I spent a few days up north with my friend Mar for the 4th of July. While up there I tossed around some thoughts on sharing personal things online. As a newsletter newbie I’m still finding my footing here and figuring out what to share, what people want to read, and if knowing what people want to read will inform what I’m sharing because I want to seem cool and interesting. Mar shared some great insight and lent me their copy of Body Work by Melissa Febos which I had never read before (I’m not always the best reader, I’ll admit.)
Body Work discusses the importance of memoir, and reading it affirmed for me that everyone deserves to share their story, and that our story matters. I’ve never identified as a writer, but I’m happy to have this space where I can be a person that occasionally writes without the pressure of needing to be the best, the most unique, the most interesting. Because my voice matters, and so does yours.
Now, on to my story.
I’ve been on Lexapro for around 5 years. I can still remember my first ever anxiety attack, it was in 2005, I was 11.
Anxiety attacks have always felt similar to a bad trip. It’s as if my mind is being stretched like taffy away from my body while I’m plagued with intrusive thoughts like “this is forever, you will never feel normal again, you are in grave danger”, etc. I’ve had a few massive panic attacks in my life, the one in 2005 was my first big one.
High school was hard for me. I would wake up with extreme panic most mornings and missed so much school. I wasn’t prescribed anything yet but would medicate with occasional benzodiazepines. I switched schools and started an early college program, which was a great opportunity but I dropped out in what would have been my senior year. I went back and got my GED a year later.
An old ad for Xanax, they don’t make them like they used to.
Around the time I started my SSRI journey I was working at a bar in downtown Detroit. I was 24 and taking a break from alcohol, which I imagined would heal me of all my physical and mental problems and give me gorgeous revelations. I’m a fan of taking breaks from things I’m doing or putting in my body for periods of time, especially things that affect our serotonin and are easy to become dependent on.
What taking 10 months away from drinking did was show me exactly how bad my mental health was. In my sobriety I had nowhere to go to escape my brain. I remember coming home one night after a shift at the bar, it was 3 AM and all of my roommates were asleep. Alone in my quiet bedroom I could still hear all the sounds of the bar playing in my head as if I had never left. I shut down and isolated myself so much during that time.
I try to send a lot of love to my 24 year old self, they were struggling so much and I’m so grateful to have found therapy and medication. I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to go off of SSRIs, but right now I’m on a very low dose which is feeling good.
24 year old me looking cute and silly and having the worst anxiety of my life
Experiencing any sort of mental health crisis is a humbling experience because society has trained us to either judge people or to turn a blind eye. I didn’t share a lot of what I was going through at the time because I was ashamed I couldn’t just pull myself up by the bootstraps and handle life like a normal person. Having navigated many seasons of anxiety at this point has taught me that cultivating safe relationships is one of the most important things to do, especially in times when we are actively investing in our healing and our tender parts are exposed. Your growth will be limited and perhaps even stunted if the people surrounding you aren’t able to be patient and accepting.
There were times when I was practically treated like a hysterical woman by partners because I was honest about my anxiety and vocalized things that made me uncomfortable. I like to imagine that I was a mirror to those people, and they didn’t want to see their reflection in my vulnerability.
Photo I took of the Detroit river
Perhaps we are afraid that if we show our flaws or speak our uncomfortable truth we will be abandoned by the people we are close to. That we will be “too much” for them.
This was said to me once by a partner, and the shame I felt made me believe it was true for a little while, but here’s the actual truth:
You are not too much. If someone close to you ever says that you’re too much, it means they can’t offer you what you deserve. You might be a mirror to them, and they aren’t ready to see their own pain looking back.
We shouldn’t feel ashamed to need help or medical intervention when we live in a world that is so difficult to survive in. Our government continues to strip us of our rights. Many of us don’t have access to healthy food and clean water. There are hormones in our tap water (and in my neighborhood, we also have lead in the water.) The use of antidepressants are growing, most of my friends are on at least one medication for their mental health. (LGBTQIA people are more likely to have mental health issues.) There is grief and trauma in all of our lineage. Other people’s grief and trauma is shared with us on the news every day.
In this economy? It’s okay to not be okay.
The right people allow us to have flaws and will extend patience and love when our brains go haywire. I’m honored when I can be a support to my friends and loved ones and will continue loving them not in spite of, but because of, their human imperfections.
May we show up for others in the ways that are available to us, and may we honor our boundaries when we don’t have the capacity to do so.
We are the best at supporting our loved ones when we’re on stable ground ourselves.
Me on the beach last week, feeling no anxiety <3
TTYL xo
Hola , Siempre Es Un Placer Leer Artículos , Donde Las Personas Hablan Tan Honestamente De Sus Problemas De Salud Mental , Es Muy Bueno Hablar Sobre Estos Temas , Se Puede Ayudar A Más Personas Que Padecen Está Enfermedad. Gracias. Un Saludo.