The One Where I Started Anxiety Meds
Or how a trip to Disneyland woke me up to why I needed them
I’m fine.
That seemed to be my mantra. I’m fine. I’m fine. I’m fine.
And I was. Until I wasn’t.
***
For the past six months, I’ve been taking medication for anxiety. I resisted medication for a long time because, in my brain, I’d convinced myself that I was actually fine. I could function (not well) and I was doing things (kind of) but it wasn’t until our trip to Disneyland last fall that I realized how much anxiety was ruining my life. And the fact that I was indeed not fine.
Growing up, we went to Disneyland often because my parents loved it, which made me fall in love with it. I loved how magical it felt there. I got to see my parents turn into big kids and I have so many memories of standing in line with family, our inside jokes, and growing up riding Thunder Mountain again and again and again.
So when we talked about going for the first time as a family of three (along with my parents, and my sister and her husband) I was thrilled. It had been nearly six years since I’d gone to Disneyland, but I was ready. Ready to show my daughter all the things I loved about it, and experience it through her four-year-old eyes.
The day to leave finally arrived, and I couldn’t squash the pressure building in my chest. It had been months since my last full-blown panic attack, so I tried to push down the feelings. I was headed to my favorite place with all of my favorite people. It was all going to be fine.
And it was until it wasn’t.
We landed safely in LA and met up with the rest of my family to drive to the hotel. There was still a weight in my chest, but pushing it down felt easier. I was finally back in California, a place that is so near and dear to my heart. Surely, being there would make it easier to breathe.
We spent the rest of the day wandering downtown Disney. We were there! It was exciting and wonderful.
Our first day in the park was magical. We road Peter Pan first and I finally felt okay. I was there, in Disneyland! V was loving it and so was everyone else. For the most part, I was able to not think about or feel my anxiety at all. I relaxed a little and let myself enjoy the day.
The next day, I wasn’t as lucky. I ended up back at the hotel, sick to my stomach. I couldn’t keep anything down. Sure, I could have been sick from simply traveling and being out of my normal routine, but deep down I knew something else was going on.
After I passed out in the middle of the night after using the bathroom (because I had absolutely nothing in my body) I knew that when we got home, something needed to change.
Anxiety was officially ruining my life.
***
When we got home, I deleted social media from my phone. A month later, I finally called the doctor. She was kind and helpful and I started taking anxiety medication the next day.
I thought I was fine before meds, but the contrast between how my life is now to how it was before that Disney trip blows my mind and also makes me a little sad.
I used to spend anywhere from 4-12 hours during the day in my bed, yet I had myself convinced that I was fine.
Now, it still surprises me when I’m able to do more than one errand in a day and still feel like I can do more.
I know meds aren’t for everyone, but choosing to finally take them was the best choice I’ve made in the past year.
Both my husband and my mom asked me why I waited so long. And the truth? I thought I was fine when the people around me could clearly see that wasn’t true. It took me getting sick (and passing out and hurting my tailbone) for me to actually see that I needed more than just therapy.
***
I’m all for eating better foods and getting enough sleep and exercising to help your mental state. But there was no way I could do any of those things because anxiety had truly taken over my brain. I needed meds, I still need them, and that’s okay. Sometimes we need more than to just square our shoulders and change our lifestyle (though sometimes I wish it were that simple.)
I wish it hadn’t taken a giant wake-up call for me to see that I needed to try meds. But I am forever grateful that I started taking them. I finally feel like myself again, for the first time since the end of 2019, and that just shows how long I’ve been living in a way I didn’t have to be.
May is mental health awareness month, and I guess I hope that in sharing my story someone else can get the help they need without waiting as long as I did. There is absolutely no shame in the medication game. If your brain is sick, then you should take care of it. I’m so glad I did. That I am.
And maybe, if someone (or multiple someones, including your sister and bestie who are both on meds) tells you that you should try them too, maybe you should listen.
Take care of yourself, friends. The world needs you here.
Thank you for sharing your story and I am so glad you’re feeling so much better than “fine” now! It’s hard to admit we can’t just self-care ourselves into being okay when there’s a real mental illness or condition going on. Proud of you for seeking help!
Love this and love you. So proud of you for doing what your body needed. You are amazing! Just keep swimming.