My last post was written about one of my favourite memories when I plunged off a 150ft platform holding a bit of string for dear life.
The story was always going to have a follow-up because all of those feelings I had that day were something I became very familiar with on a frequent basis and not because I took up jumping off things as a hobby but rather that anxiety became an unwanted fixture in my life. At one point it had got so bad that the same fear, dread and all the physical symptoms I felt that day at the top of the platform were exactly the same feelings I had just trying to get out of bed in a morning.
I don't remember when it first started but I certainly recall when it came to a head. I was out shopping, on the downwards escalator (how fitting) of a department store when from nowhere I lost the ability to breathe. As I came to learn from a doctor much later it was my first ever panic attack.
As time went on things got worse. Most days started with headaches, dizziness, nausea and a heart rate akin to that when I completed my powerfan experience. I was signed off work, initially for a week to "recharge my batteries" but that week became 2 and then another and all during that time I began to completely close off from everyone. I was scared, I didn't know what happening and took solace in being alone.
Eventually the doctors refused my pleading for more time off. My job at the time had been extremely difficult and I had also wanted out for some time, I just didn't have the confidence to even try to get out though. In a strange way I had a uncomfortable comfort blanket wrapped around me and in the end I stayed way longer than I should have done, and I admit that when I did leave it didn't end well for anyone.
But leave I did. The previous job wasn't good for me and I took a new position and for a while things were better, or so I thought. I don't know if the change of scenery had masked things but it wasn't long before I started to get ill again. Not long after starting we had a family holiday booked in Belgium, one night my wife and I were having a glass of wine when out of nowhere it all poured out. It was the first time I had truly opened up towards my health; there were tears, confusion, all sorts of different emotions - but it was the start of getting it out in the open.
I'd love to say the next day started with a beautiful sunrise but it was actually the loudest thunderstorm I've ever heard but I swear I felt different. I felt honest and crucially I didn't feel alone. When I returned to work I spoke to my manager and the head of department. I was petrified that they'd think they had wasted their time but they listened. They didn't tell me to snap out of it or tell me work had been slipping and that we were in danger of deadlines being missed due to me being off. They told me that work was fine, everything was being looked after and whatever I needed from them they would do it. I believed them and was right to do so.
Previously doctors had reached straight for the prescription book, I'd never had a specific diagnosis but rather had been giving an array of tablets to tackle all the symptoms I'd been having or it was put down to stress. I went back and spoke to a new doctor. He listened to me for a long time, and told me he wanted me to speak to a counselor and if I wanted to try some other medication I could. I did take him up on the offer but it didn't last, it just never worked with me but that isn't to say it doesn't help. Through my journey I've spoken to many people where it has helped them massively.
My first session was terrible and I came home in tears. I had told work beforehand I'd needed an hour or two away and they told me to take the day off. I still rang in and my manager (ma'am) told me how everything was fine and to relax, talk to my family and stop thinking about databases for a little while. The next day I was tentative going back but had a short meeting to discuss where I was and what I was doing next, again with their full support.
Then a diagnosis came from the doctor and counsellor. Generalised Anxiety Disorder. It was very common, it causes a whole array of symptoms and is often not even diagnosed properly. Knowing what "it" was also meant I could open up and tell other close family and friends what was really happening because until now they were blissfully unaware, and I'd got very good about putting a mask on things.
I also had to confront a personal fear, I needed to tell my Dad how things were. This was a moment I was really worried about. My dad was old school, ex-military, former rugby player and in my eyes the toughest thing on the planet. I expected a rollicking more than anything else but I was badly wrong. He told me the mind is a precious thing and I needed to look after it and that he was there whenever I needed it. I still shed a tear whenever I think of that moment, miss you Dad X.
I began to stop trivialising my problem. For a long time I labelled it as stress, something that everyone has from time to time and I had no right to be struggling with it. I had felt weak. I had felt immense guilt and shame for not being strong enough to cope. I was scared of burdening those around me and that fear had prevented me from reaching out to those close to me for way too long. Now I had broken that cycle.
Two important words for me are awareness and acceptance. It took me a long time to become aware of my anxiety and even longer for that awareness to be shared with those close to me. Accepting that I was not OK and that it's perfectly normal to not be was also a big turning point. Once I truly arrived with a sense of both I felt I could move forward.
Sometimes you have to stand up to something and fight it toe to toe. I've done that many times by refusing to let my anxiety stop me from doing something I want or need to do. Just like the powerfan when my mind was telling me I couldn't do it and every part of my body was frozen I've still been able to push through. Sometimes, just like that day I have asked for a gentle push over the ledge when I've needed help.
But I've also learnt it isn't just about fighting. A lot of the time taking up the fight is just too draining, even thinking about it can be. It's those times where simply coping is what we really need to do. At times I've found this difficult, I've wanted to keep going on when the reality is I've needed to stop, switch things off and take a break; sometimes for an hour, sometimes for much longer. I try to be much more aware of this but it's not easy, life throws plenty of curveballs at us and we can't spot every single one. That's fine, getting things wrong is often more of a case of discovering something that doesn't work for us at that moment, that is not a bad thing.
I said there would be a happy ending and there certainly is. I'm still here. It might not sound a lot but to me it's huge and something I think about often. I have a lot of gratitude, I'm deeply thankful for all the support that has been there from family, friends, colleagues and at times total strangers.
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