Panic, Unmedicated

Disclaimer: In this post, I am in no way suggesting that psychiatric medications are bad or that they shouldn’t be used. I know that they are literally life-saving for many people. I am simply describing my own experience.

When I mention to friends that I can’t drink alcohol now, they usually ask, “Oh, because of the medication?” When I tell them I’m not on any medication, some respond with surprise. “No Xanax? No Lexapro? Really?” As I tell each of them, medication just isn’t for me.

After my second spontaneous attack, and as the residual anxiety symptoms didn’t go away, my doctor prescribed me a small quantity of Ativan in the lowest possible dose. “Cut each pill in half”, she said, “and take it if you have a panic attack or if you really can’t sleep at night.” My anxiety was so strong in the first several weeks of my panic disorder that I sometimes felt on the brink of a panic attack every couple of hours. So, I took the Ativan. I never exceeded what my doctor had recommended. I never ran out of pills. Yet I felt myself becoming dependent on those tiny benzodiazepines. I could feel each pill melt into my bloodstream like a sigh of drunken relief. After 4-6 hours, I could feel that same medication exit my body, leaving me feeling anxious and depressed, sometimes more than I had been prior to taking it. While I experienced relief and relaxation from Ativan, I also experienced sedation. I did not feel like myself.

My doctor, and later my therapist, eventually suggested longer-term drugs like Lexapro or trazodone. Both women warned me that my anxiety symptoms would likely increase, possibly for weeks, if I started medication. They told me it was up to me to choose: continue therapy and mindfulness exercises and rest for a very long period of time, or take the medication and speed up the process.

I chose the longer, sometimes harder path. Not because I was brave. Not because I was strong. Because I feared side effects. Because I feared withdrawal if I ever wanted to come off the drugs. Because I hated feeling medicated, and preferred to suffer as long as I could remain myself. Fortunately, my anxiety hasn’t flipped over to depression for more than a day at a time so far. If that ever happens, and lasts for considerable time, I will revisit the idea of medication. For now, yoga, meditation and exercise are my drugs. I am semi-dependent on them, but I am grateful for them.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Life, Now

For all of August and even in September, I often lamented to myself on repeat, “I just want my life back.” I wanted it back immediately — going to parties and events most nights of the week, socializing in crowds, being my extroverted self. Of course, I had to learn some valuable lessons the hard way, and that meant sitting quietly with myself.

All of the therapy, meditation, yoga, sex, medication, puppies, Netflix, and loved ones in the world won’t “fix it” unless you look at yourself in a proverbial mirror for an uncomfortably long time. Just as we experience our respective consciousness alone, and as we enter and exit this life alone, we must face our fears and process our anxiety on our own. Not to say that this approach fully “fixes” anything, of course — some people are biologically predisposed to chronically suffer from all manner of mental illness. But fear is the root of all anxiety, and unless we acknowledge and sit with our fears, our anxiety isn’t going anywhere.

So, I stopped fighting my anxiety, my hypersensitivity and my exhaustion. I let my deepest fears — unpredictability, instability, impermanence, loss, loneliness, death —  show up in front of me. Strangely, once I named those fears, they showed up in my life. A break-up. Later, the death of a dear friend’s mother from cancer. And most recently, the election.*

Three Saturdays ago, I spent the morning with a 6-year-old at a well-attended 5k and fun run event. That night, I threw on a Halloween costume and danced to “The End of the World As We Know It” at a crowded party with a loud live band. I looked around my life that night and realized that it was back. Just like that, when I wasn’t looking and had stopped grasping so desperately for it.

My life is not perfect, nor am I the person I was four months ago. I still get tired more easily. I still get anxious on occasion — usually feeling nauseous, or experiencing muscle spasms or teeth chattering – in response to certain emotional situations. I am more emotionally sensitive in general. It is all okay. This is a beautiful life.

 

*Everyone American I know who suffers or has ever suffered from mental illness is having a rough time lately, regardless of the vote they cast. Sending love and solidarity to all of you who are nervous and afraid.

 

 

 

 

Be still.

We all have anxiety at our core, I’ve decided. Our sentience, our human condition of knowing we all will face death, creates an anxious loneliness within most of us. All phobias ultimately relate to a fear of death.

As I’ve played whack-a-mole with any area of worry and pulled back the layers of anxiety in my life, that’s what I’m left with. Therapy, meditation, yoga, prayer — it all uncovers that hole we each have inside. But in acceptance there is comfort, and in comfort there is love.