One Panic Attack at a Time

Photo by  Sam Manns  on  Unsplash I had a meeting at work today. Before the meeting, I was thinking about what I should write my next post about. I had decided to write about the fact that I’m not anxious for once. I was amazed, after spending the last few weeks full of anxiety and depression, to find myself feeling quite good. Sure, I have the same problems now that I had last week, but I’m much more at ease. I went into a meeting with my department’s management – I’m their assistant so I get included in these things even though I’m not actually management. I sat down in this meeting feeling useful and important. I’m pretty proud of the work I’ve been doing lately. It’s seriously rare for me to feel useful or important! Then someone on the other end of the room commented that it smelled weird in there. Suddenly the world was ending. It’s pretty normal, I think, for someone to be paranoid that it’s them who smells when a comment like that is made. I’m always hot be

Photo by  rawpixel  on  Unsplash I’ve been talking a lot lately about my depression getting worse. I have a few mental health issues, but anxiety is always the big one, standing front and center. Recently depression shoved its way to the front of the line. I have logical reasons to be depressed. It’s been a rough year and my finances are in the crapper. But I also have a lot to be thankful for, and usually that’s enough to keep me from getting completely down. Lately, however, my downfalls are all I can think of. I’ve been on Pristiq for depression and anxiety for several years. It’s worked far better than anything else, and I’ve tried quite a few medications for these problems. I take Clonazepam for panic attacks. I can take two a day, as needed, but sometimes I go weeks without needing one at all. As my financial situation has been getting worse (summer care for children is so much more expensive than before and after school care) I’ve been having more panic attack

Me, trying to look like I'm perfectly okay. Is it working? Depression has been kicking my ass. I feel like I've been saying that a lot lately. I try to be nonchalant about it, I don't want to make it a big deal. I don't want people to worry about me, I don't want to bring attention to myself (hello, social anxiety), I just want to be alone with my existential crisis. But, I'm the world's worst liar, so it's clearly written all over my face that something is wrong. I've suffered from depression most of my life. I talk about my anxiety more because it seems to be at the forefront of my mental health problems. It disrupts my life the most. My depression is usually just hanging out in the back of my mind. It lets me know it's there, but it's quiet. The last few weeks, Depression is apparently in a mood, because she's been making a ruckus. I've been crying a lot. Crying tends to happen during a panic attack for me, so at first I

Photo by  Claude Piché  on  Unsplash Today, my faithful readers, I’m going to tell you about the nightmare that was sixth grade camp. In the town where I grew up, there were six elementary schools, and then one junior high and one high school. Sixth grade camp was a way for everyone from each school to come together to meet the people who would be your peers the next year in junior high. I had very few friends in elementary school, and none of them were planning on going to camp. And yet, I still wanted to go. Each school had to prepare a skit for the talent show. My school performed “Achy Breaky Heart” – not by Billy Ray Cyrus, but by Alvin and the Chipmunks. Since I was the smallest person in my class, they voted for me to play the part of Brittney Chipmunk. Brittney had speaking lines that I had to lip sync to before and after the song. When I said I didn’t want to play the part, the teacher insisted, saying things like “it’ll be fun.” Naturally, being afraid

Today's guest blogger is Eileen Parry.  We all want honesty, when it's convenient for us. That's not a statement about our character, but about all of humanity. Being honest is hard. Not just for the one being honest, but for those who are hearing it. There is something easy and sometimes comforting about telling a lie or withholding the truth. You feel as though you are protecting someone, doing them a service by not telling the truth. That someone might be a colleague, an acquaintance or a loved one. More often than not though, that someone is you. When you have a million thoughts racing through your head—sometimes dark, angry and terrible thoughts—you have to decide if you're going to share them with the people in your life. Sharing can mean support, but the fear inside you says that it will ultimately mean rejection. So, when asked how you are or what you're thinking, it is easy and at times reflexive to respond with "I'm fine", to