyperventilated and took tiny shuffles to move. I am not even sure what I was terrified off – I can just tell you that the fear was palpable. My whole system was petrified, and I shook like a nervous wreck most of time and the tears came unbidden frequently. The thought of anything would make me feel physically sick and my throat would literally seize up so the words would not come out. Even making as simple a decision as choosing what to eat could cause a panic. I did not want to talk to anyone, or see anyone. The thought of doing that was terrifying. Even to this day, the sound of our landline telephone can cause me to feel sick and send me into a panic, so much so that we had to effectively disconnect it. I only could deal with having my husband and two little children close to me.
A trip to the GP meant anti-depressants and some counselling sessions. These remedies take time, the tablets themselves take weeks to settle into your system in order to be of any use. An additional problem I have is hypersensitivity due to fibromyalgia, so any medication can affect me in extreme ways. It took a few varieties of medication before I finally settled on one that seemed to agree with me. In the meantime I just had to let my body go through the trauma that had built up. By the time I found a suitable medication, a number of weeks had passed. It was not a pleasant time. My bed became almost a sanctuary – one that I probably would never have come out from had it not been for the children. The guilt of being ill and not caring for them properly was what forced me up every day.