When I first created this blog last week, I had no idea where it was going. My intention was to post maybe four to six entries I'd already posted in "Teresa's Treasures" and be done with it. However, since writing the second article, I've wondered who might need the entire story and how many more people I could help by sharing it all. I have actual documentation of names of doctors, psychiatrists, psychologists, and counselors I've visited, with exact dates of illnesses and hospitalizations. For some reason I've kept them. Maybe now I know why. If you see a reflection of yourself in what I write, hopefully you'll see the same light at the end of the tunnel I've seen as well. I have found my voice and am compelled to write. ~
Along with depression came anxiety. As a baby I was put on phenobarbital to the point of near addiction. I had to be weaned off slowly. We know today it's a dangerous drug, something unknown then. As a child I had severe stomach aches, especially at night. Mom-ma would come rub the knots out, as I called them, and as I relaxed I would vomit. I got sick before tests in eighth grade algebra class, before every speech in college and on my wedding night. The very first day of my very first job I called in sick throwing up from anxiety. With any change or major event came a physical illness precipitated by anxiety.
With the anxiety came compulsions or, I'm not sure, maybe the other way around. My dad had migraine headaches, the type that included vomiting. The only bathroom we had was by my bedroom which meant I heard every sound he made. Some people get sick quietly and some people raise the dead; my dad was the latter. Since his and moms bedroom was down the hall, I knew when I heard the sound of rapid feet coming down the hardwood floors what was coming next: sounds I remember to this day--God-awful sounds. With pillow over my head and fingers in my ears I would mumble or hum until the sounds stopped. My heart pounded out of my body and head. Sometimes this was repeated numerous times throughout the night. As I grew older and this happened more and more, I anxiously awaited it happening every night. I developed a constant irrational fear that never went away. Vomiting became my obsession, still existing today, manageable with medication. I cannot take less than I take. I take the least medicinal amount.
In my twenties, after my children were born, all I could think about was vomiting. It never left my mind. I would not allow my children to have sleepovers or go to anyone else's house for fear of being exposed to a stomach virus. I would not touch a public door-knob or drink out of a public water fountain or use a public restroom. If and when we ever ate out, which was rare due to my fear of germs or seeing someone vomit in public, I would pan the room waiting anxiously, checking out who looked like they would. If someone ever did we had to leave immediately. I sit facing the fewest people even today, preferably on the edge of the room. Once going to a baby shower, before ever entering the front door, someone leaving said a family member was at home sick with a stomach bug. Immediately I turned around and left. My children attended Rockfield Elementary which had very small gymnasium. Every year during their annual Christmas program rather than watch the performance I waited for that one person to throw up and one usually did. I experienced what I did not know were my first minor panic attacks when I went but had to make myself go. I had recurring dreams of going into a dormitory bathroom with row after row of commodes. The lids would be open with vomit all over the floor, on the walls and people's heads would be in the toilet. I dreamed this repeatedly. I woke up thinking about vomit and dreamed about it at night. I could go on and on. Surely you get the picture.
Among friends one night I mentioned my fear of vomiting, never knowing how unusual it was. I had no idea there was an illness called Obsessive Compulsive Disorder or OCD. I made an appointment with Dr. Max Kinneman, a Neurological Psychiatrist who proved, through a simple test, I had a chemical imbalance, an extremely over-active hypothalamus. I was put on Paxil which was also successful for treating the depression.
The time had come for me to learn a new vocabulary and familiarize myself with the language psychiatrists, psychologists and counselors speak.
This type of anxiety is the type that has to be medicated. No amount of prayer, faith, encouragement, advice can make it go away. Had it been able to, I would have experienced it. I remember sitting through many, many lessons taught by well-meaning preachers or teachers wondering what is wrong with me. Why can't I just snap out of it? I couldn't.
If you are one of these people who suffers acute anxiety with no explanation, please seek treatment. I'm not qualified to tell you where to go but I do suggest you find someone familiar with mental illness, i.e., anxiety and OCD. For years I tried to make it go away with no success, not until I was properly medicated. I'm not talking about dealing with "do not worry" type of worry Jesus talks about in the Sermon on the Mount. I can deal with that. I have learned the lessons I teach called "Overcoming Worry and Anxiety." The reasons I can teach them with conviction is because I've had to put them into practice. I consider myself not a worrier. But I do consider myself someone who suffers from Generalized Anxiety Disorder who must be treated with medication in order to lead a productive life. Some people have it who cannot go out the door. I am no longer that individual.
With the anxiety came compulsions or, I'm not sure, maybe the other way around. My dad had migraine headaches, the type that included vomiting. The only bathroom we had was by my bedroom which meant I heard every sound he made. Some people get sick quietly and some people raise the dead; my dad was the latter. Since his and moms bedroom was down the hall, I knew when I heard the sound of rapid feet coming down the hardwood floors what was coming next: sounds I remember to this day--God-awful sounds. With pillow over my head and fingers in my ears I would mumble or hum until the sounds stopped. My heart pounded out of my body and head. Sometimes this was repeated numerous times throughout the night. As I grew older and this happened more and more, I anxiously awaited it happening every night. I developed a constant irrational fear that never went away. Vomiting became my obsession, still existing today, manageable with medication. I cannot take less than I take. I take the least medicinal amount.
In my twenties, after my children were born, all I could think about was vomiting. It never left my mind. I would not allow my children to have sleepovers or go to anyone else's house for fear of being exposed to a stomach virus. I would not touch a public door-knob or drink out of a public water fountain or use a public restroom. If and when we ever ate out, which was rare due to my fear of germs or seeing someone vomit in public, I would pan the room waiting anxiously, checking out who looked like they would. If someone ever did we had to leave immediately. I sit facing the fewest people even today, preferably on the edge of the room. Once going to a baby shower, before ever entering the front door, someone leaving said a family member was at home sick with a stomach bug. Immediately I turned around and left. My children attended Rockfield Elementary which had very small gymnasium. Every year during their annual Christmas program rather than watch the performance I waited for that one person to throw up and one usually did. I experienced what I did not know were my first minor panic attacks when I went but had to make myself go. I had recurring dreams of going into a dormitory bathroom with row after row of commodes. The lids would be open with vomit all over the floor, on the walls and people's heads would be in the toilet. I dreamed this repeatedly. I woke up thinking about vomit and dreamed about it at night. I could go on and on. Surely you get the picture.
Among friends one night I mentioned my fear of vomiting, never knowing how unusual it was. I had no idea there was an illness called Obsessive Compulsive Disorder or OCD. I made an appointment with Dr. Max Kinneman, a Neurological Psychiatrist who proved, through a simple test, I had a chemical imbalance, an extremely over-active hypothalamus. I was put on Paxil which was also successful for treating the depression.
The time had come for me to learn a new vocabulary and familiarize myself with the language psychiatrists, psychologists and counselors speak.
This type of anxiety is the type that has to be medicated. No amount of prayer, faith, encouragement, advice can make it go away. Had it been able to, I would have experienced it. I remember sitting through many, many lessons taught by well-meaning preachers or teachers wondering what is wrong with me. Why can't I just snap out of it? I couldn't.
If you are one of these people who suffers acute anxiety with no explanation, please seek treatment. I'm not qualified to tell you where to go but I do suggest you find someone familiar with mental illness, i.e., anxiety and OCD. For years I tried to make it go away with no success, not until I was properly medicated. I'm not talking about dealing with "do not worry" type of worry Jesus talks about in the Sermon on the Mount. I can deal with that. I have learned the lessons I teach called "Overcoming Worry and Anxiety." The reasons I can teach them with conviction is because I've had to put them into practice. I consider myself not a worrier. But I do consider myself someone who suffers from Generalized Anxiety Disorder who must be treated with medication in order to lead a productive life. Some people have it who cannot go out the door. I am no longer that individual.
Keep writing my friend......Love you...thank you for your honesty
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