By the spring of 2001, my life was barely functional.
My life circumstances at the time could be considered the ideal for many people; I was about to turn 31, had a job I loved, a great boyfriend, a house and car. The world was my oyster and I should have been able to swallow it whole; with a dash of Tabasco, enjoying its icy cold texture while I licked the salt off my lips. But I couldn't. I just, couldn't...
Instead of reveling in my life, I woke every morning feeling not much more than dread for what the day might hold for me. I did my best to stifle the fears and negative thoughts that seemed to fester and multiply like mold spores overnight in the corners of my dark and murky mind, but it became suffocating. I was convinced I was dying. I was dizzy so often. My heart raced at random. I couldn't breathe. I saw many doctors, who either told me I was fine or that I was just stressed. None of that made sense though because the feelings of impending doom continued and I felt that aside from the feeling-like-I-was-dying part, my life was great.
Determined, I internalized. Clearly this was all in my head. 'Put on a happy face' I told myself. That mask fooled most of those around me, but it also told lies to my soul.
Despite my attempts to ignore my inner turmoil and stay put together, my core continued to unravel. I was virtually house bound. Though I didn't have confirmation of what they were at the time, my panic attacks were numerous and as I progressed through my illness they became seemingly constant and more intense. I did anything I could do to prevent their occurrence or at least the severity of their affects. I gradually and somewhat desperately associated my panic attacks with whatever situation I was in at the time and figured if I didn't do those things, the awful feelings of death and doom would go away.
Avoidance became my only refuge. Avoidance became a drug to me. Avoiding obviously dangerous places and situations like cliffs and parachutes makes sense to those of us who aren't thrill seekers. And many of you might even agree that avoiding big crowds and penthouse balconies is still somewhat understandable. I went further though. At first, I only rationalized steering clear of things like elevators, bridges and hospitals (people die there!). Soon though, I found myself physically unable to do the most innocuous activities like going to a movie, or a mall. Even standing in a line up at the grocery store or being in a left hand turn lane became completely unbearable and therefore not doable. No, it was safer at home…
…Until I couldn't even be there alone.
A friend recognized I was in trouble and arranged an appointment with the doctor who would ultimately save me from myself. My lowest point was getting to that first appointment and finding myself stuck in the lobby. I was too terrified to take the elevator and he was on the fifth floor. I couldn't take the stairs. I couldn't possibly get there. It took me an hour and I still had to call the receptionist to come and get me. I was a wreck. After a proper diagnosis of panic disorder with agoraphobia, medication, a cognitive therapy program and years of very hard work, I am much better. There are a few things I've been stuck on though. A few things I still tell myself I can't do; everyday things and big things. Until this year, I couldn't exercise. A workout would trigger a panic attack and since I was still using my avoidance drug, allowing myself to get fat was the better and easier option. (Note: I’ve been exercising since January and have dropped 25 lbs and 1.5 sizes <-- go me!)
My heart whispered a wish for this year. One that is monumentally important to me and one that sometimes seems impossible. I wanted this year to be MY year; the year that I finally win and get my freedom back. I pretty much missed my thirties. That makes me sadder than I can ever explain. For years I wished I could borrow other people's courage to do the mundane. Most recently, I’ve wanted to borrow courage to do the big important things too; but I knew courage couldn't be borrowed. I knew I needed to find it myself or live like this -stuck- for the rest of my life.
My husband and I mused about taking a trip to New York to celebrate me turning 40 this year. I was excited enough about the prospect, but then it was announced that BlogHer 2010 was going to be in New York City! I got goosebumps. I bought a ticket to BlogHer the day they went on sale and started planning our family trip to New York! Until January anyway, when my husband had his biggest annual contract cut in half. There would be no way for all three of us to take this trip now. My husband flippantly suggested with a chuckle that I go by myself. Yeah, right...
But then? Something magical happened.
I started thinking about the possibilities. My want... no, my need to go to this conference became bigger than the sum of my fears. I found awesome roommates. I found someone equally awesome to travel with. I RSVP'd for parties. Of course, until this week, I’ve had back-out plans stowed away just incase I changed my mind at the last minute, but I’m not going to do that! I will be booking my flight this week and finalize my plans to go to New York! On my own! To meet people who don't know me yet, but people I adore.
Most importantly though? I'm going so I can meet myself. I’ve missed me for too long. I'm going to take a big slobbery bite out of the Big Apple. I’m still terrified. But the support and encouragement I’ve received from this community (especially over the past week) has convinced me that I definitely can’t borrow courage from other people… instead though, I’ve realized that wonderful people will guide you to find your own courage within and hold your hand while they help you celebrate it.
I may even get to try on a red dress…
Sunday, July 18, 2010 at 9:42PM 
