Day…8?

Mr. Man has a cold. Peace-out any hopes for a healthy February. The domino effect of illness shall commence and we will all spend our respective week sick for the rest of the month. But seriously, give me a cold all day every day over a stomach bug. So he’s holed away in his room watching Sandlot and Rookie of the Year while I Lysol everything short of Lysoling the humans in the house.

I made an appointment this week to meet with a highly sought psychiatrist who specializes in women’s mental health/postpartum/addiction. Shes not cheap. But D and I agree we can’t put a price on my mental health. I’m part nervous, part excited. I’m nervous about the layering of meds and how my body will respond. But I’m so excited to get better.

I didn’t know that I had anxiety until I was in my late 20’s. My whole life – literally from the age of 6, I had panic attacks. My anxiety was so bad at that age that I developed a stomach ulcer. I was switching schools and the stress of it all was just too much. And it kills me when people ask “what is there to make a kid anxious?” Ummmm, life? An article just came out last week that stated that anxiety is embedded in the cells in our brains and we are BORN with it.

When I was little, I could only describe it as feeling sick to my stomach. So I was lead to believe had a really sensitive stomach – but sadly, my mom didn’t understand what I was trying to tell her. And then when I was a teenager, the anxiety manifested itself into scalp picking – but I was able to stop that by the time I am got to college. And my anxiety was triggered around eating in front of people and to this day I don’t know why. I didn’t have an eating disorder. Once I started drinking, my social anxiety, especially if I had to go out to eat in front of people, melted away. And this was a good thing because after I graduated college, I became a sales rep and part of the job was wining and dining clients (most of whom were men twice my age and were beyond creepy). I’ll never forget my first full blown panic attack though and that’s when I knew I could put a name to it after Googling the symptoms.

I was in New York City visiting Madam Tussauds when all of a sudden, the crowd became too much. The nausea, the sweat, the feeling that I might pass out was overwhelming. I holed myself away in a corner – trying to talk myself out of this feeling. After a few minutes, it subsided but at that moment I knew something wasn’t right. After Dr. Google confirmed that I had had a panic attack, I felt better. A lot less alone.

My mom, she struggled with depression but would never take any meds for it – which frustrated the shit out of me. After my dad passed away, her depression deepened, obviously, but she refused to seek help. When I told her to talk to a psychiatrist she’d snip back “I don’t need to pay for a friend”. Thankfully, it was that response that helped push me to talk to a therapist after my mom passed away; because I wanted to be the exact opposite of her in any way possible.

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