Addressing my anxiety

Yesterday was my 22nd birthday. It also marked the 2-year anniversary of when I took control of my anxiety. Anxiety disorders are by no means the same for every person, but I would like to discuss my specific experience in order to contribute to the destigmatization of mental health issues. I also want to let anyone who is struggling with anxiety know that they are not alone. I work with my anxiety every day and continue to grow stronger.

Growing up, I recognized that I was more “nervous” than other kids. As a young child, I would sob every time my mom left the house. In middle school, I stopped having sleepovers at friends' houses because I became too worried about wanting to leave. In the beginning of high school, I would throw up every morning because I was so anxious. I grew compulsive about certain practices that, if broken, would render me nauseated and distraught. These phases came and went, and sometimes I would go months feeling free of any sort of anxiety. But then an event would occur that would trigger a host of symptoms. For me, this can include a loss of motivation, nausea and vomiting, intrusive and recurring compulsive thoughts and a feeling of complete loss of control. I didn’t have the vocabulary or information to know why I had these phases. I saw multiple therapists in high school who helped me through the seemingly temporary episodes, and by senior year, I felt equipped for the future.

My first year at Tufts was incredible, and I rarely thought about those once so dominating “phases.” I thought that I was in control of every aspect in my life at school. Entering sophomore year, I continued to feel this way. But over a period of a couple months, things started to fall apart. My once firm grip loosened: I was triggered from past events and completely overwhelmed with my daily life. For a week, I couldn’t eat, and when I tried, I would immediately throw up because my stomach was in knots. This sudden lack of physical energy only further deteriorated any mental energy I possessed. I slept long hours and dreaded getting out of bed. I had recurring thoughts flooding my mind, and they drowned me. And then came my birthday, on Saturday, Nov. 16, 2013. I remember lying in bed in the afternoon, but at this point, the constant, pervasive thoughts were strong enough to keep me awake. After calling my mom and doctor, I made the decision to go to the Psychiatric Emergency Room. This was truly a turning point for me. On the night of my 20th birthday, two friends sat with me for several hours in the hospital. I ate my first real meal in a week that night after taking 1 mg of the prescribed Ativan.

While this may have been the climax of my journey, it most certainly was not the end of it. I went home to Newton for three days after notifying my dean. I took Ativan most mornings, but still could not eat large amounts of food. At this point, I weighed 10 pounds less than I had been entering the school year. I finally made it to winter break, and while that was a relief, I continued to have extremely intrusive thoughts that made it difficult to think about anything but the anxiety. I finally understood that whatever was happening was not a momentary phase: something was wrong, and I was not myself. I felt so isolated and alone in my anxiety, like no one in the world had ever felt the way I did or had the thoughts I was having. That was more scary and anxiety-provoking than anything else.

Coming back to school in January, I worked with a psychiatrist at Tufts, along with my parents, to find a therapist who could help me, which in my case meant using cognitive behavioral therapy. I started seeing my current therapist in February 2014. I learned about the neurological forces behind anxiety, and we discussed different types of disorders and their symptoms, including how many people in the world face them. Then we started working on strategies to address my specific anxiety. I decided not to start an everyday medication, but I still take the fast-acting, short-lasting Ativan when necessary. I slowly began to understand my feelings, which helped make everything less scary. And since then, I’ve seen my therapist every week, always keeping in contact when I’m not at school.

My anxiety is not gone, and it never will be. I’ve thrown up from anxiety since that November, and I’ve had intrusive, uncontrollable thoughts. I’ve woken up with my heart racing and not been able to sleep. And I’ve cried many times out of sheer frustration from dealing with the irrationality of my thoughts. Those are the obvious symptoms; my anxiety manifests itself in all sorts of ways that make my life more difficult. But at the same time that I hate my anxiety, I am also incredibly proud of myself. I have worked hard every single day in the past two years to fight against the sometimes overwhelming and frightening feelings that can encapsulate my life. I am so much more self-aware than I was before my 20th birthday, and while it is still present, I can notice it, understand why it’s happening and use various strategies to alleviate the stress. I am stronger than ever and continue to grow every day.

That being said, I want to recognize the immense privileges I’ve had throughout this process. First of all, I have an incredible support system. My friends and family had my back the entire way through and continue to support me to this day. Moreover, my parents live 30 minutes away and I can count on them to check in on me and make sure I’m doing okay. I also have the economic privileges necessary to pay for my treatment: I can afford to take time and money every week to go to therapy off campus. There are many barriers in the mental health care system, along with institutional and societal stigmas that prevent people from receiving help. It would be ignorant and incorrect to assume that everybody can follow the same path that I did.

I do want to say to anyone experiencing mental health issues, and specifically anxiety, that you are not alone, and there are resources. I once felt completely hopeless, like I was the only person in the universe experiencing anxiety, and I believed that I would never get out of such a dark place. I felt embarrassed and weak because I couldn’t continue on and “get over” the feeling. By writing this article, not only do I want to reflect on my own experience, but also I want to assure anyone reading that you are not alone. Mental health unfortunately has a stigma attached to it, which I hope to put in the past. I feel ready to speak up, and I hope that my voice can contribute to change. Even though it hasn’t been easy, I know now that I will be okay.