We Are All Mad Here

I posted a long, lengthy Instagram story yesterday about my mental health, and how mental health is handled in this day and age. I am sure some people listened, and most just clicked through. However, the responses I got were unlike what I ever expected. Some people I knew reached out telling their stories, and some people I had never even met before reached out as well. It was so eye-opening, to say the least. This gave me an idea, maybe if I tell my story, and I'm open about what I struggle with, it will help others, and maybe (as my therapist likes to say) writing will help me too.

My life has significantly changed over the last six months. I was living in a place I thought would be my forever home, with someone I thought was my forever person, and just like that... none of that was true. For someone with my diagnosis (I'll explain further another time), it's not just debilitating, it's life-shattering. I moved back to Florida to be closer to my family and friends, and back to my comfort zone to get back on my feet. Before leaving Arizona (which is where I spent the last year) I would call my mom quite frequently while having a breakdown, and sometimes a full-blown panic attack. I would ruminate and cry and it was just a vicious cycle that usually lasted about an hour, if not longer before I could even remotely calm down.

This is just one of the many bumps I have had in the road over the last 11 years that my mental health has not been stable enough to get me through a situation in a calm, rational, and logical manner. There were days my anxiety and depression were so bad, I couldn't make it through a workday, and when I did make it through a workday, I definitely didn't make it through without crying. There were days I could get through my day great, but the moment I didn't have something to do, to my bed I went and spent all my free time there... mainly in the dark. There were times I was so sad I would spend the whole weekend in bed. I honestly thought that this was normal, it was just who I was, who I was going to be, and these were the cards I was dealt. 

One of the last days I was in Arizona I called my mom during a meltdown and told her I had to leave. The situation was toxic and the environment was not helping. My mom and I have an interesting relationship, when they say I am my mother's daughter they are not kidding. We are two peas in a pod, and that has not helped us much in certain areas. I had been telling my mom for quite a bit that I was having trouble in that situation, but it wasn't until I was screaming and crying that I felt like she had heard me. She booked me a ticket to Florida so I could have a few days to pack up my things, and head back to the Sunshine State. 

When I got to Florida, my parents left New York to spend some time with me, make sure I was okay and did whatever they could to help me get back on my feet. My mom and I talked a lot about how the issues I was experiencing were issues I have had since I was 18 years old, and no matter what we tried at the end of the day, we hadn't been doing enough since this was a continued spot I was in. 

Before leaving Florida for AZ, I was working with a therapist, her name is Barb. It was one of the hardest parts about leaving Florida because I am so beyond picky about my therapists and I finally found someone I had respected and admired. When I was heading back to Florida at the beginning of April, she was one of the first people I had told, and two days after getting to Florida, I had a telehealth appointment with her. My mom and I sat on the session together and we talked about some of the things I was going through with my anxiety, depression, and panic disorder. As the superwoman Barb is, she recommended a therapy program.

Now, this isn't any old type of therapy program. It's not like what you see in The Sopranos where Tony sits there and talks about his panic disorder and then he and Dr. Melfi have this weird, complicated relationship (if you haven't watched this show, that's just simply Unamerican). Anyways, this program is intense. It is a six-hour-a-day, six-week program. It includes a psychiatrist, a behavior specialist one-on-one twice a day, and two different group therapies (CBT and DBT for all my therapists and psychology junkies out there). It is no joke. It has put me in a position where I don't have the time to work and it requires a ton of work out of me. That's something I will get into another day.

One thing I can tell you is, the therapy program and my meds have been heaven-sent. Even though I spent the last two days with crippling anxiety to the point I couldn't function, I remind myself that that was the first time in an entire week where I felt like this, and although little... it's progress!