WHEREVER YOU GO, THERE YOU ARE – me, myself & my anxiety

It was our first day in Paris.

We’d just left the Eiffel Tower and were aimlessly wandering our way along the Siene, taking in the beauty all around us in this iconic city. A city I’d dreamed of visiting for so long.

But as we walked, I felt a growing heaviness in my chest. A unexplainable frustration. An agitation. A sadness, only I wasn’t sad. A growing feeling that whelms up in my stomach, my chest, my heart.

The longer we walked, the more the feeling we grew. It wasn’t the first time I’d felt it. But why now. How was it happening now? Here… In PARIS? What’s wrong with me?

The secondary emotions of guilt and anger at myself took hold now, as always, making the feeling worse than it would have been, had I just let it be.

I started to cry, and Tom and I talked for a while on the bench. And just when I thought it was over, we started to walk a little further and then.. there I was…  Crying and fighting my way through a panic attack while Tom held me under a tree as we sat by the Siene.

Panic attacks are not new to me. I’d had a few small ones in the years before, without really realising what they were. But last year I had my first major one and since then I’ve had a few others.

But here I was sitting in this incredible city, feeling unhappy, and unhappy about the fact I was unhappy and then… struggling to breathe. A very visceral lesson and realisation that it doesn’t matter where we go, we cannot escape ourselves.

Where ever you go, there you are.

It’s been a long journey exploring and understanding my mental health and the issues that have plagued me since high school.

I would say I’d always generally had some anxious tendencies and been prone to depressive states. I’d always had my good days and bad days, but that was normal right? But last year it came to a bit of a head. For whatever reason, and I had my first depressive episode.

I’d never felt anything like it. And it was like feeling nothing. A numbness that suffocated me. My whole body and mind were tired all the time and everything was hard, all the time.

I’d learnt about depression during my studies as an Occupational Therapist. I’d worked with it. But I still understood SO little. And I would still venture to say I don’t understand much at all of the experience of someone who suffers chronic, long-term depression.

My depressive episode lasted 4-5 months, and during this time there was seemingly nothing I could to pull myself out of it. I went to yoga every morning, I ate healthy, I tried to meditate every day, I went to my art class every week.  I tried as much as possible to keep the routine I always kept. But I didn’t feel the same joy in the things I usually did. And I would sleep, all night, and then for 3-4 hours most days.

Thankfully I had already organised a Mental Health Care Plan with my GP and had fortuitously started seeing a psychologist to address long-standing issues right when the depressive episode hit. So I had weekly support to get strategies to help me keep pushing along and wait for the heavy fog clouding my everyday to lift. Because patience was key. There was no, magical quick fix. No way I could force my way through it.

 

THE FIRST PANIC ATTACK

During this time, like most of us, I did little to reach out to friends for support during this time. I’m close with my eldest brother and sister-in-law and they were great supports, and my incredible husband. But as someone who generally feels like I don’t have many friends at the best of times, I felt more clouded and alone than ever. And when everything, even getting out of bed, feels hard. The idea of picking up the phone and saying to someone “hey, I’m suffering a depressive episode and everything is hard right now… can you please help me leave the house today?” seems near impossible.

One friend had noticed I was bit “off” and asked if something was wrong. I passed it off as “not being myself right now… but was okay” and actually did ask for help to leave the house sometime soon.

We caught up a couple of weeks later, but it almost seemed she’d forgotten all about what I’d said. At the end, when driving her home she said in passing “Oh yeah, are you feeling better? You said you were having a hard time with something”…

My throat burned, I was fighting back tears behind my sunglasses and feeling the full ache of my suffering in my heart. It took me a while to respond, the words caught in my throat, fearing the moment I said a single word, I would crumble into a million pieces on the spot. But I eventually through a cracked voice, I said something along the lines of “No, not really, but it will be okay, I just have to keep working through some stuff”.

I pulled up in front of her house, she jumped out and in passing said something that hit me as both awkwardly perky and simultaneously dismissive. “Oh well… you’ll be fine… See you later”.

As she closed the door, I drove 100m up the road before breaking down. The ache of loneliness crashed through my entire being and every insecurity of never having a friend who truly cared about me overtook me.

I drove home through streams of hot tears, and sobbed uncontrollably when stopped at traffic lights. In all honestly, I wasn’t in a fit state to be driving. But all I wanted was to be home in my safe space. I had felt so exposed and vulnerable.

When Tom got home from work, I was curled up, completely numb in bed. A state I call “astronauting” where I feel like I’m floating out in space, not really present in my body or mind. Tom asked what was wrong and through waves of uncontrollable tears I explained my ache. And then I couldn’t breathe properly. My breath quickened, as if I couldn’t suck enough life into my body to sustain me.

I was scared.

My chest grew tighter and tighter, I felt like the world was closing in around me. And then Tom said exactly what I was thinking. “Karissa, you’re not going to die. You’re going to be okay. Even if you keep breathing like this, you’re not going to die. You’ll just eventually pass out, and then your breathing will just return to normal. So it’s okay.”. He then made his breathing slower, more audible, in the hope that I would regulate to his breathing pattern.

Who would have thought something so rational, so matter of fact would be exactly what would comfort me. I guess that fact he’s a doctor, made it all the more believable.

Looking back now, I guess it wasn’t obvious to my friend what was happening, and for most people mental health is still a relatively uncomfortable area. We don’t always know what to say or what to do. To me, relatively well-versed in mental health through my studies, I thought I had offered clear red flags. “Help me leave the house” “I’m not myself”, but maybe not.

If you suffer from anxiety or depression – try to be gentle with yourself. Give yourself permission to ask for help. 

If you know someone suffering – A request for help may take a different form than you would expect. You don’t have to understand it, you don’t have to be able to fix it… but just BEING there is the most important thing you can do.

TRAVEL DOESN’T SOLVE EVERYTHING

Since this I’ve had maybe 10 or so other panic attacks, set off by different, seemingly unremarkable things. One time Tom had to pull over while driving and take my necklace off for me cause it was cutting into my neck during a panic attack. For anyone else that has suffered panic attacks, it’s one of the worst feelings I’ve ever experienced and it doesn’t get any easier. But perhaps now I’m getting better at deescalating them more quickly, often with the help from my husband, who holds me and helps me count my breath in and out, trying to gradually slow and lengthen each breath.

In the lead up to our holiday, I knew I would be plagued by the same issues I deal with day to day life. Or at least I did in theory. Where ever you go… there you are. It was burned into my brain.

But even still, I couldn’t be prepared for how raw I would be stripped when all my second nature coping strategies and habits would be torn away. Leaving just me and myself to feel the full weight of my mind. My negative self talk, my anxiety, the frequency and pervasiveness of my low moods. I guess I’d been lucky up until this point that I’m a person motivated by routine and thrive in an active lifestyle. I hadn’t realised the full necessity of these things in keeping me above water.

It wasn’t until my self-made van routine was completely torn from me by the presence of having our close friends travelling with us. Two people who I love and adore so dearly. Two people who are so easy to spend time with and get along with.

But a lack of routine and a lack of personal space, the chaos and mess of extra people in the van pushed me to breaking point. I had 3 panic attacks within the span of 4 days during the two weeks they were with us.

It was such a juxtaposition between an incredibly joyful and difficult time. Enjoying the friendship, laughter, scenery and experiences, but simultaneously struggling with both panic attacks and the guilt and anxiety. Feeling I was “ruining the holiday” and hurting people around me as a result of a lingering shame and unconscious fear of rejection should my friends find out I’m not the person they thought I was. But as trying as it was, I’m glad I was able to have this experience and realisation of the full depth of my suffering/condition/self. How much it truly plagues me day in day out. How much energy I put into fighting it without any avail. Or at least long-term, productive change.

It was life’s way of slapping me in the face, but you know… in a good way. In way that wakes you up and hands you some important lessons, should you choose to see them.

 

THE LESSONS

I realised although I had already been seeing a psychologist regularly for 8 months, it was time to do more.

I clearly realised what tools and strategies I already have and use to build up my resilience and increase my threshold for becoming overwhelmed by anxiety and panic attacks.

I learned the true importance of these tools/strategies in keeping me “well” and the necessity to prioritise these in my life (even when travelling)

I learned that whilst these tools are important, I can’t purely rely on bandaid strategies to cover up the issues. I need to continue work on addressing the core issues.

But mostly importantly, I learned I need to first and foremost accept who I am and this side of myself. That I may always experience these moments, may always feel negative emotion more regularly or intensely than some others. But that wishing I was any different, is wasted energy and only makes everything worse.

And I realised I want to stop hiding this side of myself. And so here I am. Sharing a piece of my story, of what I’m learning and how I’m going to move forward. Because I know I’m not alone and if even in any small part, I can help to affect change around talking about and normalising mental health, I want to.

I’ve never wanted to appear perfect, or perpetuate the toxicity of social media, but I fear I have because I haven’t shared all the sides of myself. Because we are all so much more than some picture perfect, edited, filtered version of our life.

Beyond sharing my personal experience, from here on out, I’ll be trying to share more practical strategies. Things that have helped me, things I’m reading, doing, thinking. And I encourage you to share your thoughts and tools, because I want to create a space of education and non-judgement. Of unapologetic shitty feelings and unapologetic acceptance of where we are, right here, right now. NB this is not passive inaction by any means BUT very active acceptance. Knowing we won’t always feel this way and doing what we can, when we can to take the very best care of ourselves and those around us.

Sending so much love to all of you, especially those of you have similar struggles with anxiety and depression.

Remember:

We are not alone

We are all perfectly imperfect.

We are loved.