Living with Anxiety

Growing up, I had a happy childhood. There was certainly no reason for me to be unhappy with the way my life was, in fact, there were much more reasons to be overly happy with life. When I entered middle school, upon the age of 12 or 13, I grew increasingly unhappy with my day-to-day life. My parents, and I, to a lesser level, assumed this was part of the growing stage, the “teenage years” most kids go through. I thought, and was often told, that most people felt the way I did.

Bright and intellectually gifted, I began to hate school. Really, really hate school. More than just saying I hate school; I dreaded getting up every morning. Seeing my friends didn’t even excite me enough. As I neared the age of 14, things became worse. I hid my desperation, believing maybe I was depressed but it wasn’t bad enough, or mainly, that everyone really did feel as bad as me. As I entered high school, things remained roughly the same for three years, as I engaged in dangerous activites, such as drug use. I developed an eating disorder, ED-NOS, which later developed into anorexia nervosa. Proper diet and things are obviously important, and this probably did not help me any.

My junior year of high school went by fairly well, although I began to deteriorate, both physically and mentally. I began using ecstacy to cope with my poor feelings. I never dreamed what would become of this. Summer came and after July, I would lable this the fall of me. I was not myself and everyone saw, even after ceasing ecstacy use. A normal varsity tennis coach, I left for tennis try-outs one morning but instead went to a park to cry by myself. I was too sad to do anything else. A concerned coach called my mom. I missed out on my whole senior year of tennis because I was too sad. Months later, ecstacy abuse took its toll. I developed hysteria-level anxiety Panic attacks that would leave me crying, gasping for air and trying to hurt myself, really trying to die to escape the present moment. As stupid as it sounds, the present moment really was that terrible.

It came to a point where I knew I needed help. I started seeing a counselor, who told me my nervous system had taken a “freaking workout”. I was prescribed Paxil for my depression as I learned I had. I was relieved to know I wasn’t just unusual all those years, I really had a problem. Paxil was not good for me. It was like prescription ecstacy to me. It left my jaw shaking for hours. I went off the Paxil and didn’t switch to anything else. Things got a little better with therapy, but not much. At this time I was 17, and still seeing a pediatrician, who are not normally used to addressing mental issues, or prescribing medications such as anti-depressants.

I was unhappy with my current therapist so I stopped seeing him. That spring I turned 18, and decided to see a family doctor. There I was prescribed Zoloft and Xanax, which had been given to me in an emergency room before to control hyper-anxiety. I am still at this point in my life. I take Zoloft and Xanax everyday, which help a lot. I also recieve electro-shock therapy twice a week. I believe the electro-shock therapy is helping me most, probably coupled with Zoloft. Together, these things are rebuilding me. Xanax is nice too, but I know first hand the dangers associated with this class of drugs and I know it is a temporary thing in my body anyway. I truly believe the Zoloft is rebuilding my brain for the better. This isn’t a story about medication rebuilding my life, it’s just helping me.

Once I felt like I needed to die, and now I wake up every morning, not as happy as I should be, but slowly getting there. I am glad I finally recieved the help I needed.