POTS Syndrome

POTS syndrome is also known as postural orthostatic tachycardia. It is one of a group of disorders which have orthostatic tolerance (OI) as their primary symptom. Orthostatic intolerance describes a condition in which an excessively reduced volume of blood returns to the heart after an individual stands up from a lying down position, fainting. [https://www.inlifehealthcare.com]

Symptoms Include:
Fainting
Heart palpitations
Shaking & sweating
Weakness & fatigue
Dizziness or light-headedness
Headaches
Poor sleep
Chest pain
Feeling sick
Shortness of breath

3 Types of POTS

Neuropathic POTS
Hyperadrenergic POTS
Secondary POTS
Neuropathic POTS
This is essentially nerve disease. Here, the sympathetic nerve supply to lower limbs does not function properly and so there is pooling of the blood in the lower extremities rather than being returned back up to the heart. This leads to dizziness on standing and an increase in heart rate. This is the most common form of POTS.

Hyperadrenergic POTS
This is a case of high adrenaline. These patients have high levels of norepinephrine in their blood. This leads to increased heart-rate and blood pressure. While neuropathic POTS has lower blood pressure and higher heart rate when standing, hyperadrenergic POTS typically has both increased blood pressure and heart rate when standing.

Secondary POTS
This refers to POTS syndrome that is a result of another under-lying condition that leads to damage of the nerves that usually control the re-distribution of blood. These under-lying conditions can include diabetes, lupus, alcoholism and chemo. [https://myheart.net/pots-syndrome/types/]

Some Spoonies Worst Symptoms and Some Advice:

Stephanie shares: “Right now, I’m struggling most with temperature regulation and sweating. I’m always getting hot and cold at the same time! And I get so fatigued from standing it’s crazy!”

Adara shares: “I can’t stay standing for very long due to dizziness, drop in bp, heart rate and lips going blue. Hands and feet go red and purple and I get brain fog and fatigue. I use a wheel chair now. (I was once a badminton player) I was diagnosed after ten years- took a print our of POTs information to my doctor.”

Adara gives some advice to POTs patients: “Drink lots of water and salt (always carry emergency salty snacks, the way diabetics carry sweet stuff). Wear compression socks, stay cool, use a shower stool/seat and if you want to try physiotherapy/medication, then ask loudly and don’t be given no for an answer.”

A Brief Tale of Kristie’s POTS Experience:
I “spoke” to Kristie Johnson, of Migraine Mantras (Migraine Mantras), via Facebook messenger. She’s been dealing with POTS for eight years now, before doctor’s finally began looking into it and was finally diagnosed two years ago with it.
When I spoke to her about her most aggravating symptom’s she told me this:

“I have the most trouble with blood pressure drops. I get up slower, turn slower, anything I can do to avoid passing out. Gatorade and body armor are the only thing helping me right now. I know when I’m about to pass out, 90% of the time (ringing ears, dizzy, blurred vision or blacked out vision) and can sit or lay down before it happens. Sometimes I can’t catch myself. I’ve fallen down the stairs, fallen into things, washer, a dresser, etc.

When talking about her symptoms, length of time she’s been struggling with her symptoms and her recent diagnostics, she told me:

“Local docs won’t treat me, and I’m actually being sent to a hospital a few hours away to see an autonomic specialist for treatment. It’s 3-ish hours away in a Medical Center in Norwalk and I’m on disability so money isn’t something I have a lot of.”

I also asked her which POTS she was struggling with.

“Reading into it I mostly fir into the Secondary POTS category because I have under lying issues like Lupus and nerve damage.”

Sharing Stories Brings Awareness

Like so many others, Kristie is struggling with POTS and it is my hope, that through the sharing of these and so many other stories, we will bring more awareness to POTS and other chronic illness, to those who do not know or do not understand enough about them. We have begun to learn, the impact our voices have. I encourage everyone to share their story with people everywhere, because you don’t know whose life you will touch. When we are silent, we often feel we are alone. When talk and share these stories, we are suddenly catapulted into a community who can listen and support us.

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Grief of Chronic Illness/Pain

Yesterday, I cried.
It was a hard week for me, on top of which, my partner was gone for his military duty. It’s not anything unusual, I’ve been without him for longer stretches of time. In fact, he’ll be gone for a week soon and then in the summer, three weeks. But, this small stretch of time he was gone, was profoundly difficult for me.

I’m extremely lucky in that my children are, for all intents and purposes, adults. They range in age from 24 to 18 (all girls) and my youngest, will in fact, be graduating this spring. However, we’re still waiting on the younger two, to get their driver’s license. There really hasn’t been an urgent need for them to get their license with two older siblings and with only one of us working, we’ve been trying to delay the spike in our insurance again.

I do have help from my older two daughters. I often need them to run errands or pick up one of their sisters, especially when I am not feeling well. However, with the three older ones working shift-work, there are times when it falls on me to shuttle someone to work or school or bring them home. Luckily, they do not work or go to school far however, on those days when I am feeling especially bad, there is no other choice but to press on. My function as Mom has not ceased because I have chronic illness and pain; my function as Mom doesn’t get easier on days I don’t feel well. Sisters have fights; there’s drama on occasion and I have to be there regardless if I am sick and regardless if my husband is not there. Sometimes, it’s overwhelming. Sometimes, I break.

When he came home yesterday, I had a meltdown over something stupid. I realized everyone, including him, was looking at me like I lost my mind. He’d been gone and it hadn’t been a fun time for him either, and instead of expressing happiness that he was home, I got irrationally angry over something stupid. When we retreated into the bedroom to talk the anger dissolved into tears with me nearly sobbing. I was flooded with emotion and frustration over what chronic illness has robbed me of; continues to rob me of. Four years past from when this all began and I still continue to mourn my past self.

I write about chronic illness. I write about mental health. These are things I am intimately familiar with. I often read about how chronic illness and pain can cause depression and anxiety but in the context of a person who doesn’t already have this. I am bipolar with anxiety and OCD and I can tell you, that my chronic illness and pain have a profound effect on my mental health. The only analogy I can conjure is that of torture. Chronic illness and pain are a continuous assault to the body and mind. There is no respite from it, and if there is that brief space where you can breathe, it is short-lived, as the recurrence of symptoms and pain seizes your body violently and steals your breath. Now, imagine being tortured and having to continue with your day- continue with all the responsibilities entailed in that day- with a smile. Most people can’t understand what that must be like. It was certainly the furthest thing from my mind four years ago. Four years ago, pain, was something that could be fixed.

I try to live the best life I can. Most days I wake up with a sense of purpose and a positive frame of mind. I have to. I have a family who depends on me and while they may not depend on a paycheck, they depend on all sorts of things from me. Most of all, they depend on me being there as best friend/wife, mother, daughter and friend. These are the things I think about when I’m on that downward slide. But there are times when I need to cry and it’s okay. It’s letting a little of that ‘emotional steam’ out of the pot so I don’t explode like I did yesterday. We often hear about being positive and having motivation but this life we’ve been given is not an easy one and we aren’t un-feeling things. We need to cry and flail and get out our frustration or we’ll explode and become very resentful of our situation.

Yesterday, I cried, but today is another day. I respect my tears and treat them as a stepping stone; something that is needed for me to continue to thrive in order to be able to deal with this life I’ve been given. So, let yourself cry.

Please stay tuned for more blogs this month as I devote March to Chronic Illness/Autoimmune Disease Awareness.
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The Problem With Comorbities

It all began with one chronic illness- or did it?

At times, I wonder how this all began for me. I was never the poster child for health, but neither was I on the sidelines of life as much as I am now. I think if not all of us with multiple chronic conditions, then surely a great many of us, ask themselves the ever-looming question of: ‘How did this all start? What did I do?’ I think about this often and as I have discussed in my post On Becoming Sherlock, it feels like I am always trying to connect the dots; trying to find that Holy Grail of answers to why I am sick.

Recently, I have been more frustrated with my comorbidities than usual. It’s as though I have reached a tipping point and I am not sure when it happened or if it is more related to the symptoms of each chronic issue, rather than the issue itself. In the beginning, it was pretty easy. I grew up with asthma and allergies, which often led to chronic sinus and bronchitis. But I was a kid and I suppose, while it sucked, I assumed I’d grow out of it. Amusingly enough, I grew out of a lot of things like my allergy to chocolate and cats and dogs, but my asthma stayed and when I get sick it nearly always turns into bronchitis. As an adult, I traded more child-hood illnesses for more grown-up ones and I wish I could swap.

At first, it was manageable and there was the illusion that with each surgery, I might be cured. Bulging disc became laminectomy, which later on evolved to spinal fusion. Avascular necrosis in my left hip was treated with core decompression, which eventually turned into total hip replacement. Sacroiliac Joint Fusion became SIJD Fusion. I’ve had surgeries for carpal and cubital tunnel, surgery for tennis elbow and surgery for torn meniscus. Still not feeling well, I fought to find that magic diagnosis, the reason to why I needed so many surgeries before 40. That is when the gates were thrown open and a flood of answers came forth.

Degenerative Disc Disease, Fibromyalgia, Rheumatoid Arthritis, Psoriatic Arthritis, and Chronic Pain from failed surgeries. Let’s not forget that my Asthma did not go away, I also developed Chronic Migraine and in the mental health department I was diagnosed as Bipolar II when I was 22, but I also developed OCD, Anxiety and PTSD (which is more PTS these days as symptoms are generally controlled.) My point to all this, is when I am unfortunate enough to have to go the hospital, or have to venture out to a new doctor and I get that dreaded question of, “Do you have any health issues you take medication for regularly?” I freak out. I freak out because scene one is that I whip out my handy-dandy cheat-sheet, a piece of note-book paper with everything listed and hand it over, where I get the “look” from the nurse. You know that look. Or scene two, try to remember everything off the top of my head, which is probably not the best idea given my Swiss-cheese-of-a-brain, rattle off a handle full of stuff and sounding like I am trying-out for a High School play (a part I am not going to get) and still get the “look.” As though I am making stuff up, because, you know, everyone wants to have a ridiculous number of things wrong with them at a near 45 yrs. old.

However, after this deluge of diagnoses, I am no where near a cure and I feel the weight of these comorbities heavy, on my shoulders. I’m pretty sure you can relate, so I’m sharing with you my:

Top 6 Problems with Comorbities

• The Roulette Wheel: Constantly feeling like my life is the personification of a roulette wheel and every morning I wake up it’s the big spin of the wheel of symptoms to see which ones are going to act up.
• Symptom Management: The act of simply juggling my symptoms and trying to manage my pain is exhausting. I (we) are the center of our own universe and all of us have responsibilities outside our health. That never stops.
• Treatment (natural or medical): Another problem encountered when you treat one disease and it wreaks havoc on the other(s). You feel like you are constantly chasing your tail and feel as though you are destined never going to be able to get ahead of this.
• Ripple Effect: A flare here means a flare there, and there, and there, and there…ugh. It’s like a domino effect of your illnesses that make your head spin.
• New vs Old: Not knowing if a new symptom is just another symptom of an already established issue or if it is something new entirely, AND THEN, which doctor to call.

I hope this made you laugh, and even if it didn’t, I hope you know you are not alone. We’re all in this crazy, chronic life together and whether near or far, we’re connected because of it. As always, thank you for reading.

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The Big (not so) Beautiful Lie

When you are first diagnosed with chronic illness/pain, you are very quickly acquainted with dread and fear which are inextricably linked, in addition to overwhelming anxiety. Chronic illness and pain are something which are uniquely foreign to that which we are accustom to. These are not the flu or a cold, or a twisted ankle from tripping on a dog toy. This is something long term (hence the chronic), for which there is no easy remedy or medicine to cure it. Once you’ve been able to process the diagnosis and conquer the dread, you become more optimistic, regardless if you are naturally pessimistic. I think there is a natural, human desire to want to look at the most positive outcome when you are sick and especially, if you are in pain.

Research mode, typically follows this period of distress and positivity, and when I say research, I mean research. Whatever the ailment maybe you are delving into books, diving down the rabbit hole of Google and looking for anything you can find that might help you battle whatever it is you are fighting. You search for groups on Face Book where you can meet people who are going through the same thing, in hopes of not only finding some comradery, but maybe some clue in how to battle this thing and win. You become a person, previously with no knowledge on the subject- maybe not even knowing it was a disease at all, to someone who might as well have an honorary PhD. However, after all that fervor for learning, what happens next is very anticlimactic; nothing. You may find some things that alleviate some of the symptoms; you may walk away with a few new friends who become an extension of your support system, but you find little in the way that makes a dent in how you feel from day to day. (This can vary from person-to-person.)

Weeks go by; months go by; and sadly, for many of us, years go by with little change. What began as a moderately optimistic journey toward recovery becomes a portrait of self-criticism. What I mean is, doubt creeps into our psyche. Did I do something to cause this? Should I have changed my diet? Become Vegan? Should I have switched all my commercial cleaning agents to essential oils? Stopped drinking soda? Drank more green tea? The questions posed in this self-interrogation are endless and the questioning can continue quite a while, covering your entire childhood through your adulthood. It is this idea that if you were just able to do something different, either through your diet or what you are exposing yourself to externally, that you could get better, or better yet, cure yourself. This is the big, not so beautiful lie. This is what many of us zone in on, trying to assign blame to something, not being able to accept it might be the luck of the draw and that sometimes we simply don’t have control over what makes us ill.

Part of the fall-out from this is when strangers or even extended family members issue us advice on how to get better. There is an inward clenching and mental eye roll as we try to maintain our manners. It’s not their fault that they don’t understand, right? I wish I could be more forgiving when someone advises me on the fine attributes of turmeric, but the fact is, if I haven’t already tried it, it’s likely I know about it, courtesy of my intense research. This isn’t an effort to bash those that mean well, rather, it’s an effort to help them understand and by changing the way they word something, come across less assuming and more genuinely interested to help. Example: “You should be taking turmeric. It will help you feel a lot better. I read…” Instead, “In case you haven’t heard, I read turmeric is really good for inflammation…” or “Have you heard about turmeric? I learned it might help bring down inflammation…”
Lastly, if you are struggling with chronic illness/pain, remember it’s not your fault. Stop telling yourself these big, not so beautiful, lies and be kinder to yourself. You are already going through a lot, and self-blame will not help you.

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Chronic Suffering

To not have your suffering recognized is an almost unbearable form of violence. – Andrei  Lankov

**Trigger Warning**

 

As a community I feel we try to give the validation and understanding that many within our community aren’t receiving on the outside. I can’t say how many times I have read a post on a chronic illness board, and read how truly excited people are that for the first time they are understood and not alone. But while we may feel less alone when we venture to these community boards or Spoonie chats, eventually, we have to return to our reality, and for many of us that reality is incredibly lonely along with being incredibly painful.

When I talk about loneliness I do not necessarily mean the state of “being alone.” Many of us have family, kids, spouses and friends who are supportive and many of us have jobs and other hobbies and interests that keep us busy. The loneliness I am speaking of transcends beyond that which we associate with absence of people in our lives. This loneliness is insidious and pervasive because even in a room full of people we can still feel incredibly isolated and alone.  It’s a loneliness born from the isolation we feel as we endure the constant assault of pain on our bodies. This pain is not limited to the physical either, but the violence that takes shape through the neglect we feel, as our suffering goes unrecognized by so many, including those who love us and a medical community that is supposed to care for us. To a certain extent our effort to try and be normal, to buck up like good little soldiers and press on, to smile when we’d rather be crying and to sugar-coat how we are feeling to others when asked, has not done us any favors. It has left the perception among the “non-chronic,” that we aren’t quite as bad as we seem and worse, that we are lazy drug-seekers, looking to milk the system through disability. The indifference that we feel from those outside our chronic community is lethal.

Just for a moment, I want you to imagine with me this: You go from being a vibrant human being with friends and family, a great job and fulfilling hobbies, until one day you wake up sick. At first no one can tell you what is wrong even after test after test. Then, they tell you it’s all in your head and that you should get outside and exercise and you will feel better. Another doctor tells you to see a psychiatrist because he’s given up on finding anything and later on, pain management treats you with flagrant suspicion and red flags your chart as a drug seeker. In the mean time, your spouse (though they may love you) doesn’t know how to help you because they don’t understand what’s happened. You aren’t running a ridiculous fever and covered in lesions so why do you always hurt and why do you always feel so tired because you really do nothing all day? Your friends drop you like last season’s faux fur and if family wasn’t family you are pretty sure they would too. Working is reduced at first before being cut to part time before you can’t at all and you have to fight for disability. Anything else you once did for pure enjoyment is drastically reduced. You find yourself attached to the computer because it is a lifeline to normalcy, where you can talk to other people who understand this new reality. Then, when you are forced to leave those who have become surrogate family and friends, to be thrust back into an apathetic world you realize just how much you have lost and the knowledge of that can be too much to bear.

A few days ago I lost a friend I’d made on a chronic illness board. We’d been chatting back and forth and learned we were in the same city, planned on meeting after the holidays and then the holidays passed and I didn’t hear from her. But holidays are taxing and we all understand there are good days and bad days so I really didn’t think much when we celebrated New Year’s and I hadn’t heard from her. So when I received the message from her husband that she had reached the end of this battle with her illness and took her own life, I was devastated. The devastation coming from the intimate understanding of why she chose to end her life. This does not mean I am suicidal, or that anyone with chronic pain who has considered at some point, ending their own life is suicidal. I think that when you are living with pain that no one can control and you realize one day that it could be like this for 20-30 years, it can be an extremely daunting and terrifying thought. Also, let me say, that I am not condoning the act of suicide, merely saying that as someone who struggles with chronic pain and loneliness, that I can empathize with her thought process.

Her death is a tragedy. It is both a personal tragedy and human tragedy.  Her family will have to continue without her, enduring all those life moments with her  but it is  still  also reflective of something much larger. Her death sheds light on  the inadequate efforts taken to both understand and effectively treat chronic illness/pain, that may have prevented this entirely. Perhaps each and every suicide that is driven by interminable pain and loneliness, should be a teachable moment for those within the medical community and also, those making opioid laws, that they might endeavor to do better for those patients suffering. Perhaps, a picture of her face, and one for each of those countless others who have believed that their only option was to end their life should be assembled before lawmakers and hospitals and doctor offices, that they can see the true suffering that stole their life away.

*Written for National Pain Report 1.18.18. I chose to share it again because suicide among those with chronic pain is very real. No one should feel suicide is a better alternative to living because of the pain they’re in. No one should be pushed to suicide because they were force tapered from their medicine. We are not addicts.

When Calling the Doctor Feels Like You’re an Inconvenience

Scenario: It’s been roughly three weeks since you’ve seen your doctor. He/She prescribed new meds and you think you aren’t tolerating them well. The scenario could be anything you like, but how you question yourself remains the same just as your reluctance to call the doc up.

 

In my scenario I use the word think as a descriptor in how you are tolerating the medicine because in the grand scheme of the rainbow of symptoms, we, as chronic illness patients can sometimes feel, it is not always easy to determine the why of an onset of new symptoms. It is also difficult for me, to decide whether or not to call the doc and share with them the symptom, out of fear that it is all in my head or not really worth the docs time, and that it will go away in a couple of days. If you are like me there is a certain amount of agonizing before calling the doctor. You have a mental checklist that you have to mark off, nearly all the boxes, before it is deemed legitimate enough to call the doctor. Alright, maybe it’s more like guidelines, but ultimately, it’s a way that I feel my concern is serious enough to call the doctor.

But what is serious? What is serious to you and me are probably different, and what is serious to a doctor is definitely different. I’ve also seen enough doctors that I feel I can make the statement that, male and female doctors can see things differently. This isn’t a blanket statement, just an observation from the many doctors I’ve seen for myself and on behalf of my children. This confusion, as a result of differing bodies and differing doctors can make navigating what to do when something new crops up, very difficult. So difficult in fact, that I spend quite a deal of time stewing in my own anxiety, working myself up and probably making it worse. I wish all doctors made it easier for chronic illness and chronic pain patients to come to them when they had concerns. For example, my rheumatologist gave me her email. This is a great source of relief to me because I can bypass the staff and nurses, trying to explain what is going on and just  leave a message for her. Then, she can email me back advising me if I should come in for a visit, or something else I can do to ease the problem. This may not be something every doctor can do for every patient, but there should be some way bridge this difficulty. Life is already so difficult trying to manage chronic illness/pain. The majority of us come with comorbities that include a staggering number of symptoms that aren’t always there but fluctuate. It’s also pretty common to experience new symptoms that weren’t there before. For instance, I have developed an allergy to adhesive. Never had an issue before and I’ve had a lot of experience with them. It’s annoying.

I wish there was a way to improve the doctor/patient relationship so that the patient doesn’t feel like they are bothering the doctor and the doctor doesn’t feel like the patient is calling all the time. I do understand the need for a doctor to have some off time where they aren’t on call every day and every hour. I also think it is important that the patient feels they can come to their doctor with issues and not feel like they are troubling them. I don’t mind waiting until the end of business hours when they are not busy caring for other patients to get a call back. I don’t even mind if they just leave me a message. But I’ve had doctors not return my call for days, after which I had to take myself to the clinic, where I ended up needing additional meds. I’m not saying I know how to fix this issue, but I think it would be great to open up a discourse with the input of patients, to see how it could be fixed.

 

What I Hide

(from my friends and family)

About My Anxiety

Though any group gathering can make me worse, what stands out right now is the holidays. That time of year when people have parties, families get together and the stores become a treacherous gauntlet. There are some people who thrive during this insane season, while others, like me, need to ready the mithril armor in preparation.

In my head, I know it shouldn’t be so difficult. Unfortunately, the rest of my body doesn’t seem to be aware of that; they didn’t get the memo, I will have to send a stern letter to management. Oh, wait! That’s me. At any rate, the moment I find out there’s some kind of gathering I have to attend, friends or family, the panic sets in and there’s an incredible amount of mental prep involved. This is partly because I’m ashamed of my anxiety and partly because I feel guilty for it.

1.)  Mental Prep

Here’s how a typical mental prep goes:

“Alright, Liza. Auntie and Uncle are flying in. Mom’s having a bbq and you need to look decent. Enough to pass Mom’s critical eye and enough that I won’t provoke any questions about my mental health. I also have to make sure I fly under the radar of Auntie and Uncle, which I am never certain I do, but they’re always good about not saying anything.” The scenarios will change, but it’s always the same basic idea. I want to appear as normal as everyone else. But I also want people to see that I do have limitations, but that I am still me. I’m a girl. I’m complicated! The mental prep, all humor aside, can be exhausting in itself.

2.)  OCD Worrying

I fret for weeks what I am going to wear. And that is if I know way in advance. If I don’t and it’s something sudden, where I didn’t have time to play, it’s worse. Even when I finally decide on something, I’m not happy. Too tight, too hot, too frumpy, or the always popular, I look fat. Anything to criticize myself and my choice. But no one, aside from my darling Mister, will know how much I worried over everything.

3.)  Gearing up for Conversations

This sounds benign right? I assure you that it is far from it. It’s basically three parts. The first, questions about my health. The second, what I plan on doing with my life. The third, casual, random conversations that should be easy but because I am hyperventilating about one and two, it never is. And, it’s always worse when I don’t know the people I’m around. Alright, so the first question about my health always stumps me. Do I answer honestly? Or will this provoke to much pity? Do I lie and possibly elicit the opposite response which is anything between apathy and skepticism? You might think this is harsh, but t is universally known that someone trying to acquire disability shouldn’t be happy, shouldn’t enjoy anything and definitely shouldn’t laugh. Let’s slide into home with the last, my life’s work- which couldn’t possibly be writing because I don’t get paid for it. Basically, this is just some glorified hobby of mine too keep me busy while I wait for disability. This is truly my least favorite topic of conversation because there is no winning. I could tell them I was being featured in Time or that I was Oprah’s newest favorite thing, and the reaction would still be, “That’s nice dear. When are they going to pay you?” Finally, I don’t do small talk very well. I hate, hate, hate, having to do small talk with someone I do not know. I have no problem sitting in silence and staring at them uncomfortably until they leave.

4.)  Can You Bring Something?

I am lucky that I do not typically host any event at my house. We’re far too small a space for the six people already occupying it so there’s little reason to torture everyone else too. But it usually means I have to bring food and while I don’t mind, I often worry about what to bring. Thinking about it as I write it, I am cognizant of the ridiculousness of this worry and what I put myself through, but it is what I do. I worry about the dish pleasing everyone even though I consider it divine intervention of some kind when I please every palate in my own house. I worry that if it is too simplistic of a dish it won’t be pleasing enough and yet, if I make anything too complex, I know that I will need help or that I will end up exhausted.

5.)  The Anxiety Over Having Anxiety

Finally, and I made this the last thought not because it’s the least of my anxieties, but because I want it to linger in your thoughts.

It’s hard for people who do not understand anxiety to comprehend all the stressors we go through, sometimes just getting out of the house. Yes, just to get out of the house. I’m now sharing a little-known fact about me that not even the Mister knows. On bad days, I can’t leave my house. When I used to work, to compound my misery and guilt over missed days because I was sick, there were days I just couldn’t leave my house because my anxiety was so bad. And, what is worse, is that logically I get it. I’m willing to bet we all do on some level. Stepping out of the house won’t kill me, but my body and the racing heart and the inability to breathe and sickness and nausea I feel, tell a whole different story to my brain. I’ve tried to leave my house and gotten as far as my car, locking the doors as I sit inside and hyperventilate myself into feeling that impending doom. I don’t want to feel like that and I just jack up the anxiety and stress even more when I try to logic my way out of it. I wish there was a way I could be free of it and maybe I will find it one day, but until then, remember that we don’t want this. Remember that before you make fun of someone for being anxious or diminish what they are feeling by trying to rationalize it for them, as though they didn’t already try. Saying things like, “It’s all in your head.” I may know that. I may know it in every cell of my body, but when my heart is pounding and I’m struggling for every breath and the tears are rolling, I just don’t give a fuck. I just want you to hold me.