Advocate for Yourself

I did it.

This morning, I woke up and went on pilot mode. It’s the only mode I know when I have an upcoming, stressful event. I can only do as much as the bare minimum; get dressed, wash face, fix hair and maybe eat a granola bar. Anything else is too much to handle.

As much as I wanted that morning coffee, I didn’t. And, man oh man, I sure do miss that first coffee of the day. I digress.

This morning went as I had expected. I took some medication in the car on the way over. I checked into pre-op while fully telling myself “I want to leave now,” the entire time. I filled out paper work and was quickly called back for pre-op tests, pokes and prods.

Then I waited. A long time. I had a beautiful view of the previous night’s snowstorm. However, it didn’t come close to halting my fears. As the time drew closer to 10:00 A.M. the worse I got.

(If only you could see the frantic texts I sent my partner. And, no, I will not be screenshotting that)

The surgery was pushed to 10:30, and then 10:45…

I cried.

The anesthesiologist finally popped in to chat. I told him about my previous experiences with general anesthesia. He gave me the option of general anesthetic or doing local anesthetic but with some general. He said he thought I would do better with the former . I said I respected his opinion but I felt I needed to go with the second option. I know my body, I know how I react and it was worth trying.

Other than some uncontrollable shaking from the spinal block, I managed to get through it and keep calm… well, calm enough. I don’t really remember much either which is also good, I suppose.

While I felt very nervous going against the doctor’s original orders, I’m happy that I found a voice – albeit small.

Even though I really wanted to face my general aesthetic fears today, I think that it was still a win for me.

Surgery: 4 – Candace: 1

When It’s Out Of Control

We are moving again. And, hopefully, this will be the last time for a long while. It’s a far cry from Brooklyn but Colorado Springs should be able to do us well. This move is coming up quickly and that means we have to get our Denver affairs in order before bidding it farewell. This includes a surgery for me.

I’ve not been the healthiest specimen through my life and, while I’ve managed to avoid most serious health issues, I’ve been under the knife several times.

I have zero fear of surgery. I don’t think I’m going to die. I don’t think they are going to make any mistakes. I know my body has needed whatever procedures needed to be done. I do fear one thing though, and that’s general anesthesia.

You see, I absolutely cannot control my panic attacks when waking up from being put under. I can’t prepare myself for it because, well, I’m asleep. I can’t use my coping techniques because I’m so out of it when I wake up that I cannot concentrate. Waking up from anesthesia feels like a thunderstorm. It’s noisy and bright and sort of shocking. Never has it been slow and easy, as much as I wish it would be*.

I try to do everything so can to avoid it. And, unfortunately, I cannot avoid surgery next week.

Here I am, a week away from slice and dice, worrying to death about the massive panic attack I’m going to have to enduring for most of the day. It’s torturous. It’s traumatic. It’s downright MISERY.

I’m pretty good at making plans, figuring out my next steps and deciding out how I should handle whatever is giving me problems. This… this I can’t solve. Is it even possible?

It has to be done. I have to bring myself to the hospital for 5:30 A.M. and I have to walk myself into that O.R. knowing that the other side will cause me great discomfort.

Maybe someone out there has a suggestion because I am stumped. Maybe I’ll have enough brains when I wake up to read this post. Maybe I’ll I just be lucky. One in four, right? One time with no panic attacks out of four?

Here’s to the not so great odds.

* I had a discussion with my anesthesiologist at my last surgery. He assured me that I’d wake up on the better side of things. Well, I didn’t and now I know Valium isn’t helpful.

On Being a Mom.

Imagine being a mom.

Now imagine being a mom with mental health issues.

Welcome to my world.

I’m luckily enough to be the mother of 2 wonderful kids. My son is 2.5 years old and my daughter just turned 1. As you may guess, I am a little overwhelmed with 2 kids who are at the most difficult ages of their young childhoods.

Joyous, am I.

Because of my mental health troubles, I’ve had to work very hard on myself and my coping skills, with the help of therapy and help from family. There have been many nights of me giving myself fairly aggressive bathroom mirror pep talks. I have a journal where I only write down the positive things of the day. I attended group therapy on top of my regular weekly private sessions. Let me tell you, it’s been a journey.

So, here I am sandwiched between these two kiddos in the back of our car. We are driving across country from my parents house in Toronto to our home in Denver. This moment here is what I’ve been preparing for. On one side my son is either repeating everything I am saying, informing me of each truck he sees, grabbing my sweater or kicking me. On the other side, my daughter needs to be bottle fed, she’s grabbing my arms and throwing her toys at me.

This sounds like normal kid behavior, and it is, but for someone like me – this is a CHALLENGE. To say I am triggered is an understatement. But guess what? We are almost at our first hotel. I haven’t had a full of breakdown. I fought off a lingering panic attack, my kids aren’t crying and MAYBE they’ve even learned something along the way.

I know I have. I’m learning that I can do it – one day, one step, one moment at a time.

The Physicality Of It All

Over the years I seemed to have put the physical side effects of anxiety aside, as well as the side effects of medication.  I think that I’ve been solely concentration on the emotional and mental aspects of panic and anxiety that I forgot it can cause some serious effects on my physical self.

I’ve always been aware of what I feel when I’m in the midst of a panic attack – the nausea, the sweating, the palpitations – but I’ve neglected what happens to my body outside of an actual attack, between attacks, the toll it can take on yourself.  I’m currently dealing with a good example of this issue.

Last week when I took my newest dosage I had a plethora of physical and emotional side effects within a few hours of taking it.  I couldn’t figure out what was going on and why I was so sick within a small amount of time. I thought my body was used to the chemicals in my body and I could just up the dose and continue about my business.

I was wrong.

The next day, after my last entry, I was advised to take them on a full stomach.  Of course! How could I have forgotten such a basic rule? But, uh oh… I am never hungry in the mornings. Now that I switched to taking my medication in the morning instead of at night (um, hello insomnia?) I am currently experiencing heightened anxiety in the morning.  And now you want me to eat? Oh boy.

That eased some of the bad effects but now I’m really dreading having to force feed myself enough food every morning in order to take these pills.  If I could get away with just a piece of toast I think I’d be alright, but that is definitely not enough to pad my stomach.

As I write, I’m taking in a spoonful of oatmeal per paragraph.

Since the change I’ve become hypersensitive to every change in how I feel. Is it from the medication?  Did I eat something bad? Am I just tired? Should I have eaten more? Did I feel this way before and just didn’t notice? Am I getting better yet?

I suppose my next step is to accept that I’m going to feel different, and it too shall pass.

Maybe I’ll have to work hard at… not working hard. But what does that look like? What does that feel like? How will I know?

The cycle continues.

<a href=”http://www.bloglovin.com/blog/13889081/?claim=fq27ekcbcds”>Follow my blog with Bloglovin</a>

It Has Been 25 Years

This month marks 25 years since I experienced my first panic attack.  It has been 25 years since life as I knew it was going to be – seeing as I was only a seven year old and only had dreams of what life as a teenager and adult would be – would turn out completely different.

This marks a little over one year since my most recent relapse. One year that I’ve gone back to basics and had found myself struggling with the daily tasks that most of us take for granted.

What have I actively worked on in the past year? Well, I’ve worked very hard to get myself from a place of crying constantly and randomly in odd places to being mostly calm and collected at all appropriate times.  I’ve managed to be able to work, although difficult at times, and be fairly consistent all my tasks.  I’ve managed to be able to get hair cuts again.  I’ve managed to be able to take the subway with much less anxiety.  I have had a little help along the way to be able to execute these tasks and I also fully committed myself to talk therapy.

So, where does that leave me now?

Well, I’m now at a new bump in the road.

After taking some time to figure out how far I have come and where I am now, I realized that it was time to make changes about where I want to go from here.

You see, although I’ve managed to regain some sense of my life, it wasn’t enough.  Just being able to do all these “normal” tasks was great and all but I’ve been missing something.  And what I’ve been missing was enjoyment.

You see, I’ve been trying very hard to do all the things that I actually enjoy doing however I was just doing them in order to get through them.  No enjoyment. That realization indicated that I needed to make some more serious changes.  Who wants to do things they used to love doing only because they were just trying to get through them? I miss those happy, cuddly feelings after going to an amazing restaurant or buying that cute shirt.  I miss wanting to slow down time while I play with dogs in the dog park or having a night out with friends.  Instead I find myself looking at the time to see how long is long enough before I can go home.

Therefore I took a new step. And the new step involved my medications.  After years of being determined to get off of them.  I have moved to a higher dose.  Because it’s what I need.

After two weeks and two dosage movements I’m finding myself many steps backward.  I feel strong physically illness all the time, my anxiety is heightened and I found myself in tears this morning.  I can’t help but feel that this isn’t going to work. But I’m still going to keep going.  I’m still going to wake up tomorrow and keep trying. Even if that means I need to take some time off.  Right now I’m sad and feeling defeated – again – but there is no going backward.

I want that life my seven year old self dreamed about.

I think it’s about time.

Happy 25th Anniversary Panic Disorder, there is no way that you’d let me forget.

Baby Steps

It’s been one month since my latest setback and life has been quite eventful. Now, with experience, I have been lucky enough to “recognize” and “accept” that a setback has occurred. I am now able to “recognize” and “accept” that there will be other setbacks in my future and that I will most likely see this place in life again.

To some that seems like a very tragic thought – and normally I would see it as such. But not this time. The fact that I know I will be in this place again sometime in the future means that NOW is the time I learn about how to work through it and how to move forward as quickly as possible in order to be able to return to being awesome Candace. What changes do I need to make NOW that will better prepare myself for future hurdles? What changes need to be made that are different from the past?

In the past my setbacks have taken years of work (and maybe a lot of ignoring of the problem) in order to come to a place that I call “safe”. But since this past episode I have managed to come forward leaps and bounds in just 4 weeks. Mind you, that’s not to say that every day is filled with glory, sparkles and cupcakes. And that’s okay… That’s not how this whole thing works.

When I’m struggling through a setback I so very easily forget when good moments happen and when baby steps are taken. So, I’ve been carrying around a little notebook where I jot down in point form what things I’ve done that day. Whether it be “Got out go bed,” or “Walked my dog to the coffee shop,” and even “Went to work today.” I need to be reminded that I am doing things and that I am able to move forward and see that I am doing just fine.

This can only come from myself. I can’t hire an assistant to follow me around reminding me how awesome I’m doing and how far I’ve come (never doubt that I wouldn’t hire such a person given I’d have the funds – if you know of anyone for cheap let me know).

So what have I accomplished? Well, first and foremost I got my hair cut. MY HAIR IS CUT. I went in for a quick trim and was as happy as a clam. I’ve also gotten back into taking the subway. There were a couple of weeks where I couldn’t easily. Luckily I’ve been able to nip that in the bud. My mornings are filled with a little less dread.

Will this last forever? Probably not – but that’s okay. I couldn’t ask for anything more of myself.

The “Take a Break” Debate

Insanity: doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results. – Most likely not Albert Einstein… but it doesn’t matter.

As I’ve posted earlier, I have several rituals that I have acquired over the years in order to cope with my attacks.  I generally add and subtract a few here and there as time goes on.  One will stop working and I’ll replace it with a new comfortable coping technique.

Recently I’ve been doing a lot of discussing with friends about “giving oneself a break”.  This all started a few months back when life was extremely overwhelming and even the idea of grocery shopping sent me into an anxious state. Laundry?  Holy hell – there’s no way I could handle it all. I had decided that I needed a 2 or 3 week stay-cation.  And as we recently found out, getting my hair cut proved to be too much. i needed the sort of break when one wouldn’t have to go to work, entertain guests, cope with the idea of going out to a restaurant, or lock themselves into ANY plans.  Essentially I needed a couple of weeks of just being.  If I wanted to go for a walk – I’d go.  If not, then I wouldn’t.  If I wanted to go to a restaurant then I would, if not then I wouldn’t.  I didn’t want to put myself into any situations here I’d be letting anyone down – most importantly MYSELF.

So now how does this relate to my panic attacks now?  Well, lately haven’t been able to give myself that time that I feel would be greatly beneficial. Therefore as I go about my days, taking of my responsibilities and being present at appointments and plans I have been struggling with panic attacks. As a child I was forced to keep going.  Panicking at school?  You’re not allowed to go home.  Panicking at piano lessons?  You’re not allowed to leave, you have to stay and finish. Birthday party and a panic attack?  Too bad! You’re still going.  So as an adult I continue to push myself in these ways.  Oh, I’m supposed to be at XX restaurant in 45 minutes.  I know I’m brewing a panic attack over it.  You want me to go on the subway?  You have to be kidding me. But I’m still going to torture myself and go.  I won’t like it, it will feel badly and I may have to leave suddenly – that is, if I even get there. After 24 years I’ve begun to question my actions.

I continue to force myself to do these things a) Out of fear that if I don’t I’ll become a horrible, reclusive chihuahua lady with severe agoraphobia who yells at the riffraff neighbors and their rap music or b) That not forcing myself to do everything will show that I am weak, that I will move backward in my quest to conquer panic attacks. I feel there is a thin line between relaxing and causing further damage to recovery. Is knowing your limits and enforcing them healthy for moving forward or is it enforcing bad habits and moving backward? When is it giving it?  When is it healthy? Is there a healthy balance and when should someone know they have found it? At this point I’m slowly allowing myself to say, “No I cannot do this today and that is okay,” or “I know I made it all the way here but I’m not feeling well and think I have to go.”  I never feel happy about it, however I’m slowly learning that it isn’t about “giving up” or “failing”.  I’m not fully convinced yet but as a living, breathing, working human being I deserve to give myself the time I need in order to FEEL good inside – if not, at least calm and comfortable with the present moment.

Although I do have to work tomorrow, early, I am here on my couch with my singular chihuahua.  I have random movies on Netflix blaring away in the background.  And the only thing I have to do is be here, sitting here, writing to you. Nowhere else. Because I want to. And there’s nothing wrong with that.

I Can’t Go to the Hair Salon

 

I can’t go to the hair salon.

I am fully admitting this.

This isn’t something that I’m proud of nor am I happy about.

If there was one thing in life that I could say that I liked to do in my spare time it would be going to the salon and getting my hair done.  Nothing beats someone else washing, drying and styling your hair.  I have a LOT of hair on my head and it’s a huge break when someone else deals with it. I had short pixie-style hair for 15 years and spent a pretty penny on changing my hair colour and cut all the time.  I had several people I’d trust with my head of hair and I’ve rarely been let down.

About 3 months ago I realized that it had been almost 6 months since I had my hair done.  My roots were border lining ridiculous and my ends were destroyed.  So, I booked an appointment.  No big deal – or so I thought.

When I arrived to the salon in Tribeca I was already talking myself into a panic attack because I hadn’t taken my medicine before heading into the city. Not because I thought I needed it but I didn’t think that I would have any problems going somewhere I enjoyed.

I sat down in the chair with a new colourist. He was a sweet and patient man. I pretended to be happy and requested a lemon ginger tea.  We discussed what I wanted (well, I said very quickly “I want to stay blonde” and then he went on a long explanation about what he was going to do and I didn’t really care because I was too concerned with myself).

We got about 4 foils into my hair when I said, “Please, I can’t do this right now.  I have to be honest, I’m having a panic attack and I don’t think I can do this,” meanwhile I have bleach in my hair processing. The look in his face was priceless. He didn’t know what to tell me. I HAD to wait. Deeply apologetic I paced the cafe area for 20 more agonizing minutes until the poor colourist could rinse my hair. I’m surprised I didn’t run out of the salon – foils and all.  Instead I moved from seat to seat furiously playing Tetris on my phone and ignoring responses to texts I had sent out begging for some help.

I managed to sit down long enough to rinse out my hair. Apparently while I was pacing the floor, most likely making people uncomfortable, he had rescheduled me to a few days later and set it up so I could leave as soon as possible.  As soon as I stepped out of the salon – with dripping wet hair – I breathed a gigantic sigh of relief and shed about 50% of the panic away immediately.  I was so disappointed.

A few days later I bashfully returned to the salon and finished my hair – and it looked great by the way.

Last week I booked an appointment to get a simple wash, trim and over all clean up at a different salon.  I found a neat Groupon that was perfect.  The reviews were great. I did, however, clearly remember my experience from before and set myself up for disaster.

I arrived a little early to my appointment so I decided to browse a few shops in Soho.  I made it about 20 feet into a shop and I could feel the tingling in my fingers and the nausea.  I was moving quickly into a panic.  Again.  Because of my hair.

I went into the salon thinking, “Candace you can’t give up now.  Keep going. It’s not the right time to turn around,” as the other part of me was thinking, “You better get out now because you are really stuck in a full blown attack and are trapped in the city with no escape, no privacy, no where to calm down,”  I filled out the paper work and sat there with a glass of water wondering when was the right time to just run out and forfeit what I had already paid.

It was my turn.

We discussed what I wanted, very quickly.

I sat down to get my hair washed. After it was wet I knew it was the point of no return so I blurted, “I can’t do this I’m actually not feeling well and I need to leave.”

So here I am wondering if I’ll ever be able to enjoy the pampering I used to love for years. I am also wondering if I’ll have to learn to be my own hairstylist.

I can tell you that I won’t give up.  I have rescheduled – again – for Friday. Will I make it?  I don’t know. Will I reschedule another 5 times?  It’s very possible. I can’t help but feel completely defeated. I can’t help but feel utterly disappointed in myself. But I won’t stop believing that I’ll make it through to the other side of all the things that make me feel anxious, panic and uncomfortable.

Out On The Water – All Alone

I spent some time outside of the big, busy, never-ending city.

I felt it was time I gave myself a small break.  What I didn’t take into consideration was, “Where ever you go, there you are.”  I was feeling super overwhelmed and it was building and building and building… so I thought, “HEY CANDACE!  LET’S GO CAMPING! NOTHING IS STRESSFUL ABOUT THAT.  IT’S JUST YOU AND THE TREES.”

Fast forward to camping day.  I realized the act of organizing, packing, playing luggage tetris in the car, the 6 hour drive would not – in any way – help me in my quest to decompress, relax and discover my true inner zen.  By the time we were on the road – packed to the brim including an overly anxious chihuahua (like mother, like son?) – I had already taken my daily dosage of sedation.

[I must also add that before we were even able to leave the city limits we ended up double parked in a bike lane (PLEASE  I KNOW THIS IS HORRID).  I stayed in the passenger seat as a few needed items were retrieved. I ended up being told off be 2 officers and watched them write a ticket as a frantically texted “POLICE HERE, TICKET HAPPENING” as I mouthed, “I CAN’T DRIVE” to them.]

We arrived in the rain. The rest of the night was a blur.  I just wanted the air matress in the tent. Sleep. It’s cold?  No cares here.

The next couple of days I tried.  Hard. Tried to what?  Relax.  Is that even possible? Trying hard to relax? Even though I was grateful to be away with friends, I struggled. I found myself in a grocery store one day looking at beer and the next moment I was out in the car using breathing techniques and playing real tetris in order to thwart a growing attack.

I am continuously amazed how my panic attacks increase in frequency during times which should be less stress.

My weekend came to a head when we decided to rent kayaks.  At first I said no as I have a bit of a fear of deep water.  But after everyone pushed off I felt left behind and bit of a wet towel.

I quickly changed, took off my shoes and jumped into the last kayak.  I headed out looking for the rest of the group.  I padded and couldn’t find them. I stopped paddling and just floated there in the sun.  I was debating on what my next move would be.  That’s when I also had a moment to remember the reasons why I didn’t like deep water.  And then I noticed how far I had paddled. And that I had left my phone and my medication in the tent.  Well then.  I froze.  Now what?  I breathed in – and started back.  I focused on my paddling.  Which was the best way to paddle?  What angle would benefit my speed? I focused on my footing. How much pressure do I need in my feet in order to paddle faster? I focused on the giant waves from the passing boats. I noticed the tents along the shore and the osprey flying in the sky.  I noticed the islands.  I felt the warmth of the sun on my face. I was suddenly back at the shore of our campsite.

I had made it.  No Tetris.  No medication.  No panicking.  Nothing.

I decided to go right back out and find everyone.  And I did.  We all came back together.

My reward?  I nap in the sunshine.

If only I could take that paddle, those waves, that concentration back into the city, back into everyday life and use them as a focus when things get scary – when my breath gets deep – when I start to fall into the trap of the attack.  To remember that the water isn’t so deep and that I have the mind to steer myself, paddles or not, back to safety.

One day.

 

I Am Afraid

I am afraid.

I am afraid that this is the only truth that I will ever know, that I will have to feel this way for the rest of my life.

I am afraid that I will never be able to function properly.

I am afraid that I am judged by those who do not understand.

I am afraid that I will not be able to be relied upon because I don’t know when the next attack is going to occur.

I am afraid that I will never see my full potential because I am too busy trying to take care of my panic attacks.

I am afraid I am trapped in a fishbowl where I can see out, hear everything, communicate with anyone but it’s just a little skewed and rather impenetrable.

I am afraid my panic attacks will continue to become more severe and last longer – where my coping skill will no longer work and I will be helpless once again.

I am afraid I will give up.

I am afraid I will no longer be able to be strong.

I am afraid that all the hard things I have worked for will go to waste.

I am afraid I will never understand what it is like to feel calm and content.

I am afraid I will continue to struggle and will miss out on all the lovely things that life has to offer – and has already offered.

I am afraid I am too difficult for people to want to remain close to.

I am afraid that no matter how much positive self talk I have that it will always be a struggle that I can barely manage.

I am afraid I’ll never be able to be the best me I can be.