One For Truth

An Anxiety Observed

No man in his right mind should relish such an admission, but I suffer from bouts of anxiety and depression and have my entire life. I'm not proud of it, and I don't want to use it to excuse a single action on my part. I don't identify with it, and I don't want sympathy. I just want it to go away, or at least take away its power over my life.

I first admitted that I had a serious problem with it during a period of extended underemployment in 2001-2002. What I needed to do at the time was make more money, and I found paradoxically that this was the last thing that I could muster up the energy to do. I knew at every level that the simple, commonsense thing to do was to put out more resumes, go on more interviews, and hit the phones to stir something up, but the constant refrain in my mind was "Hopeless, hopeless... Pointless, pointless..." Thank God for Mrs. Zeke, or I probably would have just curled up in a ball and waited for disaster to strike. She suggested that I go seek treatment for it. A few days later, after no more than 15 minutes with a psychiatrist, I had a prescription for Zoloft in hand and a referral to a support group.

So then I'm medicated and sitting in a circle with a bunch of other depressed, angry, and fearful people. One guy said he was still full of rage about September 11th, almost a year later. One woman just hated herself. Another found it exhausting just screwing up the courage to leave the house. I felt relieved to a point that my condition wasn't so desperate, and I appreciated for the first time how difficult it must be for others to live with depressed people. I didn't like being around them, and I was one of them.

That was now about three years ago. I am no longer on the Zoloft; the side effects were unpleasant and constant. It sapped my libido and dulled my enthusiasm even as it dulled my anxiety. Dull doesn't work for me, so I tossed the pills and decided to deal with the bouts in another fashion. A prescription for Ativan followed, and I just took one or two when I felt particularly anxious. The side effect of Ativan was reliable drowsiness, so I ended up using my prescription primarily to help me sleep, and I continued to endure the anxious bouts during the day without medication. My Ativan ran out a few months ago, and I haven't refilled it.

Prior to this week's bout, my last bout was a couple of months ago. Also pretty severe, it ran for about 10 days. I'm on day 6 now.

For those of you who do not have this particular cross to bear, all I can tell you--and I'm not prone to exaggeration--is that it is a special kind of hell. I pride myself on being a pretty commonsense kind of guy, and anxiety and depression are insanity by comparison. Imagine getting consumed by fear of nasty circumstances, and having the most difficult decision being the one that is most likely to remove the fear. I mentioned already my problem with underemployment (which is a nice way of saying I don't make enough money), and there are a thousand things I can do to change that. But its all hopeless, hopeless and pointless, pointless. I don't just think that, I believe it right down to my core. Going through the motions to change it feels like trying to become a prima ballerina. What's the frigging point? The grip this illness has on my mind really is that powerful. I wouldn't wish it on my worst enemy.

Being a Christian adds another dimension to both the illness and the treatment. Is the illness a demonic attack? Is it a manefestation of sin nature, or just my cross to bear? Is prayer all I need to overcome it? If I pray in faith in Jesus' name, can I trust him to remove it? Is this illness present in my life to teach me a lesson? To make me more compassionate? Is a victory in the wings that will serve as a testament to God's work in my life?

I have no answers to any of these questions as I sit here in a funk. All there is is the funk. Just the haze and buzzing in my head. Just me and the chattering monkeys that are the array of my fears.

Still, it helps to talk it out, and if another person reads this post who suffers from this ailment or has a loved one that does, then yeah... maybe it will be helpful to another person and become something more than just cathartic. I sure hope so.

So I'll end this in a common prayer of mine: God, remove this burden from me and heal my mind. But if it's not your will, provide a way for this to become a good thing in my life and the lives of other people. Take what feels like waste and make it treasure for the good of you and the people that you love.

(By the way, the image above comes from the website of artist Zsuszanna Szegedi, and I pimped it without her advance permission. I'm sending her a note now to ask, and if she says no I'll take it back out.)

posted by Zeke @ 7:25 AM