Anxiety, depression and me

You wake up. For the briefest moment, everything is fine. Then it crashes into you like a massive wave. Plunged into a vortex of fear and dread, your heart races. You sweat. Negative thoughts spiral catastrophically out of control until you're overcome by panic. It's petrifying and all-consuming. Anxiety really is a bitch.

Despite having gone through a traumatic event as a child, I never suffered with my mental health. This was certainly because of a failure to confront issues rather than the absence of them. As I mentioned in a previous post, warning signs developed in my late twenties, but it was in 2017 that I experienced my first bout of anxiety. Several personal setbacks had brought my life into sharp focus. I was 32 years old, single and without my own home or a fulfilling job. My friends were all married, and most had children, while I felt completely unequipped to deal with adulthood. It suddenly dawned on me that I was nowhere near where I had expected to be at this point in my life.

One evening, everything came to a head. Not knowing where to turn, I drove down to the beach and walked along the sand, in a state of despair. It was March; dark, cold and bleak. I don’t mean to over-dramatise the situation, but I remember looking at the sea and thinking I could easily walk into it. Not to cause myself harm - that’s never crossed my mind - but because I had lost control of my own thoughts. I didn’t know who I was anymore and that terrified me.

The anxiety which had been creeping up went into overdrive. I didn’t sleep a wink that night, so loud was my heart beating. The following day I couldn’t sit still or relax. My limbs quivered violently. Reluctantly, I agreed to book an appointment with my GP, who prescribed me some medication. But by that point my anxiety had eased and because of my pride, I didn’t finish the course. I told myself I was OK and that this had just been an inexplicable and isolated occurrence.

Anxiety left me alone for three years. But a couple of months ago it returned with a vengeance. Again, a change in personal circumstances proved to be the trigger. My long-term relationship had ended and, as with most emotional episodes, my coping mechanism was to ignore it. By January everything I had stored up was no longer containable and, like a shaken bottle of coke, it came out in a big mess. I was completely heartbroken from losing the most important person in my life, which remains a source of immense sadness. But I believed the issues ran much deeper. My mind returned to 2017. Those dark clouds looming overhead looked awfully familiar.

I didn’t want to admit it, but I was feeling depressed. Although it's a subject I have discussed, I've never been diagnosed. A few years ago, someone asked whether I was depressed. I was taken aback. What did I have to be depressed about? Yes, my life had had its ups and downs, but I lived a relatively comfortable existence. It’s funny. I have some depressive traits that stem from a crippling lack of self-esteem, but I’ve always considered myself an optimist. My proverbial glass is half full and I choose to see the good in people over the bad. But sitting here now, I’d be kidding myself if I said I’ve not experienced depression. Not to the extent where I’ve been unable to get out of bed or go to work, but perhaps my misconceptions about depression explain why I’ve trivialised my emotions. There’s a stigma attached to depression that can lead many to avoid opening up about it. I fall into that category. The past year has been a sobering reminder that my internal struggles are never too far from resurfacing.

With these concerns in mind, I went back to see my GP. For the first time in my life, I had accepted I had a problem that needed addressing. Mentally, a weight had already lifted from my shoulders. However, just days before I was due to speak with a professional, I received news that devastated me. In that instant, everything fell apart. Change has never been something I’ve embraced, and this was too colossal for me to handle.

The anxiety that ensued was now more intense than ever. I’d wake up with an overriding sensation of unease and be in a heightened state of panic. Somehow, I was completely lost in my most familiar surroundings. At my lowest point, I endured a day-long panic attack. Never have I had to concentrate so hard on breathing in and out, which we usually take for granted. This time though, I had resolved to do something about my anxiety. Listening to podcasts about mental health was extraordinarily calming. Testimonies from those who had experienced similar difficulties reassured me that what I was going through was not uncommon. In fact, it was surprisingly widespread.

Meditation is a concept that, in some quarters, conjures up negative connotations. Indeed, my own knowledge on the subject was shaped by prejudices. In truth, it’s a proven method to free yourself from the stresses and strains of daily life. It was recommended to me by a friend and so invaluable has it been that it’s now an integral part of my daily routine. All that's required to restore order and balance is a few minutes of peace.

Connected with this, mindfulness is a technique I’ve been practising. It teaches us to focus on the present by being fully engaged in everything we do. So instead of allowing thoughts to wander, we concentrate on the task at hand, such as making a cup of tea. As someone with an overactive and nostalgic mind, I have a tendency to ruminate on past events - both good and bad. (Having a photographic memory can be a blessing, just not in this respect.) But what I’ve discovered throughout this illuminating journey is that we cannot change the past, nor can we predict the future. All we can ever do is control the present. I’m not going to lie; it remains a work in progress. But then, isn’t life?