It has been 6 days since my diagnosis and subsequent medication. Things were going pretty well for the first few days. I was feeling great and calm. Everything I figured the meds were supposed to help with. All around I felt pretty positive about the experience, perhaps this thing wasn't going to get me down after all. You get help early and life can continue as normal...
Monday night, after a great Memorial Day with the boys and family I went to sleep thanking God for blessings in my life. I woke up around 12:50 confused and disoriented. I made my way to the bathroom thinking maybe I just needed to shake off the reminents of a bad dream..I couldn't remember dreaming, but that seemed the logical conclusion. I got back in bed and tried to take some deep breaths to quell the uneasiness in my stomach. Bad move. I immediately got dizzy and had to hold onto the bed for support. I starting breathing irratically and my heart began pounding. I tried for several minutes to calm down and get my breathing under control. I told myself I was just worked up and to calm down, but the side of my brain that control my impulses and negative thinking was in hyperdrive and I couldn't shut it down. I couldn't concentrate to pray over the roar in my ears and the pounding of my heart.
After about 10 minutes I woke John up. I told him I didn't feel right and the look on my face must have read "PANIC PANIC" because he immediately gripped my shoulders and tried to tell me everything was alright. I was not okay. I couldn't breath right and I couldn't calm down. I asked for a glass of water and a paper bag (remedy for anxiety attacks from when I was a kid). While he was gone I lost feeling in my hands and my legs started to tingle. I was doing everything I could not to pass out. Freaking out does not begin to describe how I felt. I'd never felt so out of control and paniced. I thought for sure I was about to die. I told him to call 911. He resisted...bad idea..don't say no to a crazy person or we'll need two ambulances. I firmly made the request again (add in screams, rants and swear words) and he complied. I spent the next 4 minutes (way to go Murfreesboro response units!) rocking, trying to breath and not pass out. By the time the paramedics arrived, my lips had gone numb and my speech was slurred. They loaded me onto the stretcher and off I went to the hospital while John called my mom to come stay with the boys. By the time I got to the hospital I had the shakes from the adreniline high I had been riding (why the hell people choose to drug themselves to that state is beyond me) but I was breathing normally and could feel my hands.
The doctor explained that I had had a full blown panic attack, which shouldn't be caused my the meds. He said it was probably another stress trigger. Um, like what, a dead sleep? I took the seditive he gave and they let me go with a prescription for Zanex.
So let's recap. I go to therapy on my on free will to make sure I'm being responsible and dealing with my depression. I finally agree to drugs and end up going balls out bonkers. The panic attacks have continued over the last few days I have never felt less sane. I went for help and I only feel worse. I am told by all those logical and reasonable that I just need to give it some time. Does anyone have any idea how long even a minute is when you are in abject fear? I am trying to pray through it and it's helping some, but my brain feels like it's been taken over by all the negativity I've been "dealing with" for years. I'm trying to remain positive, but this negative turn is a tough pill to take. So now I'm on anti-depressants and sedatives (anyone seeing the paradox?)
Please pray for me.
