Chester
13-08-12, 23:41
Hi everyone. A long time lurker, first time I've ever written on here in depth or indeed first time I've ever spoken in depth about things, as much as this is speaking, outside that odd group of mental health professionals and vaguely nodding friends and family.
I am sorry for the ranting lengths here and thank you for having the stamina and patience to read it.
I first had a panic attack about 3-4 years ago, I'd never really worried about things. I was never outgoing but I wasn't reclusive. I went out, did the usual stuff. I've never liked massively busy places but I don't avoid them, normality really.
My Granddad, whom I was very very close died, slowly, as do many with cancer. He was dignified, resolute and I was proud. But it hit me.
I had bereavement counselling and the panic attacks increased. I was then given citalopram at 30mg and it seemed to really settle down. I took a course of CBT. I never considered myself ill, just a phase, I always said.
I came off the citalopram and bounced into normality in 2010. I got a new job after being made redundant. Then a colleague, who herself was going through some very different mental health issues, made some accusations against me. My new company, being responsible, suspended me with pay and the whole investigation took 3 months. Needless to say, stressful.
I was acquitted and my company wanted to know if I wished to go the Police. I didn't want to punish someone who so obviously had issues, who am I to judge? So she was given a final warning and returned to work. She left soon after. Work were great in adjusting me back to the workplace, obviously it had been confidential so no-one knew.
Even with her gone, the place wasn't the same. Rooms where meetings were held about the business just reminded me of the interviews I had to have during my suspension. Nothing seemed right. Perhaps I became bitter about it. I don't blame the company. They acted in good intention, to both parties it has to be said.
I started to have panic attacks again, strong ones. I knew what they were but all the coping mechanisms, the challenging thoughts...they were powerless. It was like fighting a fire with petrol. Letting it pass, my least favourite coping mechanism, turned into 'just makes it bloody worse'
I took time off work and began CBT and bounced back to citalopram. Not my finest hour. But again, I came off all the tablets, finished the workbooks, read the materials and was hey ho ready to go.
So I eventually resigned and took a new job a year later, my current job, as a manager, a role I loved doing (well the management bit and engaging with people) from my previous roles. Things went well for a while then suddenly...I stopped caring.
If I had to be at my desk for 9.00, I'd be there at 9.00. Old me would have been there at 8.30. I started missing buses to work, I skipped tasks, passed the buck. I started going to a pub and taking my lunch alone with a large glass of wine. Personal hygiene? Meh, I had that shirt only last Tuesday, some aftershave and it'll be fine.
became empty. I didn't see why. It all passed me by, all the warning signs until my boss called me in and put me on a performance review. This should have horrified me. My work record has been perfect. My references glowing, she even remarked she was stunned by having to do this. I sat and nodded. Raised a smile, signed the paperwork and went back to my desk. I didn't care. She could have sacked me right there and I have smiled and said 'good call'.
The tip point came on a wet Sunday. It was really hammering it down and I simply stood outside in my shirt and tie and let the rain batter me. It was almost liberating. Stranger things started to happen. I began to lose memory, I put weight on, I couldn't concentrate. I used to whizz through books, I could barely read an article in the local free paper. My sleep dived off a cliff. I started thinking I was someone else, something else. At one bizarre point, I asked my microwave to cook my food. When I was challenged on this, I told a worried onlooking friend, 'this is the Starship Enterprise, and I am its Captain'. I laughed about it later, said I was joking, but at that moment, it was real to me.
I was worried, I was going bona fide crazy. So I bit the bullet and saw my GP. They immediately referred me to a crisis team who came out a few hours later and pretty much interrogated me (in a nice way)
Depression 101. A Classic, was the diagnosis but they wanted to rule out other things so I had to have an EEG and some bloods done. They visited every day and I felt I was wasting their time. We talked, it didn't seem to help. I was overloaded with leaflets and clichés.
The clinical lead changed my meds to Mitrazapine, deciding Citalopram wasn't helping. Mitrazapine was not a good friend. It knocked me silly. I became incapable. I hated it. They reluctantly took me off and moved me to Sertraline (sp?) which managed to give me Serotonin Syndrome.
A few weeks later I was deemed no longer to need crisis and told I was being referred for yet more CBT. Short term fix, I fear. A new drug appeared, Trazodone, which just seemed to be Mitrazapine mark 2. I'm giving it a chance, but I'm getting no benefit aside sleeping most of the day.
I've managed to get out but sometimes, mainly in the car or on a bus before I get to my destination, I'm struck with raw horror, raw anxiety, raw nerves. I recognise it but I can't fight it hard enough.
So I'm on the eve of yet another round of CBT and I can't say I see a positive in it but got to keep soldiering on.
I am sorry for the ranting lengths here and thank you for having the stamina and patience to read it.
I first had a panic attack about 3-4 years ago, I'd never really worried about things. I was never outgoing but I wasn't reclusive. I went out, did the usual stuff. I've never liked massively busy places but I don't avoid them, normality really.
My Granddad, whom I was very very close died, slowly, as do many with cancer. He was dignified, resolute and I was proud. But it hit me.
I had bereavement counselling and the panic attacks increased. I was then given citalopram at 30mg and it seemed to really settle down. I took a course of CBT. I never considered myself ill, just a phase, I always said.
I came off the citalopram and bounced into normality in 2010. I got a new job after being made redundant. Then a colleague, who herself was going through some very different mental health issues, made some accusations against me. My new company, being responsible, suspended me with pay and the whole investigation took 3 months. Needless to say, stressful.
I was acquitted and my company wanted to know if I wished to go the Police. I didn't want to punish someone who so obviously had issues, who am I to judge? So she was given a final warning and returned to work. She left soon after. Work were great in adjusting me back to the workplace, obviously it had been confidential so no-one knew.
Even with her gone, the place wasn't the same. Rooms where meetings were held about the business just reminded me of the interviews I had to have during my suspension. Nothing seemed right. Perhaps I became bitter about it. I don't blame the company. They acted in good intention, to both parties it has to be said.
I started to have panic attacks again, strong ones. I knew what they were but all the coping mechanisms, the challenging thoughts...they were powerless. It was like fighting a fire with petrol. Letting it pass, my least favourite coping mechanism, turned into 'just makes it bloody worse'
I took time off work and began CBT and bounced back to citalopram. Not my finest hour. But again, I came off all the tablets, finished the workbooks, read the materials and was hey ho ready to go.
So I eventually resigned and took a new job a year later, my current job, as a manager, a role I loved doing (well the management bit and engaging with people) from my previous roles. Things went well for a while then suddenly...I stopped caring.
If I had to be at my desk for 9.00, I'd be there at 9.00. Old me would have been there at 8.30. I started missing buses to work, I skipped tasks, passed the buck. I started going to a pub and taking my lunch alone with a large glass of wine. Personal hygiene? Meh, I had that shirt only last Tuesday, some aftershave and it'll be fine.
became empty. I didn't see why. It all passed me by, all the warning signs until my boss called me in and put me on a performance review. This should have horrified me. My work record has been perfect. My references glowing, she even remarked she was stunned by having to do this. I sat and nodded. Raised a smile, signed the paperwork and went back to my desk. I didn't care. She could have sacked me right there and I have smiled and said 'good call'.
The tip point came on a wet Sunday. It was really hammering it down and I simply stood outside in my shirt and tie and let the rain batter me. It was almost liberating. Stranger things started to happen. I began to lose memory, I put weight on, I couldn't concentrate. I used to whizz through books, I could barely read an article in the local free paper. My sleep dived off a cliff. I started thinking I was someone else, something else. At one bizarre point, I asked my microwave to cook my food. When I was challenged on this, I told a worried onlooking friend, 'this is the Starship Enterprise, and I am its Captain'. I laughed about it later, said I was joking, but at that moment, it was real to me.
I was worried, I was going bona fide crazy. So I bit the bullet and saw my GP. They immediately referred me to a crisis team who came out a few hours later and pretty much interrogated me (in a nice way)
Depression 101. A Classic, was the diagnosis but they wanted to rule out other things so I had to have an EEG and some bloods done. They visited every day and I felt I was wasting their time. We talked, it didn't seem to help. I was overloaded with leaflets and clichés.
The clinical lead changed my meds to Mitrazapine, deciding Citalopram wasn't helping. Mitrazapine was not a good friend. It knocked me silly. I became incapable. I hated it. They reluctantly took me off and moved me to Sertraline (sp?) which managed to give me Serotonin Syndrome.
A few weeks later I was deemed no longer to need crisis and told I was being referred for yet more CBT. Short term fix, I fear. A new drug appeared, Trazodone, which just seemed to be Mitrazapine mark 2. I'm giving it a chance, but I'm getting no benefit aside sleeping most of the day.
I've managed to get out but sometimes, mainly in the car or on a bus before I get to my destination, I'm struck with raw horror, raw anxiety, raw nerves. I recognise it but I can't fight it hard enough.
So I'm on the eve of yet another round of CBT and I can't say I see a positive in it but got to keep soldiering on.