The death and suicide of Robin Williams hit me hard, like it did for most. I couldn't and still can't stop thinking about how someone who affected so many millions of lives with his talent and humor felt so low, low enough to take his own life. I don't want to say too much, but growing up watching movies like Ms. Doubtfire, Jumanji, and Patch Adams was part of why being a kid in the 90's was so awesome. This news caused an awakening within me that I knew I had to act on.
About 2 1/2 years ago, when I was 20 years old, I became pretty sick. I was struggling with some sort of chest infection and couldn't seem to get any better. I had a feeling like there was 300 pounds sitting on my chest and I could not breathe with ease. After a few weeks of trying different antibiotics and steroids, none of which seemed to make a difference, I started to feel sad all of the time. I was working in a pharmacy, and had been getting sent home because I would cry and cry and couldn't stop it. Not even to catch my breath.
After a few of these episodes, it was decided that I would take a break from working. I used my "illness" as an excuse to spend days on end in bed, crying, scared, and thinking that I would never feel like myself again. I would try to take everyone's advice of "just get up and do something," but every time I left my house I felt sick to my stomach and would end up in tears. My parents had taken turns staying home from work to make sure I was okay. I remember waking up one morning to my dad checking to see how I was. When he left my room all I could think about was how I was inconveniencing everyone around me and how awful of a feeling that was. I barely spoke to my best friends, never mind hanging out with them. I had no idea how to explain to them how difficult it was to pick up their phone calls or join in on the group texts about something that happened that day.
A few weeks later, my panic attacks started. I had never experienced such a thing before this time in my life, so when it first started happening I had no idea what was going on. Every time it happened, I thought I was dying. Pain would shoot through my chest, I'd feel like I was choking and I would hyperventilate. I thought for sure that I was having a heart attack and if I didn't get myself to the hospital I would die. The second or third time I went to the ER for this, the doctor had said that I should talk to someone about the anxiety and depression I was feeling. That was the first time those 2 words have ever been used to describe what I was going through, and quite honestly, they made me feel worse. Over the course of a few months, I had definitely gone to the hospital more than 8 times for panic attacks because I believed no one when they told me that's what it was. I honestly thought that I was dying each time. I spent my 21st birthday in the ER getting an ultra sound of my heart done because I insisted there was something more than "anxiety" that was wrong with me. Of course, my heart was fine and I went on to spend a few more weeks in crippling depression, doing nothing but laying in my bed crying and wondering why in the hell that this was happening to me.
I remember one day specifically. It was probably an insignificant normal day for everyone else, but for me, it was the day where I had never felt worse. I was still trying to pass my depression and anxiety off somewhat by thinking I was sick and my asthma was causing my chest pain. I was home alone and went to take my inhaler. After that not helping, I was furious. I laid in my bed crying as hard as I ever had and was praying that I would die in some freak accident that way no one had to know how terrible I felt, but all of my awful thoughts would stop and I would be free. I fantasized about getting hit by a car or dying in my sleep.
I remember one day specifically. It was probably an insignificant normal day for everyone else, but for me, it was the day where I had never felt worse. I was still trying to pass my depression and anxiety off somewhat by thinking I was sick and my asthma was causing my chest pain. I was home alone and went to take my inhaler. After that not helping, I was furious. I laid in my bed crying as hard as I ever had and was praying that I would die in some freak accident that way no one had to know how terrible I felt, but all of my awful thoughts would stop and I would be free. I fantasized about getting hit by a car or dying in my sleep.
I decided it was finally time to see a therapist. This was huge for me because I felt like by going, I was admitting defeat. (I now realize, this was not admitting defeat. This was strength and courage of me getting myself help.)My first time going I think I just cried for an hour explaining that I hated myself for not being able to control my feelings and that I thought I had no purpose. My family, friends, and boyfriend were just in a constant state of worry about me, and I felt like a burden. I left the office that day with a prescription for Zoloft and Xanax. For a good 2 weeks I remained in bed, calling my therapist everyday telling him that it still felt like an elephant was sitting on my chest and I still felt awful and could do nothing but lay around and want to disappear. My grandma had gone through the same thing a year back, and she would call me everyday to tell me that I needed to stay strong and that I was worth it and that this feeling consuming me would go away. She promised me that, and reassured me that she cared by sending me a card almost everyday with words of encouragement and stories about other people who are going through the same thing. To know that someone I love and look up to so much had gone through and overcome the same things I was feeling was really my first push of hope.
I just want to be clear on a few things before I continue. This time in my life is kind of blurred and all clumped together as far as the time line, but the one thing I'm certain about is how I felt day in and day out for almost 2 years of my life. I was depressed, yes, but it was more than that. It was waking up everyday and actually being mad that I woke up. Every night I wished that I was going to sleep for good. It was feeling a self-hatred that I never thought was possible. It was questioning why my family and boyfriend were still trying to help me. It was being scared to not take my Xanax even when I wasn't in a panic attack out of fear of having one. It was actually having panic attacks and every time thinking it was the end of my life. I was exhausted and tired of living.
As time went on, my medication and therapy helped me to become happier and stronger. I finally found myself wanting another job to keep me busy and that's when I got hired at Urban Outfitters in 2012. I think in a lot of ways that job saved me. I quickly was promoted to a leader position and felt like I had purpose again. It gave me something to focus on and a reason to wake up everyday besides my friends and family. My panic attacks were still present but thankfully I worked with a friend who understood and would always give me time to collect myself or just let it out when need be. I also had moved out of my house for the first time with my sister Janine and Michael into our own apartment in Hartford. Needless to say, I was once again feeling worthy and like life was worth living again.
One thought always stood out in my mind though. Yes, I was "better," but I couldn't help but shake the thought that it was artificial happiness, aka my antidepressant. I would always shake the thought anyways because I liked the way I was feeling. I finally realized that it is okay to need help, and it is okay to get that through medication, and I just made it a goal to one day stop taking them and be okay on my own.
Fast forward to today and I am living medication free and happy. I live with my boyfriend who will never cease to amaze me in an apartment close to our families, I have the best friends a girl could ask for, I'm getting an education, and I have all of you guys, our amazing readers who make this blog what it is. However, this doesn't mean I still don't get sad. I do. There are days where I just don't want to go out into the world. The difference is that through therapy and the love of the people I hold close in my life, I know how to change my thoughts. I know how to tell myself that the negative thoughts are wrong and that I do have a purpose on this earth, and I truly believe it. I also still "suffer" from anxiety and panic attacks. They still scare me every time, but I know now that they will pass and what to do to try and make them pass quickly. I just want you to know that I am not perfect and still deal with feeling anxious or down, but overall I am extremely happy and mentally healthy.
I will never be able to show my gratitude towards all of the people in my life who were there for me during my very hard times. They're the same people who are here with me now, enjoying a much happier me.
So, I want anyone who reads this to know, coming from someone who has experience depression, suicidal thoughts, and anxiety, it is okay and you are not alone. I know it sucks, I know it is terrifying and I know it is exhausting in every meaning of that word. Regardless, you are worth life. You have people that love you and help is available and I know you have the strength to reach out for help if you are feeling this way. A family member, a friend, even me. There is help and there is a happy future, I can promise you that.
On a side note, I know that anxiety is crippling to a lot of people. Some days, it cripples me too. However I have learned so many things about overcoming that and feeling better. If anyone is interested in the things I do to keep my mental health where it should be, comment below or e-mail us. I will gladly share!
<3 Amy
If you are feeling depressed or suicidal, there is HELP.
Rest in Peace Robin Williams <3
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