Ever since I can remember I’ve struggled with anxiety. On top of my anxiety, I also have both ADD and ADHD. Mental health is something that needs to be discussed more often—the stigmatization that comes with it has hindered the potential for an open dialogue. Progress cannot be made until we can have discussions with those who do not struggle with their mental health. I am open about my anxiety because, quite honestly so many people don’t know that I even have it. I was diagnosed at six years old, so it has always been a part of me. I don’t know life any differently. However, it is something that I as someone who has struggled with their mental health practically their entire life needs to discuss more. This is my story.
When I think back to when I first had anxiety, I can remember sitting in a psychiatrist’s office with both of my parents after being referred by my elementary school psychologist. It was the day that I was first prescribed Zoloft. The day that I was diagnosed.
I was in first grade and I having panic attacks in class. They had gotten so bad that I couldn’t even breathe at times and would choke while gasping for air. Thinking back now, I was so young to be dealing with something so serious. My teacher at the time certainly didn’t make my panic attacks any easier: when I did have a panic attack, I was supposed to be able to grab a little green velvet teddy bear from my backpack that my mom had bought me and hold it until I could breathe again. This was the plan that her and my mom had agreed upon, but she did not follow through on this agreement. To this day, if I see her in a grocery store or at a sporting event when I’m back home, I instinctively avoid her. I think it’s because I was dealing with something so complex at such a young age and needed the adults closest to me in my life to understand. I needed comfort and to be reassured when I was terrified and unable to breathe that I would be okay. I never got that from her. Looking back now I find it amazing that at eighteen years old that this is still instinctively how I react to seeing her. I truly believe that she just didn’t understand what anxiety was or how serious it is. I cannot blame someone for responding inappropriately to something they don’t understand.
After leaving her class and taking Zoloft everyday my anxiety slowly improved and my panic attacks slowly began to go away. From second grade through my senior year of high school my anxiety was fairly well managed. My panic attacks went away and I was fine as long as I took my medicine. I saw a psychologist every week starting my freshman year in high school and to this day I still see the same psychologist, even when “seeing her” has to be by phone.
My anxiety levels didn’t jump and the panic attacks didn’t return until this past year, my freshman year of college. Moving nine hours away from home was not as easy as I had imagined, and between balancing a sport in college and going to a very difficult college, the panic attacks began. I was taking a warm up run with the team when my worst panic attack in years occurred. I couldn’t breathe. There really is no way to describe the fear that comes with not being able to breathe while having a panic attack. In this case, I would guess it was a minute before I could get any air in and it was by far one of the scariest experiences I had ever undergone.
After I quit field hockey, the number of panic attacks I had decreased, but they have still continued throughout the year. Just last month was the first time my boyfriend of almost two years witnessed me having a panic attack. We were sitting in my car in his driveway when it happened. Immediately, he held me and just started kissing my cheeks and told me, “It’s okay you’re going to be okay. I’m not going to let anything happen to you. Just try to slowly get air and don’t gasp.” After my panic attack happened he turned towards me and looked absolutely terrified. Then he said: “This is what happens to you when you tell me you had a panic attack.” I just looked at the ground and said, “Yeah.” He responded and said, “That was one of the scariest things I have ever seen. I was terrified. I never have seen that amount of fear in your eyes. I never want to see that happen to you again.”
In almost two years that I’ve been dating Logan he has only known about my anxiety for the past eight months, because I had to tell him about the panic attacks I was having. Only my parents knew I had anxiety. No one where I lived back home was open about their mental health. I was afraid if I told anyone that they would think I was “crazy” or “unstable.” Opening up to Logan about my mental illness made me realize that there is so much that people don’t know about mental illness. It’s a discussion that needs to take place. I’m proud of my decision to embrace the fact that I am someone living with mental illness and I do not let it define me. It’s a daily struggle, but I view it as a gift in a way. I am a very comfortable person in my own skin. Every day I take the highest dosage of Zoloft that can be prescribed. I have no reservation in publishing that in my article. Because it’s important for people to know that I can be a “go-getter” seemingly well “put together” person, but I am proof that you don’t have to let your mental illness define you. You don’t have to be a stereotype.