Growing up, I’ve always had some form of anxiety, throughout my every day life. I never really knew what it felt like to feel at peace with anything, because in my mind, everything was just this huge mess that couldn’t be fixed. Anyway, about a year ago, to this day, I started having actual panic attacks. Like the overwhelmingly feeling that I’m going to die from a heart attack and convincing myself I’m in a life or death situation. I would have one every couple of days, to having one every couple of hours. Eventually I stopped eating and sleeping and was forced to get some form of treatment, so I went to a psychiatrist, who diagnosed me with severe panic disorder and generalized anxiety disorder. I was put on lexapro and propranolol, but ended up having panic attacks to the sensation of the propranolol making my heart beat slower. After a few med adjustments, I actually felt decent. The panic attacks stopped, but I still had my crazy annoying anxiety, which was okay because I can handle being crazy and anxious. After about 7 months of taking my meds, I kind of just stopped because I felt good and I couldnt really afford to keep throwing money away at something that wasn’t really doing anything anymore. Fast forward to right this second, and it’s been five months since I’ve taken my meds and I’m having panic attacks worse than ever before. I’m not sleeping, because I’m scared I’ll die in my sleep. I’m not eating because I’m scared the food will cause some problem with my heart and kill me. Today specifically, I’ve exhausted myself all day by waking up early and working out at the gym, and going straight to work (I’m a waitress) and working all day until about 10pm. When I started to drive home I felt a sense of panic approaching me but tried to just overcome it. I couldn’t listen to music or anything I normally like doing because I was getting too stressed out by everything. When I got home, I felt like I couldn’t breathe even more and forced myself to lay down and sleep. Right when I was about to fall into a deeper sleep, I shot myself awake and just started having a full blown panic attack. I feel like I’m losing my mind and I feel so alone. I feel like people think I’m so stupid when I explain this stuff. Like most of my days and nights now consist of me in the fetal position, either crying or breathing into a paper bag. I really need help and I don’t know what to do. I don’t want to die right now.
How many years of psychotherapy does it take to work past the confusion of psychosis? After 40+ years of psychotherapy to help me recover from the side-effects of surviving child sex trafficking, I am beginning to think that goal of a confusion free life is *simply* unattainable. Come to think about it, psychotherapists might even be the ones who put that unattainability on my radar. Life gets...
Im sick of this!