EdwardP
27-11-08, 20:52
Hiya Guys,
Since I've come to the forum I have posted various threads about my panic attacks and my anxiety, depression and self harming. Now I will tell a little bit of my story in hope that others can relate to it, so here goes:
My first panic attack happened one Sunday morning ten years ago. I remember waking up and having breakfast and after that being convinced that what I ate had become stuck in my throat. My mouth was dry and it was like something was lodged there. I shook it off and tried to forget it but as I was in the bathroom brushing my teeth I felt my face go on fire and then go numb. I immediatly panicked and when my heart started going fast I clutched my throat and ran from the room screaming that I was going to stop breathing and die. I'd never felt anything like that before and I was truly terrified about what was happening to me. My parents, not knowing what to say or do, tried to convince me that I was ok and that it would pass but I just couldn't grasp that concept as I ran around with pins and needles in my face and a horrible tingling feeling that scared me to death. As the day went on it just wouldn't subside and I slowly got worse to the point of hysteria. My parents, now worried, rushed me to the Doctor where he smugly checked my heart and sent me away to breath into a paper bag!
The symptoms kept on going that night and I remember just throwing myself onto my bed and crying my eyes out, afraid to sleep because I was convinced that my heart was going to stop and that if I felt tired it was actually my body giving up and me dying. I did sleep that night, after ringing nearly everyone I knew and looking for reassurance that I wasn't suffering a heart attack or stroke.
As the days and months went on I suffered the same thing on a daily basis and thought that I was slowly going insane. I began reading medical books and comparing my own symptoms with all sorts of life threatening illnesses and made myself 100% worse. My drinking at this stage was pretty normal, a few drinks at the weekend with friends, but it began to change as I isolated myself. I drank in secret to take away the panic and ended up drunk most days and passed out by noon. In between this secret drinking I had been back to the doctor and put on anti-depressants, which I swallowed each morning with Vodka before sleeping the afternoon away. As my drinking got worse so did the anxiety and I was put on Diazepam to take the edge off. This did the trick, but by then I was addicted to Alcohol and an incident one Thursday evening involving too much Vodka with my Ciprimal and Diazepam led me to fall unconcious in front of the fire and nearly burn to death. It was decided there and then that I was to be sectioned and spend a month in a clinic so I could rest and get back to normal.
While in the clinic I began to make a breakthrough with my anxiety, depression and self harming and I began to feel safe there. I talked with my Doctor each Monday, Wednesday and Friday and I could feel myself getting back to normal and enjoying my life again. My medication, without the alcohol, was beginning to work and I was looking foward to going home.
The day I left the clinic I felt a sense of relief and happiness to be starting my life again with my anxiety, alcohol abuse and depression under control. That night, without the safe feeling of the clinic, I panicked again and when a full blown panic attack happened my whole world fell apart. I ran around screaming and clutching my throat and began to cry my heart out in fear. Why was this happening to me again? I just couldn't understand, after all the work that I had put in, the anxiety and panic had started again. I remember reaching for my sedatives and taking more than I should have. Anything just to keep from going through all that again. As they kicked in and I sat on my bed I felt so depressed that I began cutting my wrists in disappointment that I hadn't done enough and that it was all my own fault that I had slipped because I should have worked harder! Little did I know that I couldn't have forseen the attack.
Being back home led me to slip into decline and I began drinking again and cutting myself on a daily basis. I felt the pain, but somehow it offered the relief that I had been craving for so long. That, along with my drinking and my anxiety, led me to take an overdose of painkillers and anti-depressants. I was found in time and woke from a coma five days later not knowing what was happening to me. The agony I felt when I knew I was still alive was unbearable and I just slipped into a depression that I thought I would never get out of. I returned home, full of self hatred and isolated myself so much that my anxiety grew worse and worse when I did try to be around others. This was the start of being housebound and it suited me just fine.
Doctors, home nurses, therapists and everything you can think of were called to see me, but I just didn't have the will to live. As far as I was concerned, the sooner I was dead and out of the misery, the better for me and everyone else. I knew the hell my parents were going through, and that cause me to sink even further, but I just didn't care anymore. By this time I had begun drinking again to cope with the panic attacks once again, and I just felt so useless and worthless that I didn't care one bit. That is what my life had come to and I was resigned to the fact that it was how I would live it. And I did live it that way. For Ten years it has been the same and I have never managed to get out of it.
The day finally came when I faced the most horrific panic attack, one that I will never forget. Just three months ago, on a Saturday morning, I woke to find myself shaking with terror and having short breaths. I knew it was happening again but before I could do anything about it my face and hands went numb and then my fingers curled up as I lost all feeling in them. I panicked, felt like I was losing my breath and fell to the floor as my whole body went weak. My head was pounding, my eyes couldn't take the light and my heart felt like it was going to explode in my chest. I managed to get out of the bedroom and crawled into the bathroom where I screamed my lungs out and rocked myself back and foward with sweat dripping from my whole body. I was convinced that this was the final hurdle and that I was finally going to die of a stroke. My mother, who was walking the dog at the time, arrived home and found me in a state of complete hysteria and called for the Doctor right away. By the time he arrived it was completely out of control and he had no choice but to sedate me, worrying for my mental state after such a vicious attack.
That was three months ago and it is still the same. I have my good days and I have my bad ones. The last few days have been bad and I am back on Diazepam again, but I no longer touch alcohol and I am hoping that things will slowly get better for me.
So, there you have it guys. That is my story and I hope that someone can relate to it and know that they are not alone.
Edward,
:)
Since I've come to the forum I have posted various threads about my panic attacks and my anxiety, depression and self harming. Now I will tell a little bit of my story in hope that others can relate to it, so here goes:
My first panic attack happened one Sunday morning ten years ago. I remember waking up and having breakfast and after that being convinced that what I ate had become stuck in my throat. My mouth was dry and it was like something was lodged there. I shook it off and tried to forget it but as I was in the bathroom brushing my teeth I felt my face go on fire and then go numb. I immediatly panicked and when my heart started going fast I clutched my throat and ran from the room screaming that I was going to stop breathing and die. I'd never felt anything like that before and I was truly terrified about what was happening to me. My parents, not knowing what to say or do, tried to convince me that I was ok and that it would pass but I just couldn't grasp that concept as I ran around with pins and needles in my face and a horrible tingling feeling that scared me to death. As the day went on it just wouldn't subside and I slowly got worse to the point of hysteria. My parents, now worried, rushed me to the Doctor where he smugly checked my heart and sent me away to breath into a paper bag!
The symptoms kept on going that night and I remember just throwing myself onto my bed and crying my eyes out, afraid to sleep because I was convinced that my heart was going to stop and that if I felt tired it was actually my body giving up and me dying. I did sleep that night, after ringing nearly everyone I knew and looking for reassurance that I wasn't suffering a heart attack or stroke.
As the days and months went on I suffered the same thing on a daily basis and thought that I was slowly going insane. I began reading medical books and comparing my own symptoms with all sorts of life threatening illnesses and made myself 100% worse. My drinking at this stage was pretty normal, a few drinks at the weekend with friends, but it began to change as I isolated myself. I drank in secret to take away the panic and ended up drunk most days and passed out by noon. In between this secret drinking I had been back to the doctor and put on anti-depressants, which I swallowed each morning with Vodka before sleeping the afternoon away. As my drinking got worse so did the anxiety and I was put on Diazepam to take the edge off. This did the trick, but by then I was addicted to Alcohol and an incident one Thursday evening involving too much Vodka with my Ciprimal and Diazepam led me to fall unconcious in front of the fire and nearly burn to death. It was decided there and then that I was to be sectioned and spend a month in a clinic so I could rest and get back to normal.
While in the clinic I began to make a breakthrough with my anxiety, depression and self harming and I began to feel safe there. I talked with my Doctor each Monday, Wednesday and Friday and I could feel myself getting back to normal and enjoying my life again. My medication, without the alcohol, was beginning to work and I was looking foward to going home.
The day I left the clinic I felt a sense of relief and happiness to be starting my life again with my anxiety, alcohol abuse and depression under control. That night, without the safe feeling of the clinic, I panicked again and when a full blown panic attack happened my whole world fell apart. I ran around screaming and clutching my throat and began to cry my heart out in fear. Why was this happening to me again? I just couldn't understand, after all the work that I had put in, the anxiety and panic had started again. I remember reaching for my sedatives and taking more than I should have. Anything just to keep from going through all that again. As they kicked in and I sat on my bed I felt so depressed that I began cutting my wrists in disappointment that I hadn't done enough and that it was all my own fault that I had slipped because I should have worked harder! Little did I know that I couldn't have forseen the attack.
Being back home led me to slip into decline and I began drinking again and cutting myself on a daily basis. I felt the pain, but somehow it offered the relief that I had been craving for so long. That, along with my drinking and my anxiety, led me to take an overdose of painkillers and anti-depressants. I was found in time and woke from a coma five days later not knowing what was happening to me. The agony I felt when I knew I was still alive was unbearable and I just slipped into a depression that I thought I would never get out of. I returned home, full of self hatred and isolated myself so much that my anxiety grew worse and worse when I did try to be around others. This was the start of being housebound and it suited me just fine.
Doctors, home nurses, therapists and everything you can think of were called to see me, but I just didn't have the will to live. As far as I was concerned, the sooner I was dead and out of the misery, the better for me and everyone else. I knew the hell my parents were going through, and that cause me to sink even further, but I just didn't care anymore. By this time I had begun drinking again to cope with the panic attacks once again, and I just felt so useless and worthless that I didn't care one bit. That is what my life had come to and I was resigned to the fact that it was how I would live it. And I did live it that way. For Ten years it has been the same and I have never managed to get out of it.
The day finally came when I faced the most horrific panic attack, one that I will never forget. Just three months ago, on a Saturday morning, I woke to find myself shaking with terror and having short breaths. I knew it was happening again but before I could do anything about it my face and hands went numb and then my fingers curled up as I lost all feeling in them. I panicked, felt like I was losing my breath and fell to the floor as my whole body went weak. My head was pounding, my eyes couldn't take the light and my heart felt like it was going to explode in my chest. I managed to get out of the bedroom and crawled into the bathroom where I screamed my lungs out and rocked myself back and foward with sweat dripping from my whole body. I was convinced that this was the final hurdle and that I was finally going to die of a stroke. My mother, who was walking the dog at the time, arrived home and found me in a state of complete hysteria and called for the Doctor right away. By the time he arrived it was completely out of control and he had no choice but to sedate me, worrying for my mental state after such a vicious attack.
That was three months ago and it is still the same. I have my good days and I have my bad ones. The last few days have been bad and I am back on Diazepam again, but I no longer touch alcohol and I am hoping that things will slowly get better for me.
So, there you have it guys. That is my story and I hope that someone can relate to it and know that they are not alone.
Edward,
:)