You Don't Have to "White-Knuckle" it...

I’m 14, sitting in a sweaty gymnasium touching knees with all the other awkward teenagers who paid the 2 bucks to get in here. This is the place to be on a Friday night if you’re in the “cool” group. I’m actually the exact opposite of cool, but I keep quiet and pray that no one discovers that I’m an imposter. I think I’ll be okay as long as I laugh when they laugh and do the things they do. So, this is me for tonight. Sitting here at the high school basketball game with my hoodie tied around my waist, chewing strawberry bubble gum, and continuously walking back and forth to the concession stand, but never buying anything.

And then it happens. The boy from my 7th period class walks in. He probably doesn’t even know I exist, but I have had a crush on him since the 4th grade. Just seeing him makes me feel weird. Everything about me right now is different. I don’t like it. My heart is starting to race as I can feel the exaggerated pounding in my chest, neck and throat. I can feel my entire neck and face becoming hot. I feel out of control, I can’t focus, and I have a sudden feeling of wanting to escape. Just then, my friend turns to me and says, “Oh my God! What’s wrong with your neck and face?”

I grab her sleeve and beg her to come to the restroom with me. Once we get in there, I am shocked at what I see. I have huge red blotches everywhere. All this because I’m nervous? What is wrong with me? I’m just a freak. I tell my friend that I just want to go home. She decides to get a ride with someone else and I take off.

That was the night that I experienced my first full-blown anxiety attack. I wish I had known then, what I know now. It would have saved me a life-time of grief.

This “thing” followed me into my late teens, 20’s, and all the way into my 30’s. Over time, it became worse, evolving into social anxiety, fear of speaking in front of others and not being able to sleep at times. I was at the point of barely being able to order a pizza over the phone.

This ultimately chipped away at my self-esteem over the years, and I started to feel angry because I couldn’t do the simple, everyday things like all the other people could. There was no chance of faking it either, as the sweltering blotches on my neck were a dead giveaway of me becoming anxious.

So, I lived this way, and over the years had crafted some unique ways of coping with it. I had a huge selection of turtlenecks in my closet (even for the summer months), I always had to be seated next to an exit, and I would only frequent the bars and restaurants that had dim lighting. I also starting drinking alcohol quite a bit, especially in social situations. It would take the edge off but sometimes I “over did it” and the night would be ruined regardless.

I lost many friendships over the years, mostly due to me not wanting to go anywhere. The fear of my neck and face turning red and blotchy was so frightening, that I just didn’t want to risk the embarrassment. I had also long lost the chance of having a boyfriend or even having the ability to get a higher paying job. Sitting in a brightly lit office for an interview was certainly not in my wheelhouse, and having awkward first date conversation wasn’t even a consideration.

It wasn’t until I was 34 years old that I finally, unintentionally, got help.

It was after the birth of my youngest son.

This “anxiety” thing reared its ugly head and crippled me. I was frightened, paranoid, couldn’t sleep, and had the worse anxiety I had ever experienced. The “want to crawl out of my skin” type of anxiety. I wasn’t living, but merely on auto pilot to take care of the kids. I was there for the bare necessities but nothing more. My kids were usually in dirty clothes, in front of the TV and most likely eating their dinner from a fast-food wrapper.

Things would finally come to a head when my husband found me on the bathroom floor crying and despondent. After enduring this illness for 3 months already, I was on my 7th day in a row of not getting any sleep at all. I was on the brink of disaster and had started having auditory hallucinations that scared the hell out of me. Any time that I would try to lay down and sleep, I would hear music and people laughing. I would catapult out of bed only to find that the music and laughter stopped. I was going crazy. This was the last straw for my husband and with no hesitation, he rushed me to the emergency room.

That was the start of my journey. I was diagnosed with postpartum depression and severe anxiety. Something that I had tried to silence for years had become too powerful for me to “white knuckle it” anymore. After some trial and error, my doctor and I found a combination of medications and therapy that were starting to work.

I was amazed. I could go to the store by myself, sit in a brightly lit room without feeling anxious, and I finally ditched all my turtlenecks. I could actually enjoy my life. I wasn’t held back anymore.

I spent a total of 19 days in the hospital. With all that time on my hands, I started thinking about my journey. Why hadn’t I gotten help sooner?

I believe that it was because at that time, I was uneducated about Depression and Anxiety. I had always just chalked it up to me having low self-esteem. (Which ironically, having anxiety will cause low self-esteem, which in turn, will cause anxiety). I never really knew that there was actual help for what I was going through.

Anxiety is real and it has real symptoms that can linger for years. Without properly treating it, it can become worse and lead to other mental health disorders like Depression or substance abuse. People with severe anxiety also have a much higher risk of suicide or self-harm. It can reduce every day functioning, and even lead to Congestive heart failure or diabetes.

There is plenty of help out there. Since I was well into a “non-functioning” state, I was put on medication right away. But there are different types of treatment plans that you and your doctor can work on together.

But don’t wait. That was my biggest mistake.

I definitely wish I would have gotten help sooner. My life would have been a lot easier and more enjoyable. I am thankful that I sought treatment when I did, however, as I am now living a full and productive life.

Is my condition cured? No. Do I still take medication? Yes. And I’m okay with that. If taking a little white pill helps me to relax, have fun, and focus why wouldn’t I? One thing that a therapist once told me that I will remember forever: “If you had a broken leg, you would wear a cast,