I declared war on my anxiety after years of alcohol dependency. I was using alcohol as a crutch to aid the anxiety medication I had become extremely tolerant to. It didn’t help that during this time I was working at various bars in San Diego. The medication was so irrelevant, and I was so madly dependent, it was unfathomable to me to begin to believe I’d ever lead a normal life. I was dependent on xanax for a very real anxiety and panic disorder. I was criminally over-diagnosed a high dose starting regiment. My idea of a decent day was masked by brief moments of euphoria from the alcohol.
I was prescribed 4 times the starting dose of industry practice from day one. I asked repetitively is this was okay, if I would be addicted (as the hypochondriac I was) and was assured that would not happen. That’s cute…
I was limited to my home and the Internet (along with my job that was close by) for the majority of that time (in my early-to-mid 20’s) for a myriad of reasons. The emotional straight-jacket I was in, gave me absolutely zero hope, and like many — I thought it was inevitable I would either overdose on the concoction I was so extremely tolerant to — for using untreated for so long, or a failure in my body. I was never the typically thought alcoholic by any means; my consumption wasn’t always in excess, (in fact it was mostly moderate) but to aid the effectiveness of the medication I was criminally prescribed. I was reluctant to even take anything whatsoever, but I thought if I didn’t I would die, wouldn’t be able to do the things I loved, or have relationships I so badly wanted and follow my dreams I had as potential career opportunities.
I forced myself (despite my severe fear and debilitating panic attacks) to confront my demons and incredible fears and addictions that became my self afflictions. I quit drinking alcohol first for a couple weeks. While that [alcohol] wasn’t the primarily issue — being on the wrong medication [dosage] that was not meant to be used long-term, and given a high dosage from the beginning — that was still unfathomably difficult and counterproductive. It was psychological. Completely desolate and trying with every breath to hold onto some glimpse of normalcy I once knew. There was noway, right? I mean, a 10 year hour-to-hour, day-by-day habitual usage of one of the hardest prescription drugs to get off of in xanax, and had become amazingly hopeless.
As ‘detox’ was ending, the realization of getting off xanax was obsessively terrifying. I went to the local Dr. Because it would be near impossible for me to go in a office, let alone commute or do anything remotely sober being use to a 24-hour roller-coaster of substance, tolerance, anxiety and withdrawal. It was the absolute hardest thing I’ve ever done. They weened me off xanax very gradually and put me on SSI stabilizers, IE — anti-depressants/anxiety medication; it was more designed to be of a long-term non-narcotic treatment. It was excruciating, humiliating and far too sobering. But it was also saving my life. I started anxiety counseling 1 day a week, and another psychologist once a month. After about 2 months of weeping and agony, I started thinking more soundly.
I started remembering feelings and joys I had given up on. I was sick of missing family functions, weddings and not even being able to date at all, go to baseball games, sporting events, let alone have meaningful interactions with my loved ones. I kept forcing myself to go; as I did — I kept finding brief battles conquered. And in turn, a snowball (albeit very gradual) of confidence I forgot existed, as I was living in an alternate universe of numbness and self pity.
I had zero writing background at the time and was unable to attend college. That wasn’t even an option because of the severity of my disease, let alone a realistic thought. I didn’t even know how to type. I got my hands on my first computer in my mid-20’s and began to teach myself. I soon realized I enjoyed the creative outlet writing provided me. I began to blog about baseball endlessly — as I had to quit playing baseball in High School because of my near daily panic attacks. Blogging about baseball became therapeutic, and I became a student of the game more than ever. Because I was limited socially and professionally during this rebuilding process in my life, I focused on teaching myself as much as possible. Now I found myself typing with ease not even looking at the keyboard, my mind more sound, and gaining a following I never expected at all. The irony of that is staggering. I am not very comfortable with attention. But now I am getting more of that than I ever had desired by far. But it seemed like a small price to pay for thriving now and talking baseball. It wasn’t just a passion at this point, it was life. I loved it. Writing helped me continue on my path of inner fulfillment and doing things the right way.
The non-toxic medication I was now prescribed and perseverance started to make bigger strides each time I’d continue to go to the Dr. I unknowingly started to enjoy my visits. Cliché, right? But it was true; as much as I loathed talking about it and the anxiety endured during the duration of the visits, they were monumental for my recovery. So, about 3 months in now, I was doing things I hadn’t done in 10 years. And not only was I doing these things as I forced myself to in attempt at recovery, but I found myself slowly remembering who I was, what happiness could be, and enjoying the moments that were once hell, or deemed as self proclaimed impossibilities. Now I wasn’t just writing, or existing I was doing and living. In addition to writing I delved back into fitness and weight lifting — as that always helped curb my anxiety. I couldn’t believe the light I had been dreaming of actually existed, and now I was living it.
While I’ll never be the most comfortable person in certain situations, I no longer have to facade my emotions to my loved ones. And while I also will never win every battle within myself and anxiety, I have regained my self-confidence and respect for myself to continue to strive for more happy moments, no matter how mundane or trivial they may seem. I’m not the best I’m ever going to be — being satisfied with staus quo, but I’m better than I was yesterday (each day) and the optimism to be better for tomorrow. I understand depression and anxiety and circumstances are incredibly relative, and I’d never preach to anyone, but I hope people with similar battles find positive outlets where they feel comfortable to confide in, talk to and seek help — because I know there are people that love (despite your battles from within) you and see your worth, and friendship that believe in you undeniably and unconditionally.
It’s unfathomable to understand if you have never or don’t suffer from such afflictions. And it’s also so profoundly relative from person to person. Thus, being undeniably overlooked and undiagnosed. The stigma and stereotypes and ignorance to such an atrocious diseases make people with such problems feel ostracized, embarrassed, hopeless, helpless, and in turn exacerbates such issues in such an unhealthy way.
If you know people who suffer from substance abuse, anxiety or depression, remember this is not a weakness; in fact it’s often linked to strong intellectual traits, and alternative skill attributes that are extremely rare. However, in addition it’s also a sign for trying to be strong for too long. Often the strongest people are the ones you know zero about because they suffer behind closed doors — often fearing such unwarranted judgment. These types of problems should not be bullied, stereotyped by ignorant individuals. Educate yourself as opposed to making assumptions, and be proactive in helping others and being cognizant of signs that could ultimately save lives.
Unfortunately, one of the worst aspects of such a disease, because it’s a psychological issue (not visual) and so particular, it goes undiagnosed, because of some of the aforementioned problems. Also, and maybe the worst part — because of people’s ignorance and stereotyping, people leap to the assumption that you can easily “suck it up”, or merely deal with it. Often in advanced cases it’s obviously profoundly more complicated and needs serious attention just as much as other various ailments you can see from the outside.
So, before you pass judgment on others, maybe think how things affect others and make sure your closets clean before coming to such sophomoric conclusions. Be proactive with your loved ones and be cognizant of the signs. Start your own inner anti-bulling campaign.
I look back on what some may consider as time lost in my twenties and wonder how I didn’t have it in me to do something more substantial sooner, or even how those emotional defensive-line like blockades were so hard then, and more than doable now, and even enjoyable. I believe my recovery to anxiety was an absolute miracle fighting through my own struggles with my faith and beliefs. I share this publicly for the first time, not self-serving (directly or indirectly) but because I care and know how profoundly impossible life was for me, and how I pleaded with God to take me, even challenging him at times to do so. My relationship, I surmise, will always be a rocky one with God, and my faith and things I see as possible contradictions, but the power within yourself both mentally, and physically is fucking amazing.
The moments of happiness I have now and share with others — despite those trying obstacles and terror and time lost, trump any alternative. And I hope anyone struggling with anything remotely similar can find that, and much more.
Being afraid of death for so long. Filled with angst, fear, self loathing and anxiety. I look for the peace to overcome, and moments of sobriety. Unfortunately often dwarfed and Surrounded by hypocrites, talkers and liars undeniably. The people I have grown up loving the most, confiding in, rooting and fighting for are dwindling. I no longer see love and happiness. I feel rage, chaos, animosity, life is swindling. Self loathing, projecting, who’s your real enemy? I love myself, but detesting loved ones bares an awful burden. Self loathing, projecting, hey — maybe I am the enemy. Maybe I am the problem, and the answer. Skin crawling, resentment running copiously. If I am the one of burden with this anxiety, why not take this retched sou,l socially and irrevocably? I am the enemy. Only to myself; the worst enemy, one who loves and hates thyself. Maybe I love too much, and contradicting with my selfish ways. I know I’ve tried to be a good man, and will continue until the end of my days. I hate myself for loving you, through this battle, through this labyrinth, through this maze. I wish I had less courage, so I could check out of this miserable place and get back to the good old days. Self loathing, projecting, when does this end? I’m over it, but you have my word, I will fight until the end.
Once I was once unable to sleep, I’ve waken myself from this foggy facade of my life that has become succumb by my own self afflictions. I have been tired, suicidal, self destructive but not helpless; I can do this — I am no longer a defeatist. Can’t is not an option, god does not make mistakes and I am no exception. I am here for a reason, I choose to live not just exist, not watching the clock, waiting for my opportunity to knock. Not wasting my time with people that lie or deceive, instead those that actually believe. Not waiting for the bar to call, to be the mirage by last call for alcohol. I will live because I choose to be happy and not to feel sorry for myself, no matter what life brings me. Never satisfied with status quo, I will strive to be a better man, brother and human being. Succeeding in life will not ultimately be summed up by my possessions or wealth, but by morals and respect for myself. I live my life in love, I fear no more. Resurrection of my faith, this is my salvation, I feel my fate.
I uncontrollably love my life and the people in it. Despite trying times, and difficult moments, the good undeniably trumps the trials and tribulations (from the trivial to more serious) we all face in a myriad of different relative ways (on different levels) in life. I really appreciate my friends, the followers, the endless banter and spirited debating, and love my family unconditionally and emphatically. And would do anything — no questions asked for my loved ones, and realize the older I’ve gotten and the people I’ve lost, to appreciate and respect the people who’ve lived longer, experienced more life situations than I, and accrued more wisdom, despite differing opinions or belief. Respect your elders, (regardless of ideology and your never ending pursuit to be “right”). Instead, cherish the moments with your loved ones and accept them for who they’re, not what you want or wish they could be. Always cognizant of what those people have done for you, as opposed to what you feel you may lack from them. You never know when your time is up and can never say I’m sorry, or ask someone if they’re okay, make amends, say I love you or good bye. Make today a blessing — that will ensure tomorrow’s never a regret.
I haven’t taken xanax or drank for over 6 years (coming up on 7) and have never felt more proud and better (both physically and mentally).
My love for writing and working out helped save my life, but ultimately the hard work I put in, enabled me to make the connections I have, joy and effortless comfortability in my own skin, and enjoy every day now as I once thought was fairytale.
