When I was finally diagnosed with anxiety I decided to read as much as I possibly could. I didn’t know why this was considered a diagnosis because didn’t everyone get anxious? I knew I would begin to hyperventilate when I could no longer control my anxiety, but I thought it was something I could learn to control. People can learn to help control their anxiety attacks, but it takes practice. I didn’t understand how much practice, and I quickly realized that instead of getting better I was actually getting worse.
Because I thought my anxiety stemmed from being around my parents, I assumed once I went off to college I could get a better handle on my issues. I couldn’t. I was put on an anxiety medication that was supposed to control my depression as well, and after the first two weeks I noticed a major difference in my life. I no longer had my daily anxiety attacks and my depressive episodes were minimized.
Two months into my first semester as a college student, I had passed all of the tests I had taken with very few anxiety attacks. I felt much better. My daily life had improved significantly. Because everything was going so well I thought I could slow down the medication. I thought I could slowly wean myself off the pills because I hated taking something every day and feeling controlled by a medication. I didn’t want to be a “weird” person who spent her entire life on medication for some “weird” mental disorder.
I had been on several dates, and since the pills were always in my purse, after the third or fourth date, the guy would see them, get concerned and eventually leave. I assumed no guy would ever like the girl who needed anxiety meds. So I stopped taking the pills. Cold turkey. I had read online that most people did not experience withdrawals from the medication I was on, so I wasn’t even looking for symptoms. But I soon noticed the depression return. I began feeling constantly anxious. I would shake just because I had to walk through a crowd of people.
Going to class was awful. I couldn’t stand the thought of being stuck in a room with 200 other people who were all staring at me. The worst part of it all is that logically I knew no one looked at me and no one even knew who I was, but that didn’t stop the feelings. That is the issue with anxiety. It isn’t logical.
The nightmares began,and then I gave up. I couldn’t handle the distress. I started taking the pills again. Going back on them was awful. I had forgotten how in the beginning I had no appetite — that I didn’t care about life and that my depression had actually been worse before it was better. I couldn’t do anything about it at this point. I had to struggle through it one way or the other. I chose to go back on the pills. Maybe I could just hide them better, I thought.
A month later, more failed dates occurred after revealing I was on medication. In reality, I can look back and realize those men obviously were not right for me if they couldn’t support me in some of the darkest situations of my life. But at the moment I was angry. I threw out the rest of my bottle so I couldn’t go back to the pills. This time I would have to quit, I thought. I could do it. I was strong. I couldn’t. The anxiety and depression was too much for me to handle.
Bottom line: I need my medication. That is just a part of my life right now, and maybe some point down the line, I won’t need it, but for now I do. That is normal, and if you’re struggling with quitting, you should never do it alone. Do it with the help of your doctor and your therapist. Make the decision for you, but don’t follow through by yourself; it won’t work. Medication may be the route of several hardships because of your day-to-day life, but it also significantly helps others. Weigh your options, and decide what is best. Right now, I know I’ll get through it… with the help of my meds.
Editor’s note: Please see a doctor before starting or stopping a medication.
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