One Year, Part Two

Note: this is the second part of this story. Some of it is a rehash of what I've already written here, but I just haven't been able to stop writing it out, so it might seem a bit redundant.

So I went home that night. It was painful. I managed to eat a piece of pizza, but it felt like lead in my stomach. I suffered through Sunday. I made it through Monday. Tuesday rolled around and I met with my awesome doctor. I told her what had happened. Being the awesome doctor she is, she hugged me and we got down to the business of finding something that would work for me. We decided on a low dose of Paxil, along with a low dose of Xanax for those moments when I felt really panicky. She also told me about a book that was highly recommended to combat panic attacks/anxiety. I was greatly relieved and rushed to Walgreen’s to fill my prescriptions.

Over the next few days, I felt a slight improvement. The Xanax made me feel weird for a while, but I got used to it. Eventually I was able to go out without being frightened of the world around me. My life started improving. I was seeing my doctor on a monthly basis to make sure the meds were working. This happened right up until she moved. Luckily, she recommended an associate who helped me with my issues. However, I still balked at seeing a counselor/psychiatrist/psychologist. I was feeling fine.

As November rolled around and the cold weather set in, I could feel my usual depression returning due to Seasonal Affective Disorder. It wasn’t as bad as it usually was, but it was majorly exacerbated by what happened at the end of November. My grandmother became ill, and at first I thought it was a ploy for attention on her part (my family has a long history of hypochondria). As the end days of the month rolled on, however, I realized that it was worse than was being let on. Then on Thanksgiving Day, it really fell apart. My grandmother had a major heart attack and went into a coma and was on every machine available. It didn’t look good. The week after, it was said that she was never going to recover, and that the machines would be unplugged and she would be allowed to die peacefully. On December 4, she died. I was devastated.

Surprisingly, the loss of my grandmother did not cause me to relapse. I was able to grieve a bit, all the while planning a trip back to California for the memorial of my grandmother. Since the season was so advanced, we could not get airline tickets for cheap, so we drove. I did not break down on the way there and I managed to take over driving duties for half the way. It was a strenuous drive, but the Xanax helped me to be a better driver and keep me more alert. The two weeks in California were hard and exhausting, but I was so busy that the panic and anxiety didn’t even touch me. It was not until several months later that everything started hitting me again and I realized that I needed another solution.

At the beginning of March, I noticed a significant change in my moods and the effect the medicine was having on me. Then I started worrying about things that shouldn’t be worrying a sane person. Asteroids, super volcanoes, natural disasters, basically whatever you could imagine that would destroy life on this planet. I finally worked through that, but by mid-March, I was questioning the existence of God and anything spiritual or supernatural. It got to the point that I was crying out for a sign or acknowledgment from a higher power. It never came, and I sunk deeper into despair. I neglected my home, my family, and myself. After six months, I finally admitted defeat, researched psychologists, and found a reputable one in my neighborhood.

To say I was nervous about meeting Dr. O was an understatement. I was terrified, and thought that she would think less of me because my initial call to her was one of hysteria and raging tears. However, I found her to be the greatest psychologist on Earth, and just talking to her for the first time helped me tremendously. I still wasn’t sure which direction I was going with my faith, but I felt a deep sense of loss over what I had believed in for so long. It led to several instances of cutting myself to dull the pain and sadness. I told Dr. O these things, and she listened. I talked and talked and talked, and she listened. It was the greatest release of the burden that I had been carrying around for the past six months. After the first session, she suggested I contact my regular doctor to get my Paxil dosage upped. It was done, and I slowly started feeling better. My faith wasn’t restored, but I was calmer and not dreading things that might not and probably won’t ever happen.

To be continued...