Living and Making Peace with Anxiety - A personal journey

Ok so, this is very different from what I usually post. It is also, hands down, the hardest post I have ever written. But, there is no point in keeping this to myself. No achievement is unlocked by suffering in silence. No medal for pretending everything is A-OK.

Published on: 2019-06-02

Written by Schalk Neethling

I also know that there are so many people out there struggling with this seemingly invisible disease. The more we all share, the more we open up, the better for everyone. This world can be a crazy, fast-paced, judgemental, and sometimes just plain unfair world, but every one of us has value. Each and everyone has the right to contribute our part. To contribute our verse, to borrow from the movie Dead Poets Society. We should never forget that.

So where do I start…

I guess it all started 26 years ago when I was 16 years old and realized that I had been closing myself off from places and people because of fear. Not fear as is typically understood. No, this is a different kind of fear. This is an all-consuming fear. A fear that sneaks up on you, and then refuses to let go. Your every moment id filled with thoughts of dread, of what could go wrong, of dying. Scratch that, you’re convinced all these things will happen, are happening right now.

And the bizarre part, there is nothing more you want than to get away from everything and everyone. Get out. Get away. But in reality, you are trying to run away from yourself. Run away from your mind. From your thoughts.

After some time of honestly fearing for my life and sanity, I decided to come out and be honest with my parents about what was going on. Thankfully they had the insight to send me to a psychiatrist for treatment.

The early years

Was I open and honest with the psychiatrist? Of course not. I was ashamed and felt weak. I felt like it was something I needed to hide. So I was only open about some of the things that were happening to me and in my life.

Anxiety and panic do not keep office hours though, and it was not long before it showed itself. Like a ghost summoned up from the darkness it overwhelmed me right in the doctor’s office. There was no hiding this, believe me, I tried. I pretended to need the bathroom, left the office, splashed my face with water, breathed, and tried to calm myself down.

When I reentered the room, however, the doctor already knew. He has seen this many times. He could read it written on my face, like a cry for help.

After this incident, I was diagnosed with depression, generalized anxiety disorder, and agoraphobia. That’s a mouthful indeed. I was already taking Paxil, but the doctor up my dosage and also introduced Alzam(a benzodiazepine) to use when I felt those familiar feelings welling up inside me.

Progress, Yes!

The combination of these medications, as well as some additional therapy honestly helped me turn a corner. I was feeling so much better. I could participate in life without fear of a panic attack, being embarrassed in public, and always worrying about unwarranted health concerns.

Things went well. I got married to a fantastic woman. Found what I wanted to do with my life, started a family, and dreamed of the future. That was until I said hello to my early thirties.

The number 30-something

I was going through a pretty challenging phase in my life. Finances were not “great”(to put it mildly). We were living with my parents, and there was a lot of tension between my dad and my wife. I have never been good at confrontation and avoided it like the plague. Especially with my dad I never felt comfortable bringing up topics I knew might lead to a tension-filled situation.

For the longest time, this caused intense unhappiness and tension between all of us. My wife was doing her utmost to cope, but the situation was simply out of her control. I needed to do something but felt helpless. Unable to stand up and do the right thing. My dad was not an entirely unreasonable man; we simply did not have a relationship where I felt comfortable confronting him. I lacked the life skills.

I was still taking Paxil, but no longer any of the other medications, and was no longer seeing a psychiatrist, nor a psychologist. I was merely filling my head with dark thoughts, hate, anger, worry, and self-criticism bordering on bullying.

Hello my old nemesis

And so the past becomes the present again. The monster let out of its holding cell. And oh boy did it come back with a vengeance, like a tiger locked up in a cage without food for days.

This time, out of desperation, I grabbed at the only thing I believed would get me through this - the rose-colored glasses. Happy Juice. Liquid courage. Memory Cleaner. I was looking for answers and solace at the bottom of a bottle.

I never drank all day, every day, but it was frequent enough to numb the feelings of angst and depression, or so I believed.

The next seven years or so are a whirlpool of successes, failures, late-night hospital visits, severe depression, weight gain, health anxiety(duh), and a general downward spiral. In all honesty, things were not that bad(seemingly). Life progressed, and things got better on the financial side. I even landed my dream job.

The solution becomes the problem

That was until the “solution” turned into the issue. Anyone with a bit of sense, looking at this all play out from the outside, will have seen this coming.

And to be honest and frank, I knew this was not going to last. I could see it, I could feel it. I was hurting those around me; I was retracting into myself, all I wanted was the sweet, sweet release of the booze at the end of the day.

A time to pretend all is good and life is A-OK.

All this came to a head when my father was diagnosed with cancer. I honestly did not know how to process this. My relationship with my dad has improved in leaps and bounds over the last couple of years for both myself and my wife. All the negative emotions and memories were long forgotten and left in the past. We were looking forward to spending years to come together.

This diagnosis seemed so, final. Like just another dream crushed. Another kick in the pants from life. My drinking became worse. I was still mainly a functioning alcoholic, but things were going downhill fast.

My hopes, goals, and dreams for the future were put way in the back of my mind. Instead, I focused on making sure to tell myself and all those around me what a terrible, broken person I was. Little did I know that my mind was listening intently to all this negativity. The critical self-talk. It was not only listening though, but it was also taking notes.

2017

My dad was fighting and doing well. Life was pretty good. My drinking even got better. Don’t get me wrong though, not good, not even acceptable, but better. Time kept marching onward.

2018

Hello! Wow! I did not want to see this coming. But I did.

My dad’s health was deteriorating. I knew he was probably not going to be with us for much longer. The demands of a family who has a loved one facing the end of their life are incredibly tough. It is also incredibly demanding, and stressful, to put it mildly. We did it though. We kept our heads above water and paddled like crazy.

Like a lot of things, we did, until we did not.

My health anxiety combined with my alcohol abuse, smoking, the constant decline in my dad’s health, and the general everyday pressure of life in the modern world got to me.

It went a little something like this

Monday: Be pretty productive. When 4 PM rolled around, it was time to break out the booze and kick back. Although I actively tried various strategies to drink and smoke less, I still ended up drinking too much.

Tuesday: Wake up. Feel like absolute horse shit. Exercise. Try to make it through the day. Sometimes it was okay, but other times… Panic attack city. I would be completely debilitated, useless, continually fighting my mind. Failing and only feeding the anxiety further.

Eventually, the night would fall. It would be late enough to justify going to sleep. I would pop a sleeping pill and be out in 30 minutes.

Wednesday, Thursday: Rinse and repeat.

It was not long before the panic attacks got so bad that my wife had to rush me to the emergency room, as I was sure that I was having a heart attack. And with my lifestyle and age, it was not difficult to convince myself. It was also at this time that the doctor prescribed Urbanol to help manage my panic attacks.

Was I truthful and honest about my alcohol problems? Of course not.

The next couple of months would be an endless repeat of the above. Some of the time things got better, at other times it got worse. I was able to stay off most of the anxiety and panic attacks using Urbanol but was building up a tolerance. Some days when things were really terrible, I would quickly end up taking 30mg through the course of the day.

While some people are prescribed even up to 40mg a day, I was not and this was me abusing yet another chemical in an attempt to hide from the truth. I was also using sleeping pills, often along with alcohol.

Through all of this time, I managed to still work, my dad’s health was on a downward spiral, and life generally felt out of control. The only saving grace was my wife(who is an absolute saint, and my rock, my everything) who never left my side.

She was taking strain though. My entire family was, to be honest. I could see it, which made me feel worse about myself and made me throw some more fat on the burning self-degradation fire.

July 2018

Everything came crashing down on the 14th of July 2018. My dad had been admitted to the hospital a few days before, but things seemed to be getting better. That evening we received a call from my uncle, “Something does not seem right, you need to come to the hospital immediately”, were his words.

After what was a mostly peaceful passing, my dad took his final breath at around 11:15 PM. I was lost. I was heartbroken. I did not know where to go from here. How will I be able to live the rest of my life without him in it? How would I cope? To whom will I go when I need advice? These and so many more questions were bouncing around in my head. I felt numb.

The following three weeks are a total blur.

With the numbness, the sorrow, and the loss, I grabbed for the one thing that has “helped” in the past. I tried to drown my sorrows in alcohol, to hide from my feelings. I did not feel what I felt I should have, but I did not really want to feel the feelings anyway. It is too painful. It is too final. I wanted more time.

A couple of weeks later I had the mother of all panic attacks, again ending up in the emergency room. This time I decided that this was it. I am done. I am done with my self-abuse.

But not without one last panic attack a few days later. This time I did not end at the emergency room but at a doctor’s office. He took all of my vitals to assure me that everything was fine, and miraculously so. He also sent me for a full blood workup.

A week or so later I received the results and to my surprise the numbers were great! I guess being a vegetarian, exercising daily, and having health anxiety saved me.

Turning the corner

That day was now roughly four months ago. I have now been clean(smoke-free) and sober for a little over two months. In general, I feel so much better.

There is one problem though.

Those old anxious feelings, those feelings of dread, the health anxiety, the negative self-talk, the panic attacks. They are all back and the negative self-talk has caught up with me. On a daily basis, I am trying to keep it at bay. At first, I got angry, frustrated, sad, and just plain tired. I just want a normal life. I just want to know what being content is again. Perhaps some happiness, if that is possible ;)

That approach does not work of course. Anger and frustration only feed the monster known as Anxiety. I also know that my abuse of alcohol, anxiety medication, and sleeping pills, all of which I have now stopped largely, are causing withdrawal symptoms. And what are those withdrawal symptoms? Anxiety, depression, feelings of dread, and panic of course.

It feels like I have come full circle only to end up where I started. A couple of days ago I decided that enough is enough. I went to the doctor and this time I was open and honest. I told him about the past, about the lifestyle changes I made over especially the last 6 months, and what I was dealing with now.

Just on a little side note. I currently still use Paxil, I was also using two types of pills for high blood pressure, and a sleeping aid.

I then proceeded to have a full physical. ECG, blood pressure test, blood glucose, cholesterol, as well as blood tests sent to the lab. Everything is normal, with my ECG actually being really good. My blood pressure, well that was way too low, 100/60 when the doctor took it, twice, in the office. He immediately changed my medication, and I am now on only one blood pressure medication at half the strength of the previous.

Still, my health anxiety is driving me up the walls, and stealing time from me. Preventing me from really living life. I have made a decision though. No more negative self-talk. No more self-degradation. And I am going to see a psychiatrist in a week. The first time in probably 24 years.

Turns out while I was taking great care of my physical body, I was still abusing my mind, neglecting it in every way.

While the next few weeks are still going to be a challenge. I am up for it. I have a super supportive wife and kids around me. So much love I can almost not take it ;) Kidding.

If this story rings true to you. I implore you to seek help from a professional. Do not lose hope. There is a brighter tomorrow. Find support wherever you can. Talk, do not remain silent. There is no shame in this disease.

Wow, that is a lot of my chest. Now that I have so openly shared this, I will be sure to keep posting updates as I move through this next phase of my life.

I wish everyone health, happiness, and freedom from anxiety. ❤