Tag Archives: GAD

Exploration of New Territory

Today I am trying something new.

If you’ve been reading for a while, you probably know that in addition to bipolar disorder, I have a number of other diagnoses (these are usually referred to as co-morbid diagnoses since they exist in addition to one another). Generalized Anxiety Disorder is one of the flowers in my bouquet of mental illness, I was diagnosed with it a year ago.

Just the fact that even the name has the word generalized in it makes the whole thing seem a little vague (hey, I’m a little ignorant about this world, ok?) but I know for sure that anxiety is something I struggle with on almost (if not on) a daily basis, and it is something that has been a part of my life since childhood.

I’ve been to a sizable smattering of support groups that focus on bipolar disorder, and led some, but as much as I address bipolar disorder, I am not addressing the other components. Anxiety. PTSD. OCD.

It is like being in the ocean in a small boat in the middle of an oil spill.

My boat springs a leak, and I start sinking.

My initial reaction, though, is shit. Oil is getting all over everything! 

I’ve been trying to clean up this oil, cleaning and cleaning and making a tiny dent… but underneath that oil is water, and that water may seem less threatening but it is still collecting together and threatening to sink my boat.

The trouble has been that since I do not have a series of medications to help stabilize my bipolar disorder, I spend an exceptional amount of energy and attention wrestling with it myself to keep it from wreaking too much havoc. It is time consuming, it is exhausting, but the tools I’ve compiled are making a difference. I still feel like hell a lot of the time, but I can control myself enough to keep from having a huge meltdown 9 times out of 10.

Unfortunately, it is incredibly difficult to address anything else even remotely emotional or thought provoking because I am trying to listen to a story or look at a different part of myself while wrestling a bull. The bipolar bull. Sometimes it gives you wings, sometimes it just stomps on you with its sharp, pointy hooves.

I feel pretty confident in saying this is probably why many therapists wont work with a bipolar patient who isn’t medicated. I’ve stumbled upon the explanation by accident. I have to keep 75-85% of my brain subduing a bull, and the remaining 15% can’t absorb the information fast enough to really make a huge difference.

Of course, therapy is entirely helpful for bipolar-related stuff at this moment, and to have someone act as a non-biased level-headed advice person (always good) as described in the last post. But, if I take a minute to let go of the bull to try and focus on something else, there’s a stampede and I wind up getting trampled.

It is quite frustrating.

Anyway, the new thing that I am going to do today is go to an anxiety support group.

I love support groups of all kinds, and even with my 15% attention span I almost always find some portion helpful, and relatable, and thought-provoking.

I do, however, get anxiety (ha!) when going to a group where I know the majority of the people -well, I don’t know that they’re more sane but they generally have a lot fewer issues than I have going on. Does that make sense?

I feel like I have become accustomed to bipolar, and even schizophrenic folks in my support groups. I find solace in the idea that the people there have generally had as many, if not more struggles than I have had… and I can walk away knowing that if others can survive with more difficult problems than I have, I can do what I need to do.

I have been to a group or two in passing where I am clearly the black sheep in the room, and I don’t think it is bad, I just don’t really know how to handle myself in those situations.

My therapist wants me to practice “filtering” myself in different situations so what I say is appropriate, but I have trouble discerning where “filtering” ends sometimes and straight up lying begins… which is why I’ve avoided doing it up to this point, really. I’d rather just say nothing at all than something that isn’t true.

In any case, I think I ought to go into this as optimistically as possible. I am excited, to some degree, though a little nervous, and I’m sure if I take the time to think before I speak it should be fine.

Plus, maybe I can act as that banner for someone else.

Hell, if that odd, bipolar girl can deal with her anxiety, so can I!

Panic in Sheep’s Clothing

I had a stunning realization a few days ago. The sort of realization I had a real hunch about the last few years of my life, but had never fully bloomed into a fully formed thought until last week.

The moment that lit the fuse was the apex of the week, I had to get my dog Luna to the vet (she was sick) but Corey was stuck in traffic. That meant getting her up the extremely steep hill to the bus, and after a block or so Luna wasn’t willing to walk the rest of the way up on her own.

The rain started to come down, the first of the day (of course, it never rains until I actually need to go outside) so I wrapped her in a towel, picked up the little 16 lb bundle of dead weight, and started running up the hill to catch the bus. Of course, this would also be the moment that the rain decided to become more of a torrential downpour, and I also was considerably sick myself. Half way up I had an asthma attack, and though I made it to the bus stop in time I was so shaky and weak that I could barely hold poor Luna up.

I’ll admit, I cried a little with resignation around how terrible the day really turned out to be, but the asthma attack in particular set an interesting series of thoughts in motion.

These attacks started happening when I was in 5th grade. Suddenly, I wasn’t able to run further than about 100 meters (sprinting) or 400 meters (jogging) without  being unable to breathe. It wasn’t that I was out of shape or anything, on the contrary, I was involved in several sports growing up. A trip to the doctor (who simply asked a handful of questions) concluded this was sports asthma (energy induced asthma), and I was given an inhaler and sent on my way.

What I thought was weird as an adolescent was that the inhaler never seemed to help. I used it religiously for a while, but as it never seemed to decrease the length or severity of these attacks I shrugged it off eventually. I continued playing sports in tiny bursts at a time, terrifying any coach who happened to push me hard enough to get me gasping for air.

Since then I’ve had this notion that maybe something else is occurring. I really wasn’t sure what, but it seems to happen more often in cold air. In a dry, warm area I’ve been able to jog on a treadmill for 5 minutes or more at a time, which is something I didn’t think I could ever do. And then there is that inhaler bit, the fact that it never seemed to help. Could it be that I don’t actually have sports asthma at all?

I was listening to The Mental Illness Happy Hour podcast last week and there is an episode with Steve Agee who talks about how his anxiety was manifesting in bizarre ways (namely, if he was in a social dining situation, he would have periods where he couldn’t seem to swallow). Anxiety can rear its ugly head in so many different ways… it made me think back to my ER trip in November when I literally felt paralyzed with (what turned out to be) anxiety.

I was diagnosed last year with GAD (Generalized Anxiety Disorder) and it wasn’t until then that I really recognized how big a role anxiety has played in my life for as long as I can remember. Many of my childhood memories have an element of anxiety mixed in, and I remember having a lot of anxiety around my elementary school PE teacher when my “asthma attacks” started happening.

I remember being upset that if we were running for class, we were not allowed to stop and tie our shoes if they became untied. I often fantasized about accidentally tripping over a shoelace and breaking an arm or even my nose when I fell so we could sue the school (oh the mind of a child!). He also wouldn’t let us stop if we developed stomach cramps while running, which I did pretty much continuously.

Start with an anxious child, sprinkle in some physical pain, deny that child relief from the pain… and what I see is a perfect recipe for a panic attack.

After that, the fear becomes fear of another attack, and the cycle is self perpetuating.

One thing I do know, is that I was allowed to stop running if I had an asthma attack. Since that pain was immediately quantifiable by my teacher, I could stop running to find relief. Anything internal I had to push through. Hide your pain and feelings, 101.

Anyway, I compared this last “asthma attack” I had running Luna up the hill with my other, usual sorts of panic attacks… and the similarity in symptoms is much more clear. Shaking, loss of blood flow to the hands and feet, weakness, dizzyness, the only difference being that the muscles that contract are in my throat. Recalling that podcast about Steve Agee having panic attacks that were centered in his throat was like a bolt of lightening straight to my brain.

I feel like I’ve solved a 15 year mystery! And now that I’m much more familiar with anxiety and what it does to me, I have a fighting chance of being able to relax enough to avoid future attacks.

Is this something I could have understood as a 5th grader? I really couldn’t say. I wish there was a simple way to introduce children to the concept of mental health  though, because I’m certain I’m not the only child that could have used it.

Anxiety and panic attacks can manifest themselves in a seemingly infinite number of ways, and the two can be much more powerful than you would give them credit for. Something that can be seemingly insignificant, like anxiety, can create big road blocks in your life if it is ignored.