Afraid

I sat on the edge of my seat, not looking up. I felt I couldn't look into her eyes or I would be lost forever. The air conditioner was whirring, the damn thing needed fixed before it would break and we would be stuck in an insufferable heat wave. I stare at my shoes and listen to her tell me that there is something wrong with me, that I'm broken, that she doesn't know if she can help me anymore. She is worried I will hurt myself, she doesn't understand. I want to make her understand but I'm afraid.

She is calling my name but I'm not responding quickly enough and I can hear the impatience in her voice. I thought therapists were supposed to be patient and kind? She wants to know if I've been hurting myself again. I feel the vice of anxiety start to squeeze my chest, if I say yes will she lock me away? Slowly I pull my sleeve up and show her my burns. She goes quiet as she looks at the marks on my arm, then slowly she lowers herself down to my eye level.

"You need help, I can't help you, I don't know why your anxiety is out of control or why you are becoming agoraphobic. Maybe it's just a matter of needing a med change, if you will allow me to call the hospital and see about getting you in....you can't even leave your apartment without having an attack, you need to do something but it has to be your choice."

I stare at the floor as tears stream down my face. I don't want the decision to be left up to me, if it were up to me I would just fade away, never have to deal with another attack, never put my husband through it again. I don't understand, I just want to understand. One day I'm and average girl working and going to school, driving. Then all of a sudden I'm panicking over leaving the house, getting physically ill every time I try to drive. I can't make it stop. 

If I go to the hospital, maybe they can help. I think about going through medicine changes in a controlled environment, of doing a group therapy and meeting other people like me. I think of my family and how my sister so lovingly told me to get over it. That I didn't need medicine and therapy was crap. I thought about what my family would do and say if I went in. How they would compare me to my mother, just like her they'd say, of course she is,lets hope she doesn't have kids.

The tears come harder now as I realize there will be no support for me anywhere. I look up and stare at my therapist before replying with a strangled, "No." I can see it makes her angry but there's nothing she can do. I leave her office that day and return home. I don't willingly leave the apartment for another year and a half. My license expires and I have to start over by taking the learners. 

Seven years and two kids later, I still can't drive. I got my license back but I still struggle with anxiety attacks driving around my neighborhood. I stopped hurting myself years ago, now I try and focus on being the mom I want to be for my boys. It's hard sometimes, I hate being in public places and I've noticed my anxiety getting worse as the holidays approach. One thing I am starting to learn is that fighting the anxiety makes it worse. I have to acknowledge that it is there, but not let it take control of me. This was something I would have learned so much earlier if I had only taken the help that was given to me.

Instead I was embarrassed of my mental health issues and the stigma that I would face in my own family. So I'm telling this story an hoping that if you suffer from a problem, get help. Don't be afraid and don't care about what others say. I'm slowly learning to let go of the toxic people in my life, working on becoming the me I want to be. I know it's hard out there and you feel alone. Reach out for help, take the help that's offered. Don't be like me and waste so much time. Don't be afraid.