Better News

The past month has been good. Great even.


I somehow have pulled myself up again. I'm not as anxious anymore. I've been going out. Leaving downtown. Happy. Optimistic.


I was thinking about how amazing it is that things can just switch like this for me. I started thinking about the times I've been depressed, the times I've been severely depressed, the times I've been anxious, the times I've been panicking. And I noticed something.


I thought of how when I was in middle school, before I knew what was wrong with me, I would know if it was going to be a good or bad year depending on the grade I was in. Evens were bad. Odds were good. And then I started mapping out the good and bad times in my life.


I started at the beginning.


Fall of 1999 - Summer of 2000 (2nd Grade)
          I started feeling anxious for the first time. I got sick when I was nervous.


Fall of 2000 - Summer 2001 (3rd Grade)
          I was fine. Happy. Not Anxious.


Fall of 2001 - Fall of 2002 (4th Grade)
          I had really bad anxiety that made going to school difficult. I was afraid of everything.


Winter of 2003 - Fall 2003 (5th Grade)
          Fine. Happy. Not Anxious.


Winter of 2004 - Summer 2004 (6th Grade)
          Extremely anxious. Nervous about any type of road trip.


Fall 2004 - Winter 2005 (7th Grade)
          Happy. Not Anxious.


Spring 2005 - Summer 2005 (Summer before 8th Grade)
          I feel depression for the first time. It's not really bad. I was just sad and didn't know why. But not anxious.


Fall 2005 - Winter 2006 (First half of 8th Grade)
          Happy. Not Anxious. Not depressed.


Spring 2006 - Summer 2007 (Second half of 8th Grade and all of 9th Grade)
          My first major depression. Emotions everywhere. Small random panic attacks but not anxious all the time.


Fall 2007 - Summer 2008 (10th Grade)
          Panic Disorder comes. Completely paralyzed from it. Start seeing doctors. Couldn't leave my house. Depressed because I could see anyone or do anything. 


Fall 2008 - Spring 2010 (11th Grade, 12th Grade)
          Completely happy. Hardly ever any panic attacks. Never depressed. Having fun.


Summer 2010 - January 2012 (Freshman Year, First Semester of Sophomore)
          Panic gets slowly worse and worse as I go to college. Reaching a height during the summer after and dying down since then.


Now
          I feel like someone flipped a switch inside my brain. I'm not getting as anxious. I'm mostly happy, but I feel myself slipping into depression sometimes.




I figured out from this information that my brain works in cycles. Almost exactly in cycles. And right now I'm starting a new one. And I know that I have at least a year and a half to live my life and prepare for the next one. Prepare to stop it in its tracks. I'm gonna make this time count. I know now that I'm in a cycle when I more likely to get depressed. So instead of letting it happen, I'm gonna tell myself that I'm not really sad. It's just my brain. And I'm gonna keep working with my panic. I'm not just gonna forget about it like I did in the past when I felt better. I'm gonna keep working at it so that when it comes back (as I know it will) I'll be able stop it. 


For now, I'm still working on my anxiety about certain obstacles. But life seems a lot easier. And I give myself 5 more months until I'm back the way I was in 2009. And then I'll have a year to figure out how to beat this thing when it comes back.


I'm happy now.

Back to Reality

It's been a month.


I went back home for winter break. It was mostly uneventful apart from a realization that almost stopped me from returning to school this semester.


I finally realized the bubble that I live in while I am at school. 


My university is in the middle of downtown Pittsburgh. Everything I need is within walking distance to me. I have my own room, which I've mentioned before. When I'm on campus I do not have to face the realities that haunt me while I'm at home. I don't have to present myself with things that make me panicked. And I think that this is why I have been progressively getting worse since I went to school.


I think of panic in my head as an enemy. I see this smirking version of myself looking at me saying 


"How are you going to do that? You're not good enough for that. You are going to cause such problem for everyone around you. You're going to be stuck. You're going to be embarrassed. What are you going to do? Make a decision. Don't let people down, just stay back. Just don't do it. Don't (whatever I'm panicked about)." 


Then I decide to give in and back down. But she continues to taunt me. Like a bully pretending to be my friend. 


"See. It's better this way. It's just you and me now. And we don't need anyone else. And you can stay with me forever."


She is such an attention-craving bitch. Which is why she wants to make my bubble smaller. She wants me to be nervous about more and more things. So that she can be around whenever she feels like it. And always be my focus.


At home, she would come out on occasion. But she's scared because at home, there are other versions of myself to fight back to her.


A PANIC STORY FROM BREAK


I was getting ready to go to work. I work a short 5 minute drive away from my house. But because of my hours and availability to cars I would have to be dropped off and picked up. That's Panic Bridget's key selling point.


"What if something happens? What if you have to leave on a moment's notice? You felt a stomach cramp yesterday. You probably have a bug. You need to stay home. You should just call off. There's plenty of things that you can do around the house today."


I actually give into her a couple of times. But then when the pressure's on because I can't call off work again. My troops storm in.


The first is 17-year-old Bridget. She's sitting in a chair while I'm getting dressed. Dressed in a Sonic uniform, swinging her car keys. Chipper as usual. She speaks to me as I shake while buttoning up my dress shirt.


"What's the problem? Why are you freaking out?"


Panic Bridget shows up.


"Because what if something happens while she is at work? She hasn't been feeling well and blah blah blah..."


"So, if something happens Dad or one of her brothers can pick her up. She knows she can do this. Hey, I can do it. I go to the movies with my friends, I go to work 15 minutes away, I go to college across town in the afternoon. She just needs to breathe."


"Listen, you have no idea what the hell you are talking about. You are 17. You haven't seen what we have seen. You haven't left yet. Yeah, you do all of those things but you come home at 11 o'clock on school nights and fall asleep safely under the roof of your parents house that will always be there when you fall."


"It's always been there for you, too."


"No, it hasn't. And it won't always be. We've been there. It's terrifying."


"I don't understand why..."


At this point, I yell out loud.


"SHUT UP!"


I hear their voices silence and feel them both staring me down as I look at myself in the mirror.


It's not about what could happen or what you've done before. It's about now. It's about the person that you are at this point in time. It's about Bridget. Calm down. Breathe. Live. Be the person that you want to be. This one that doesn't have to deal with this shit. 


"You can do this." I whisper out loud.


And with powerful strides I walk out my front door into my brother's pickup truck. I light my cigarette and go. And just do it.

Is This Rock Bottom?

It's time for honesty...
I'm not cured from this. I'm still living it. And I don't have it figured out whatsoever. So I'm probably going to contradict myself a lot. This now marks the first entry of this blog not being written with the subconscious mindset that my college prof/dean of my major is reading it. Things will change, as they always do. The moment that I think I have things figured out and I'm standing on solid ground - an earthquake happens and I fall even farther down into the infinite abyss of my madness.
I am mad.
I accept this fact. I know it. I live it. I breathe it.
An earthquake has not happened to make me say these things. No. It's like the ground beneath my feet slowly turned to gravel and it's running out like an hourglass. And I'm falling down farther again.
At this point in my life, I believe that I am at the lowest point that I have been since this whole "panic" thing started several years ago.
Things changed.
I grew up. (Somewhat) And suddenly all of these problems didn't seem so "pre-school" in the sense that any problem could be fixed by my parents. I mean that's typical though right? Last year, I left for college and broke away from the dependence I had on my parents to pick me up if I ever fell down. This transition rocked my life and my panic has slowly been getting worse and worse ever since. Now its a year and a half later and I can't ride in a car with anyone. Not my parents, my brothers, my best friends, or ride the bus by myself. And now I even get nervous driving by myself. This was never the case before. If anything else, I would be okay if I was with my parents or my brothers. I even got to the point in high school when I could ride around with my friends. Hell, I even rode with them in their cars to the SouthSide and back. That's a thirty minute car ride at least. That is something that I feel my heart trying to jump from my chest just thinking about it. And then if it really came down to it, I could drive myself. No matter what. And now I'm thinking about where I can stop if something happens. 
What does this mean?
I have no idea.
But the only thing I can conclude is that I do not feel comfortable around anyone. Not even myself.
I constantly feel like I'm about to jump out of my body.
And sometimes I wish I can.






I'm listening to:

Bon Iver
For Emma, Forever Ago
"Skinny Love"

Drugs, Alcohol, and Social Disorders

The doctors always warned me that self-medication with drugs and alcohol was common in my condition. It makes sense. A normal person lets go of all their social anxieties and insecurities when they are drunk or high. Persons with panic are no different. I've experienced first hand that when I am under the influence, life is easier. Every obstacle I face I just jump over and say "Fuck it, I'm drunk!" and let it ride. I do not self medicate myself whatsoever at all, even knowing this and knowing that it is very tempting. The only reason I know these things is because I have experienced these influences but not in the purpose of ridding my anxiety or pain. But really, what is the difference between self-medicating myself with drugs and alcohol and a doctor telling me that it is okay with their drugs?

I am prescribed a drug that is a strong depressant. I am to take it whenever I feel a large obstacle coming and I know that my anxiety will be a problem. It takes the edge off basically. So I do, and I feel the same weight lifted off my shoulders of caring about the little things that make me anxious as when I have a few drinks or take a few hits of marijuana. Is that self-medication? I mean, I am the one deciding when I need it. It numbs my pain. And I can get addicted to this drug if I take it too often. It's the exact same thing if I have a drink every time I'm nervous.

Some people that are close to me actually encourage self-medication. My brother turned to me once while I was in high school and said, "Ya know, if you started smoking weed, you'd be so much happier and more chill" With my condition and the tragic stories of self-medication I had heard, alcohol and drugs scared the crap out of me. I knew that every person enjoyed experimenting with those things but I thought that if I had just tried something once I would become addicted because it would make my pain go away. Obviously, since then I have experimented and realized that I wouldn't become addicted immediately  Sometimes I have slipped up though. There have been times I caught myself smoking weed because I was anxious or drinking hard so that I became calm faster. I realize that every time I did that, the night ended horribly. Worse than if I would have done it out of pure entertainment and not a get away from my problems.

But that's all that medication is. A get away. A cheat. But the average person doesn't think that medication is a bad thing. People need what they need. There can be a million different types of medication to numb your problems but they will still be there. No medication can completely change who you are or what you have done to yourself. It will always just numb what is there already.

I don't self-medicate. But it depends on your point-of-view on what self-medication really is.

Trains, Pains, and Automatic Relapse

Honestly, the reason I haven't posted in weeks is because I've been better. The reason I'm posting now is because I'm not. That's what happens I guess.


In the weeks that I was better, I felt on top of the world. Suddenly everything was looking up. I thought I was getting a job and I wasn't freaked out about it. I wasn't anxious at all actually. I rode home on the trolley, which is usually a challenge. It was actually the only time during weeks past that I felt a little bit anxious.


I felt totally fine walking to the trolley. I had everything ready to go. Even waiting in the terminal was fine. That would usually be the part that I would get shaky at. Waiting. Waiting is always my weakness. When I have to wait for something, my mind starts going. I start thinking about the fact that I'm not panicked and what about the current situation would freak me out. Then I get freaked out. But waiting in the terminal I was fine. It was waiting on the actual train that gave me a moment of uncertainty. I was sitting by myself with my backpack on my lap and my duffle on the seat next to me. I leaned my head against the window and saw the blackness of the terminal outside. My eyes wondered to the sliding doors of the trolley. They were staying open for the late passengers to arrive. I thought about how when they closed I was stuck inside of the car until the next stop. There was no turning back. Stuck. My hands started to shake and my breathing got heavy. I then stopped the panic attack in its tracks. I closed my eyes and turned "Marching Band of Manhattan" by Death Cab for Cutie on my iPod. I turned the volume up very high and had a flow of memories to the song. The first time I heard it, my brother was driving me in my Dad's Mountaineer to my middle school during the summer. I was picking up my schedule and forms for the 8th grade. I fell in love with the song. My mind fast forwards to 6 months later. I have the album on my brand new iPod Nano that I got for Christmas that year. My friends and I are in the cafeteria trying to sneak listens so that the lunch proctors don't catch us with it. I tell my best friend Sarah to listen to "Marching Bands of Manhattan", she looks up at me and tells me it's awesome and she wants the CD. She then listens to a song called "What Sarah Said" off of the same album just because it has her name in it. Then I wonder what Sarah's doing right now, will I see her tonight when I go home? I then think about how that memory is 6 years old but is still fresh in my mind. I open my eyes. The doors close. The train starts moving. I'm calm. I repeat the song the whole train ride home. I stare out the window and watch the world go by as fast as I feel time does. Panic is gone.


All of that detail in a small attack that I got through. My attacks got worse when I went home this past week for Thanksgiving. Even though everything in the suburbs is still, I felt like it was moving so fast. I think that my biggest problem in life is that as often as I try to stop time, I feel it moving past as fast as it does on the train. Which makes me feel out of control. Like I'm riding down a steep hill on a bike, my brakes don't work, and I know I'm gonna crash. Times like on the train I find a way to roll into the grass and slow down, other times I face-plant on the pavement. 

Diary Entry #7: Overthinking

If I had a dime for how many times I get asked why I have panic attacks, I'd be a very rich person. Why? Why are you freaking out? Why are you sick? Why can't you come? Why? Why? Why?


I wish I knew why.


Surprisingly the person that asks me this the most is my own mother. Every time she asks me why, I tell her that she should know the answer. There is no reason. It just happens.


You can tell a lot about a person by the way they ask you what's wrong. People that are confident that they know you well enough will just tell you what is wrong with you - "You're freaking out because of the car.", "You're panicked aren't you?",  "You're problem is that you are thinking too much about everything. You just need to stop."


That last one is the closest thing I can come to as why. I think too much. But I can't help it. To be completely honest I remember when I started thinking. Well, I guess I should say I remember when I started deep thinking. I was 13 years old and lying on my couch in the middle of the summer. It was late afternoon and I was still in my pajamas. I was lying there, watching T.V. and I had this realization that I had no friends. Then I realized that was sad and I should be sad. That was when my depression first started. I went through a period where all I did was listen to sad music and stare at things. That's when the deep thinking I started got even deeper. 


I've been a loner my whole life. It's just the way I am. Being alone gives you a lot of time to think. Too much actually. I think about the future. I think about what's coming up that I'm going to freakout about. I get caught up in my daydreams so much that I forget what is reality. I always have some sort of alter-ego that I imagine myself being whenever I'm bored. Right now, its myself but I don't have panic and I am living in New York City working on the show 30 Rock. Just a city girl working hard. But that's just one of them. I have tons. I'm also a famous musician that grew up as a child-rockstar but just released a solo album that has Grammy potential. An artist/photographer in Paris that vacations all over Europe on the weekends with her beautiful boyfriend Jacques. But mostly, I'm just me - but without panic, really pretty and skinny, and happy.


I overthink things, which makes me have panic, but also makes me more creative. If I had the choice to be normal and not creative, I would take it in a heartbeat. Being creative is overrated, to those of you that are not. Most creativity strives in pain. You don't meet many happy artists. And if they are, they are hiding something. 


I can't help overthinking because I've done it for so long. Every once in a while I can turn it off, but it is hard. I have to give up being a loner so I don't have time to think. But I want to be alone so that won't work. It's such a vicious cycle I am in. Yes, I said cycle not circle. The world works in cycles.


I need a cigarette. When I smoke I think so I guess I need to think some more. And more and more. 


My friend decided that she discovered the meaning to life. It's that there is none. We are born with one truth - that someday we will in fact die. So live while you can. There's no point in trying to figure life out.


I think she's right. But I also think I've always believed that. That's why I don't think about philosophy. I think about stories and alter egos and music and movies. Oh and lines. I think about what people say a lot. That's why I'm a screenwriter.


I'm gonna go have that cigarette.




P.S.
Count how many times I wrote the word "think" in this. I bet it's a lot.

Diary Entry #6: The Flip-Side of Anxiety...Depression

When I was first diagnosed with this disorder, I was asked if I had ever felt depressed. I had. Oh, I had. From the summer before 8th grade, until right before my panic got bad sophomore year, I went through various stages of depression.


My doctor told me that this is common because anxiety and depression work in the same part of the brain. A normal person has balanced levels of both. They get nervous when they have a big presentation, they get depressed after a bad break-up. What is wrong with me and other people suffering from depression and anxiety is that those levels are not balanced naturally like everyone else. Or at least that is my understanding of it. I'm not a doctor.


I go through weeks of bad panic and anxiety but then I won't be anxious anymore. I'll say that I'm better when I'm not. It just flipped. I'm just depressed now instead of crazy. Depression can make people crazy but not in the same ways.


For example, I missed a test yesterday. If I was a normal person, I'd just be pissed at myself. But because of me being me, I thought this was the end of the world and I was suicidal for a good portion of the day. Now, today, I look at this and think "What? Are you insane? You wanted to kill yourself because of a test? Not Cool." But that's just the way my brain works. It's always drama with me. Which I guess is the reason I want to write films, but not dramatic ones, funny ones that people can watch and be rid of all the drama in their life.


But when I'm in a depression stage, nothing can make me happy. I watch comedies trying to feel better, but usually I think of some reason why they are sad. Once I was feeling lonely and sad while I was at school so I decided to watch the classic comedy "Stripes". I laughed but then I got sad that this is a movie I used to watch with my dad all the time when I was a little girl and now I'm not a little girl. And blah blah blah life is always moving forward and not backward and it makes us sad to notice that we are growing older towards our inevitable death.


Yeah, I get dramatic. 


So the point of this post is that sometimes people with bad depression get bad anxiety, and sometimes people with bad anxiety get bad depression. Because its really the same thing.