Living With Abnormalities, In A Normal World

At least today, the social media has started discussing depression. (There are now a few TV ads addressing depression--the symptoms, and the advertised medication.) My goal is to share my disorders, in an effort to help educate you about some of these disorders, and their results. My definitions are my own; for every disorder, depending upon whom you ask, the definition varies. (I offer no forms of treatment, but I strongly suggest that first, you call on the Lord, and then you conference with your family doctor, for referral specialists. None of these disorders have a proven cure, but it is widely accepted that the symptoms can be treated with a lifetime of psychotherapy and medication. And after all else fails, call on God -- again!)

My anxiety is my excessive worry or tension about everyday life, with no apparent reason. My anxiety makes me create a problem, when there is none. Every day, and most of the time, I am in a constant state of worry about small, insignificant things. The biggest threat to my anxiety is change. As long as things stay the same, I'm okay, but change interrupts everything. It's similar to having memorized the layout of a darkened room, and one night, someone makes a location change in the room, and you are no longer confident with yourself. I do not like change. My daughter is coming home for a visit this weekend, and I am so nervous about her being here. WHY? I don't know. This is part of my anxiety. I believe anxiety can be both genetic, and accrued.

My depression is an unbalance of chemicals in my brain, which causes emotional and physical pain in my body. Depression is not a feeling (Oh, I feel so depressed); it's a lifestyle. Depression is a disease, like alcoholism is a disease. Somehow, these unbalanced chemicals in my brain, can change my whole way of thinking and acting. My depression has diminished my participation in activities that I used to enjoy. Not only has it decreased my activity level, but it has produced non-social attitudes, towards the people I used to love being around. Sometimes I have unidentified physical pain in my head, neck, shoulders, arms, back, stomach, and legs. This is part of my depression.

My perfectionism is my unhealthy belief that I should be perfect in all things, and at all times. Sometimes my perfectionism is a good thing: it's a great motivator for doing my best, and it is anti-mediocrity. My perfectionism is bad when it becomes such an obsession, that it prevents me from success and happiness. At its worst, my perfectionism is an ongoing exercise of always comparing shortcomings in myself and others. My perfectionism debuted when I was a teenager.

My stress is excessive worrying about future accomplishments or events. Most of the time, the stuff that I stress about the most, never happens. Stress is a progressive disorder: it starts small and develops into some of my other, above mental disorders. When my stress is good, it can cause me to do wondrous works. When my stress is bad, it can cause major damage to my health, my mood, my productivity, my relationships, and my overall quality of life. My stress is physically painful; right now, I have a very painful right leg. This is week three, but it's getting better. When my stress is gone, my leg will be pain-free. This happens to me frequently; not just my right leg, but other parts of my body. The worst thing about my stress is that it will sneak up on me, and I never see it coming.

My PTSD is my anxiety disorder on speed; it's a feeling of overwhelming emotions. It usually occurs after my exposure to a horrifying event, or the memory of such events, in which great physical harm, or the implied threat of such harm is experienced. These traumatic events may trigger PTSD, such as personal or mental assaults; natural or human-caused disasters, accidents, or military combat. Even though I suffer from PTSD, I will never compare my situation to our American military, who fight for our freedom daily. Our experiences are not the same, but our disorder functions operate the same. My PTSD is recurring, orcontinuous, thoughts ormemories that cause me to sometimes feel emotionally numb and paralyzed. Some of my events happened years ago, yet I can recall them as vividly as if they happened this morning. This is my anxiety, my depression, my perfectionism, my stress, and my PTSD. That's an awful lot of baggage to carry daily.

August, 1965: (encounter with a tarantula)

One day, my female cousin and I were wrestling around in the back yard. We tossed and tumbled for a while, and when I came up for air, I was on top of my cousin, but I could see something in my peripheral vision. When I looked up, there was a huge tarantula staring me in my face. Some or his legs were up, in attack-mode, and his other legs were on the ground. We started screaming, and got away from the spider, too scared to even kill it. I have never forgotten that day; it still haunts me. Whenever I see a spider, it must die, no matter how small or how large. I live in the country, where critters run free, and even to this day, every time I step out onto my front (or back) porch, I am scanning for tarantulas, or any other type of spiders. I hate all spiders, especially tarantulas, dead or alive, even pictures in magazines or shown on TV. This is my anxiety and my PTSD.

September, 1968: (report cards)

My siblings and I were all intellectual in our school days; we always brought home, straight-A report cards. Whenever I received a report-card-average of 97 and above, I would bring it home, and show it to my father, and his response would always be: "Yeah, I see you scored a 97, 98, or 99, but why didn't you make a 100?" This was so humiliating to me: it made me angry, but it also made me try harder. I just wanted to be accepted by my dad. So, after years of this emotional abuse about the perfect score, I got mad (not angry, but mad), and I politely told him that he should be more appreciative of my efforts, especially considering the fact that his education was completed , after the eighth grade. (During his school days, the requirement was to complete eighth grade -- not twelfth grade as today.) Shortly afterwards, he stopped complaining about me not making a 100%. But the damage had already been done: I had become a perfectionist. My anxiety and stress also joined the band.

August, 1980: (grandmother died)

My grandmother, the center of my world, died in August, 1980. I don't exactly know why, but her death, was catastrophic. I started sinking into depression; I started to wish I were dead, too,in February, 1981. This was a signal that I needed to seek professional help. So I started seeing a psychiatrist who diagnosed me with depression, and prescribed anti-depressants. This lasted for a few months, but it wasn't successful: I did not tell him my real problems; I told him what I thought he wanted to hear. Then, I didn't like the medications, so I just discontinued the treatment, in its entirety. Months later I visited my family doctor, and he suggested that I be hospitalized, so that he could "run some tests". I agreed, but first he had to promise me something. He had to admit me to a "normal" hospital, rather than a psychiatric one, because of my job and my employees. I did not want it known that I was in that kind of hospital. He agreed, and I spent several weeks hospitalized and being treated for depression. (I was in the hospital when Natalie Wood drowned, on November 29, 1981.) This time I followed my doctor's instructions: got better; made progress; and he is one of my doctors who is still treating some of my mental disorders. This is my anxiety, my depression, my stress, and my PTSD.

December, 1992 (loss of job)

I worked at this job from March 18, 1973, to December 31, 1992. This is where I grew up! I was placed under a new, immediate supervisor, beginning September 1, 1992. He made my life unbearable: I started having migraine headaches, body aches, stomach cramps, etc. It was time to go. I gave my notice of resignation in November, 1992, and I left on December 31, 1992. This was major! This was on New Year's Eve! What did I have to be happy about, or hopeful for, the upcoming year? I cried for weeks afterwards. This was my anxiety, my depression, my stress, my perfectionism, and my PTSD.

June, 2006 (breast cancer)

At the beginning of the year (2006) I started having female-related, health problems. (I had scheduled corrective-surgery for June 5, 2006). I retired on Thursday, May 25, 2006 at 2:00 pm. I drove directly from my last-day-on-the-job, to the women's health center, for a mammogram (mammo) at 2:30. After my mammo, the technician told me that I needed to speak with the doctor. (And all I can think of is: hurry up; I just retired 30 minutes ago!) So, I went to speak to the doctor. He said a lot of stuff that I was half-paying attention to, and then he said, "There is a strong possibility that you have breast cancer." He would need to do some testing, and he would let me know. Well, I had just retired, and was ready to begin my new life; I didn't even consider the idea that I might have cancer -- how ludicrous was that? No, not me, not now! So, I left the doctor's office and went home to start making preparations for Memorial Day Weekend.

On June 5, I had already checked into the hospital; put on my gown (that opens in the back); had my vitals taken by the technician; and was ready to go into surgery. I was somewhat agitated because my doctor was late. So, as I sat there on that hospital gurney, thinking about how good I was going to feel once this surgery is over, suddenly my doctor rushed in the room. She apologized for being late; then she said that we would need to cancel the surgery, because I had breast cancer. My husband, sister, and one of my church members were in the room with me when this announcement was made. My doctor was saying some other stuff, but I wasn't paying attention, because I didn't care. What could she possibly say to erase what she had just said? That room was so quiet, that you could hear grass growing. I never said a word. My sister (from out -of-town) asked if I wanted her to come home with me, and stay a few days. I told her no, go home; I told the church member the same. So, my husband drove me home; still, I hadn't said a word. I was numb and paralyzed; what was there to say? All of my personas came out: anxiety, depression, perfectionism, stress, and PTSD.

That was five years ago; today I am fine, physically. I have grown a lot emotionally. The cancer is in remission. At first I was so mad at God, but I already knew who was going to win that fight. I shared my story with you, not to evoke sympathy or empathy, but in an attempt to be therapeutic for me, while living daily with my personas. I pray it works.