Protein shakes and Prozac.

Okay, it's Cipramil, but it didn't have the same alliterative punch.

In the wake of last week's panic attacks, I scheduled a follow up appointment with my doctor to check in.  She was glad to hear that the lorazepam worked well for me and asked if I wanted to wait and see if the anxiety would settle back down or if I wanted to discuss more long-term solutions.

It was at that point that I rather sheepishly admitted that I've been struggling with anxiety since January and that it all must have just come to a head that weekend because of several different things piling up at once until I was overwhelmed and just couldn't cope.

So now I'm back on the antidepressant I came off when my husband and I were trying to conceive our daughter.  And the doctor would like me to remain on it for at least 3 months to see if it works, or whether we need to adjust the dosage or even switch to a different medication.  She's also given me a list of resources for parenting (since a lot of my anxiety lately seems to stem from my daughter's behaviour), coping strategies and most importantly, she's asked me to chronicle when I feel anxious to try and start working out what triggers panic attacks and then learn to mitigate them before a panic attack happens so the coping strategies become unnecessary.

But even as I handed in my prescription at the pharmacy, I couldn't help feeling a sense of embarrassment, of shame even.  Because there is this overwhelming stigma that taking medication makes you weak.  It implies that you're incapable of dealing with your issues without a crutch.  That it's easier to take a pill than to actually solve the problems.

Fuck that.

Seriously.  In a society where we are conditioned to have a 'she'll be right' attitude towards our health, let alone our mental health lest we be considered some sort of attention-seeking hypochondriac, it takes so much damn courage to stand up and say, 'hey, I'm not okay and it's not all right.'

It takes so much strength to admit that you're not coping and you need help.  Let alone medication.

Therapy is great.  Exercise is great.  But they're completely useless if you're trapped in a mental cycle where you're incapable of applying techniques learned in therapy or unable to muster up the motivation to go for that run or go to that Zumba class.

In a lot of cases, medication gives you back that middle ground.  It allows you to stop the rollercoaster of emotions and find your balance long enough to start regaining your perspective.  And then you can start applying those coping techniques, start going back to your exercise routines.

Of course, that's an overly simplistic view and the reality is a bit of a slippery slope where there are always still going to be bad days.  But you'll be able to appreciate the good days a bit more as they won't simply whizz by in a blur, or be completely obscured by the bad.  It's a start.

So tomorrow morning, when I have my breakfast protein shake, I'll take my next dose of Cipramil without shame.  Because to me it means I'm done simply surviving day to day on the verge of panic.  It means I want to be the best possible mother to my daughter and not one who loses it when she has a tantrum because her mother just can't cope.  It means I'm done accepting that mental illness is a weakness.

It means I've accepted that I can be better than this and that I'm willing to take all the help I can get to become that person.

Doubt and Depression and their new friend Anxiety are going to dog my every step, undermine me every chance they get.  But now I have a new weapon in my fight against them.

And maybe some day, a little further down the road, I'll be able to finally slay my demons, and win the damn war.

We are now entering hell. Please keep your hands and elbows inside the car.

"Love that once hung on the wall,
Used to mean something,
But now it means nothing..." - Avril Lavigne - Let Me Go

~//~

So this past Tuesday, I wound up going to the doctors because over the weekend that my daughter was visiting with my parents and my husband was out of town, I started having this strange chest pain that made me feel short of breath and like I couldn't get enough air.  Given that I have a family history of heart problems, I thought I should get it checked out.

On the plus side, my heart is fine.  Downside, that crushing weight? Most likely panic attacks.

It's not really all that surprising.  I do tend to be a worrier, and it seems lately that all the worries have piled up to the point where I don't even know where to begin with dealing with them.  Plus apparently anxiety and depression are caused by the same chemical imbalances in the brain so it's not actually that uncommon for people to swing between both.

I have to say, while it's a relief that my heart is fine, the fact that I've basically had it confirmed by a medical professional that I have anxiety is mildly terrifying.  Because I've dealt with depression most of my adult life.  Depression is familiar territory.  I know what it feels like, I can tell when I'm heading into a spiral.  And I've begun to develop coping mechanisms that can at least keep me mostly functional when I lose my footing.

But now it's like Depression has brought along a big, mean friend and has completely changed the rules of the game.  I'm still figuring out what is triggering the panic attacks so hopefully with a bit of counselling, maybe some medication I can take long-term, I can get a handle on this.  I don't know if scrolling through facebook will trigger me.  Or something at playgroup.  Or one of my daughter's meltdowns.

My husband has been brilliant throughout this.  Mostly because he's been through this (anxiety) and so he's been helping by suggesting techniques for coping.  He doesn't judge me for being a hot mess, for needing medication to cope.  He just accepts and asks what he can do.

And I love him for that.  And for a great deal many other things.

But especially for that.

With his support it makes it easier to take things day to day.  It makes it easier to see the light at the end of the tunnel and remember that it does get better.