Posted: Tue Jan 16, 2007 12:22 pm
I'm stunned by the warmth of everyone who has responded. You're all very wonderful.
I've been bounced around from medication to medication as many times as I've gone from doctor to doctor. Which is more times then I remember. I beat a heavy addiction to benzos and I've been clean for over a year. I've recently began to change a lot of my lifestyle. I stopped smoking after ten years, I now exercise regularly, and I've removed all caffeine from my diet. Yet my anxiety and the panic attacks have actually gotten worse. I now have throbbing headaches. Sometimes my hands will shake uncontrollably and my heart will pound in my chest and I'll become physically incapable of doing anything.
Most of the time though, my anxiety is turned to anger and frustration. Often, I take my anger out on those around me. This has ruined the relationships I have had with women, my friends and many of my family members. When I'm not suffering an attack, I'm a passionate, smart, caring person. I make everyone laugh, relax and feel comfortable. But, when I'm in a mood, or upset, my family has described me as a "mean bastard." And I agree with their description, as at those times I hate everyone, my self most of all.
I'm soon to graduate college after a long seven years. I remember a lot of people telling me it would be the best time of my life, but it has been the hardest.
I was first diagnosed with depression and then bi-polar and GAD. I was put on several medications for depression, anxiety, and problems falling asleep. None of this helped and three years ago I had a major panic attack while I was at work. Because I couldn't describe the problem to my boss, she refused to let me leave early. I was so scared. I just wanted to run away. I felt like I was trapped. I told my boss I quit and drove home. I was so upset that I would have to tell my mother that I had lost another job. I went home and ate all my medication, emptied the medicine cabinet of all the pills, and chased it with a pint of rum. Death, I thought, was far better then shame.
Somewhere between total drunkenness and unconsciousness I called the paramedics.
I was admitted to the mental ward of the hospital after I recovered and was assigned a new doctor. He diagnosed me with bi-polar and put me on depakote and a benzo.
After being released, I stopped taking the depakote because it smelled like vanilla and that scared me but I became addicted to the benzos. I consumed them to the extreme and about a year ago my doctor cut me off from them. No warning and no help offered. Needless to say, the withdrawal wasn't fun. I made it worse by not telling anyone.
But recently I've been trying to make steps to improve my life. I've stopped smoking after ten years, of which I am very proud of. I've remained away from all drugs and I am adamant about a doctor not medicating me anymore. I now exercise 5-6 days a week. I've removed all caffeine from my diet and I'm trying to eat healthier.
Still, my life is miserable. I ruin every relationship I'm in and I'm incapable of making new ones. My friends don't call anymore because I never go out with them. Going to bars scares me. As does talking to strangers, ordering a drink, watching people have a good time.
My anxiety often leads to frustration, which leads to anger, which leads to depression, which leads to me wanting to die. To me, suicide is an escape. It is a guaranteed release from the pain I've felt for so long. As sad as it sounds, suicide makes me feel safe.
I've been bounced around from medication to medication as many times as I've gone from doctor to doctor. Which is more times then I remember. I beat a heavy addiction to benzos and I've been clean for over a year. I've recently began to change a lot of my lifestyle. I stopped smoking after ten years, I now exercise regularly, and I've removed all caffeine from my diet. Yet my anxiety and the panic attacks have actually gotten worse. I now have throbbing headaches. Sometimes my hands will shake uncontrollably and my heart will pound in my chest and I'll become physically incapable of doing anything.
Most of the time though, my anxiety is turned to anger and frustration. Often, I take my anger out on those around me. This has ruined the relationships I have had with women, my friends and many of my family members. When I'm not suffering an attack, I'm a passionate, smart, caring person. I make everyone laugh, relax and feel comfortable. But, when I'm in a mood, or upset, my family has described me as a "mean bastard." And I agree with their description, as at those times I hate everyone, my self most of all.
I'm soon to graduate college after a long seven years. I remember a lot of people telling me it would be the best time of my life, but it has been the hardest.
I was first diagnosed with depression and then bi-polar and GAD. I was put on several medications for depression, anxiety, and problems falling asleep. None of this helped and three years ago I had a major panic attack while I was at work. Because I couldn't describe the problem to my boss, she refused to let me leave early. I was so scared. I just wanted to run away. I felt like I was trapped. I told my boss I quit and drove home. I was so upset that I would have to tell my mother that I had lost another job. I went home and ate all my medication, emptied the medicine cabinet of all the pills, and chased it with a pint of rum. Death, I thought, was far better then shame.
Somewhere between total drunkenness and unconsciousness I called the paramedics.
I was admitted to the mental ward of the hospital after I recovered and was assigned a new doctor. He diagnosed me with bi-polar and put me on depakote and a benzo.
After being released, I stopped taking the depakote because it smelled like vanilla and that scared me but I became addicted to the benzos. I consumed them to the extreme and about a year ago my doctor cut me off from them. No warning and no help offered. Needless to say, the withdrawal wasn't fun. I made it worse by not telling anyone.
But recently I've been trying to make steps to improve my life. I've stopped smoking after ten years, of which I am very proud of. I've remained away from all drugs and I am adamant about a doctor not medicating me anymore. I now exercise 5-6 days a week. I've removed all caffeine from my diet and I'm trying to eat healthier.
Still, my life is miserable. I ruin every relationship I'm in and I'm incapable of making new ones. My friends don't call anymore because I never go out with them. Going to bars scares me. As does talking to strangers, ordering a drink, watching people have a good time.
My anxiety often leads to frustration, which leads to anger, which leads to depression, which leads to me wanting to die. To me, suicide is an escape. It is a guaranteed release from the pain I've felt for so long. As sad as it sounds, suicide makes me feel safe.