joy and peace part 3: when anxiety controls you

It's definitely taken me much longer to continue this series than I planned. We traveled to Yellowstone with my family, and then came back and got ready for a new year with Sojourn. I also applied to, got accepted into, and started the MEd program in Early Childhood Education at Rhode Island College. If that seems sudden, that's because it was. I decided I had goals I wanted to reach and dreams I wanted to chase, and that they weren't going to chase themselves while I complain about being too busy or too poor or too insecure to go after them myself.

With that said, here is part three of my current series. I've decided to go straight to my battle with anxiety, and I hope it can bring comfort to someone out there.

I guess you could say I've always been a somewhat anxious person. I remember lying awake at night, absolutely terrified that a tornado was going to come in the middle of the night and kill us all. I would try to sleep under the covers, thinking that the blanket would save me from any falling trees or flying shrapnel, but then have to come back out for air because I seriously can't breath under the covers! Can anyone? I just don't get it. 

My parents taught me a song, that is actually a Psalm put to music, that I would sing over and over again in my head when I was scared. In fact, I still sing it to this day. 

"When I am afraid, I will trust in You." (Psalm 56:3)

As I grew up, I had fears, but nothing that got in the way of me living my life.  I was afraid of flying, but would fly anyway. I was afraid of elevators, but would ride anyway. 

There is a difference between simple fear and anxiety. There is a difference between worry and an anxiety disorder. I used to get so angry at people who would tell me "Well, Jesus says not to worry, so you are sinning when you have anxiety attacks."  I really believe that an anxiety disorder is something you can't understand unless you've experienced it. And everyone experiences them differently. I can only tell you my version. 

My junior year of college, I started feeling the need to call my dad every day, sometimes multiple times a day. I didn't think anything of it at first, but then I would call him and then realize I had nothing to say because I had already said it all earlier. So then, I would refrain from calling. I would hold myself back, and that's when the attacks would start. I would get these overwhelming ideas that if I didn't call my dad right then, he was going to die. If I didn't talk to him that day, I would never talk to him again. Sometimes I would panic and think that I needed to go home right away because something was going to happen and I wasn't going to be close enough to home to get there in time. 

I had no reason to think these things. They were completely out of nowhere. I would tell myself that it was God telling me that something was wrong. That he was telling me to go home right away because something terrible was going to happen and I needed to be there.

Once I got on medication, the anxiety attacks were fewer, but still happened. After a year or so, they switched from being about others to being about me. I was convinced that if I did something... Drove to Colorado on a ski trip, flew to Missouri to visit Nick, even drove on the highway to visit a friend... That I would die. Obviously it's difficult to carry through with something if you are convinced you're going to die. 

I remember searching for validation at first... someone to tell me that I wasn't crazy, and that my thoughts weren't irrational. That's the hardest part of an anxiety disorder, I think... The feeling and realization that no one else gets what you are thinking. Sure, people were understanding and sympathetic and helpful. But they weren't in my head, hearing my thoughts. During the "ski trip in Colorado" debacle, I couldn't even pack because I really thought I was never coming back. The morning I was supposed to leave, I asked my parents if they thought I should go. I thought that surely if I wasn't supposed to go, God had told one of them, too! But they both said I should go. I was horrified! And then enlightened. They don't think this is a dangerous decision? They see nothing wrong with me driving to Colorado? I realized that I was the only one with that specific battle in my head. I was the only one who thought I was going to die! 

So I went... I cried for 6 hours through Texas(poor Nick), but I went. And sometimes, that's all you can do. Push past the fear, take action, and cry.

So here's the thing. I'd love to say that my anxiety has disappeared and that I live a life full of happy healthy thoughts all day and night. But alas, it is not the case.  It's definitely transformed, but it is still there. I am obviously not against medication, but at this point, I do not think it is the right decision for me. Here are some ways I am learning to find peace every day:

- Scripture: sometimes I just need reminders that Jesus is the Prince of Peace. 

"I am leaving you with a gift-- peace of mind and heart. 

And the peace I give is a gift the world cannot give. 

So don't be troubled or afraid." ((John 14:27))

- Communication: It's REALLY hard to communicate my thoughts when they feel so irrational. I'd rather just cry and freeze than actually say "I'm scared to get in the car because I think we will die." Because really, it does sound ridiculous.  But I'm learning that I need to actually communicate my thoughts with Nick. This not only helps him know what to say and do, but also helps me process what I am feeling.

- Guard my heart and mind: I used to be able to watch anything on tv and in movies. I wasn't a huge fan of horror, but I enjoyed suspense, action, war, etc. Now, I have to make the choice not to watch shows based on how they make me feel. I used to love watching crimes shows like CSI. Now, those images of the murders or kidnappings or rapes get seared in my brain and can be triggered during an anxiety attack. Events like car accidents and plane crashes haunt me when I'm driving on the highway at night or taking off on a plane. I went to see WWZ the other day, thinking, "Zombies aren't real, so I'll be fine." Little did I know that there is a huge plane crash in the middle of the movie. It's those realistic incidents that cause me to have anxiety. 

Ultimately, I am striving to trust God with my life. He is in control, I am not. He can heal this disease, I cannot. I'm grateful to serve a God who is Peace, and I am still learning to let it go to Him instead of hanging onto it for dear life. 

joy and peace, part 2: cry for help

"There’s no shame saying that your heart and head are broken because there’s a Doctor in the house. It’s the wisest and the bravest who cry for help when lost.

There’s no stigma in saying you’re sick because there’s a wounded Healer who uses nails to buy freedom and crosses to resurrect hope and medicine to make miracles.

There’s no guilt in mental illness because depression is a kind of cancer that attacks the mind. You don’t shame cancer, you treat cancer. You don’t treat those with hurting insides as less than. You get them the most treatment."

((Ann Voskamp, What Christians Need To Know About Mental Health))

It took a month or so for me to realize I was depressed. It was my junior year of college. I was living with my best friends, involved in an amazing organization at Baylor, and having the time of my life. But when I got back from Christmas break, I was automatically homesick. 

Now, for those who didn't know me growing up, this was weird. I had never been homesick. At camp every summer, I was all like, "peace out, yall." I cried on the way back home every year.  I was a little sad moving into college my freshman year... I cried that first night in the dorm, thinking about my baby brother growing up without me... but I adjusted pretty well overall. 

So there I was, twenty years old, and all I could do was cry because all I wanted to do was go home. Baylor is two hours away from Plano, so I COULD have gone home... But I didn't, because I knew if I did, I wouldn't come back.  I didn't understand. I loved my life. Why was I so sad to be living it?

Ironically, I was studying depression in one of my Psych classes at the time. It never clicked. Sure, I considered it... but dismissed it quickly because I wasn't suicidal. That's where my anxiety kicked in. I was terrified I was going to die. I just wanted to go home. I found myself wishing I would get in a car accident... not bad enough to die, just bad enough to have to go home. 

I started sleeping more... Not enough for  me to notice until the therapist pointed it out, but a lot more than staying up until one or two and waking up at seven.  I couldn't study anymore.  Reading my textbooks was almost impossible. I never missed class, though, because failure was not an option. That was the semester I had 8am classes every day. So I had to get up and go to class every single morning. And I did. But at night, I would cry.

My breaking point came when I was driving home from work one day. I often cried on my way to and from work... It was some of the only times I was alone. But this time, I couldn't stop. I walked into my apartment and closed the door to my room. I watched the newest episode of LOST, hoping to stop during that hour. I didn't.  So I watched Friends. And still didn't stop. At this point I couldn't even remember why I was crying. After crying nonstop for 2 hours, I finally texted my mom, "I want to come home." She replied with, "Why, what's wrong?" and I said, "I can't stop crying and I just want to come home." So, she called me, told me she was driving down to Baylor right then, and that we were going to see some doctors the next day. My best friends came over and sat with me while we watched Friends until she got there. They didn't say much... They didn't have to.

Over the next couple of days, I saw psychologists and a psychiatrist. I got put on medication, failed a Greek test, and cried hysterically in my painfully awkward Greek professor's office. The medication was making me physically and emotionally sick instead of making me better. So, I got put on another medication. During this time my bedroom was also infested with bedbugs and I received the the biggest news of rejection that I had ever experienced. It was a rough week. 

It's hard to take medication to make yourself better, when the illness you're experiencing makes you want to stay sick. I didn't want to get better, I wanted to go home. I wouldn't have to go home if I was better. But I took it, and endured the strange side effects of hyperactivity, constant hunger, and random twitches. And my depression got better...

That initial step of telling someone else that something's wrong... it's hard. When everyone else around you seems so good... when you can honestly tell yourself you have nothing to be sad about... The words "There's something wrong" sound so absurd coming out of your mouth. You can't explain why. It seems so irrational that it doesn't make sense to tell anyone else. 

But man, can it be freeing just to get those words out. Just to have someone else take a portion of the burden and say, "hey, I got this... I'm not going to tell you how to fix your life. I'm not going to try to fix your problems. But I'm on this journey with you. You aren't alone, even when you feel like you're watching everyone else live their lives without you." 

God didn't plan for us to go through life alone.  He's there, yes... He's the ultimate burden carrier and I can rejoice and rest in Him.  But I'm also grateful that He placed people on this earth, in my life, who are willing to journey along side me, even when the path isn't pretty. 

((Next time- depression in my life now. Coming up soon- my story of anxiety, then and now.))

joy and peace ((part 1))

I have a story to tell. It's not one I tell many. But maybe I should. It's a story that I generally keep for my closest friends, and those who ask.  But maybe it's time for more to know. Not so they can feel sorry for me. Not so they can give me advice. But so that if just one person can relate... just one person can read my story and say, "I feel that way too"... they can know that they aren't alone... it's not the end of the world... there is hope.

So, here it goes. The beginning of a series of stories about my struggle to find peace and joy. 

You may be aware that four years ago, I started taking medication for depression and anxiety.  I'm not ashamed of it... I'll tell anyone who asks.  It's just hard to give people an honest answer to "How's it going?" Because most people really just want to hear, "Good..."  Most of us don't even bother to listen for the answer because we just assume that "good" is what it's going to be.

My family, best friends, and college community all knew about this during the time. But then I moved... to a place where no one knew me. How do you introduce yourself? "Hi, I'm Haley, and I'm afraid to drive on the highway. I have to give myself a pep talk just to drive to the grocery store." Or, "Hi, I'm Haley, and if my husband doesn't text me back after five minutes, I automatically think he's been killed or injured." No... none of that.

It's pretty common not to tell people when you're struggling with depression or anxiety... It's this sort of secret that people carry, not knowing that so many of the people around them carry the same one. I know for me, I didn't like telling people because I didn't like the things they would say to me. These sicknesses... They really can only be related to by people who have actually endured them. A person who has never experienced the overwhelming hopelessness of clinical depression cannot begin to imagine what the other person is going through. A person who has never endured an irrational anxiety attack doesn't understand how it feels to be trapped inside one. When people who didn't understand would try to help me, I would just get angry. These people meant well. They loved me and wanted me to feel better. But their comments like, "Just trust Jesus," "Go work out, that will help you feel better," and "Maybe you should pray more" were NOT comforting. Do you think I'm NOT trusting Jesus? Do you think that I DON'T cry out every single day begging Him to heal my brain? Just to help me get out of bed... study for a test... decide on something to eat?

BUT. When someone says, "I know what you're going through... I know it sucks... I know you feel hopeless and you don't know why..." That's when you find comfort. They don't offer unwanted advice. They just sit and distract and love and pray.

So my thing is... If we aren't willing to share our stories, how can others be comforted from them? How can I offer hope to a person lost in depression when they have no idea I've ever even struggled with it?

I can't pretend that I don't struggle with these things anymore. I can't say that I know all the answers and that after some medication and rest, I was happy for life. But I can write down my story. And maybe someone, even just one person, will be able to know that they don't struggle alone.