Let's start when my anxiety was first diagnosed. Initially it was a
relief: I finally had a name for it. I began taking medication, which
helped temper my anxious feelings and kept me from snapping at people as
much. It didn't go away, and I knew it wouldn't, but I was feeling much
better.
Fast forward to today.It may not be as bad as it
was prior to meds, but the ugliness of anxiety stares at my face with
such disdain daily. It used to just throw me off, make me overly nervous
and occasionally panic without warning.
But now? Now it drags me
down into a despair I haven't seen since I was a hormonal adolescent. I
struggled a bit with depression off and on in my teenage years. I may
not have been officially diagnosed, but the symptoms showed up often. I
managed to push through it, mostly due to the balancing of hormones once
I reached adulthood and my own resolve to break out of my shell.
I'm
not fully depressed to a point of no return, but it's there, hanging
over me like a cloud. My motivation to do certain things has slowed
down. I'll still get things done, there are just certain things I'll
push back or ignore or forget to do because my mind is elsewhere. I seem
to continually prefer the idea of a nap over cleaning the apartment or
I'll binge watch Netflix instead of doing the dishes. Sometimes my
desire to do something I love wanes and I don't find as much pleasure or
joy in it. One of the worst things is I'll occasionally skip showering because I
lack the energy to do it.
Another thing is that financial
troubles weigh me down. I've been working a part-time slightly above
minimum wage job for the last two and a half years. I switched to it
because working in pharmacy was causing too much stress, plus I was
being overworked and underpaid for the job duties I had. So I picked my
current job because I needed one and I had to be somewhere with far less
stress, even if the pay and hours were less. Unfortunately, it hasn't
covered the bills as well as I needed them to and I'm now struggling to
stay afloat.
Also, my creativity isn't what it used to be. Other
than publishing my poetry compilation, my last published fiction book
was in February of last year. That's a year and a half ago. Given the
fact that I used to be able to publish one book after another (max of
about six months in between), it's not normal. Once I wrote one, I was
at least dabbling in the next one after it releases. While I have been
writing when I'm inspired, it isn't remotely close to what it was doing
before. And it's not just my writing--it's also almost any other
creative outlet I once had. I put my bottle cap charm sales on hiatus on
Etsy; I haven't used my adult coloring books in months; and I can't
remember the last time I really danced. Plus, I stopped learning German
every day and haven't gotten back to it for the last four months.
But...
I'm
still happy. I still laugh. I still go to work on time. I'm not sad.
I'm not wishing I was dead. I pay my bills on time. I don't gorge on
junk food or starve myself. I don't sleep all the time.
However...
I
know it's depression. It may not manifest in the most perfect way to
indicate I must have it, but everything negative I've been feeling and
dealing with point to it. Bold face. Underline. Highlighted.
I have anxiety and depression.I
never wanted to admit to either, and the only reason I admitted to the
former is because it had started to affect my friendships and family. I
didn't want the anxiety to take over and cause more problems than it
already had. But depression?
Really? A doctor once tried to diagnose me
with it, but I knew I didn't have it.
At least, I
thought I
didn't have it. Looking back, I can see that I was a bit in denial, not
to mention a bit afraid of the stigma. It's hard to avoid the stigma,
even if you know in your heart of hearts that mental illness is real.
It's when other people who don't get it are present that you fear the
stigma.
I feared it back then, not only because I was afraid of
what people would think, but also due to the fact that someone close to
me didn't trust psychology. They were worried any therapist I would
potentially talk to would manipulate me, make me believe things I
shouldn't. Like, for example, place blame on my religion or convince me
my troubles stem from how I was being raised.
Looking back I can
see the folly in that. A good therapist won't tell you to leave your
religion or place undue blame on someone or something without weighing
all the facts. For teenage Jessica, though, she didn't trust therapy…
but she did find psychology fascinating. Maybe because my subconscious
was trying to get me to view it in an unbiased way and make me open
enough to understand it
and understand myself.
I wish I could've
gotten help sooner, that I could've seen my mental illnesses for what
they are and not be ashamed of them. Now here I am, coming to terms with
my feelings and fighting battles that could've been prevented had I
known better when I was younger. I should've trusted my instincts,
realized the hurt and guilt I was pushing down was something I could
face head on and move past.
But here's the thing: I
can't beat
myself up over the past. That's essentially making things worse. I have
to forgive myself and forgive those who have hurt me, whether it was intentionally or
unknowingly. It's all I can do. I can't go back and change anything, nor
would I want to. Regardless of the pain I've experienced, I would not
be me and I would not have the life I have now. Maybe some things could
be better, but it would be at the expense of the beautiful life I'm
living right this minute.
What it comes down to is reaching out
for help and being brave enough to make the changes I need to improve
myself. Some days I doubt my ability to do more, to get out of bed or
off the couch, but I know I'm capable of so much more. I can't allow
negativity to seep in and destroy my happiness or my dreams. And right
now, anxiety and depression are tampering with my dreams, and I've been
allowing it.
No more.It's not going to be easy. It will
be difficult, I will struggle. I may hit roadblocks and possibly
crash... but I can't give up. I can't relinquish my control and let
everything fall apart because it's hard. Life is hard. That's a given.
We can't give up when life gets tough, we have to keep going, keep
pressing forward.
I have
so many dreams and future plans. Beautiful ones. I want to be ready for them. I want to accomplish them. I need to.
I'm
writing this post because I can't keep running away from the facts. I
need to face the anxiety, face the depression, and find my way again.
Thank you for reading and always know that I'm here to talk if you're struggling, too.
