To the readership (all 5 of you): The following is a series of posts I am creating for an Intro to Psych class that is currently studying abnormal psych (HELLO to Dr. Brown's class! :)) This will be mainly a history/day-to-day series of posts, focusing on my history of illness, diagnosis, and experiences with the psych system. ENJOY! *just add sarcasm and stir* ;)
When I was 15 I was stung by a bee in Spanish class. This was the beginning of a (literally) death-defying journey into mental illness. How could a fluffy, voiced-by-Jerry-Seinfeld kind of character start this all off? Well, I was also on an NSAID for pain/swelling (something silly, an infection or something), and felt like my entire life could fall apart at any moment. I was a sophomore in high school, and was fighting a whole lot of crap in my brain. I was a pretty typical teenager. I had crushes on boys, did way too much homework, and thought that I was the most disgusting thing that ever traversed the face of the earth. I was fat, I was ugly, and I was a geek. I loved Star Wars, Star Trek, and The Three Stooges; every boy I liked either didn't look at girls when they spoke to them, or thought of me as the troll that came up from the DHS woodshop to go to school each day. Bullying (or "survival of the fittest") was the name of the game in my high school. I received my portion, just like most...... Well, a bee stung me, I was on a big honkin' NSAID, and all of a sudden, breathing was a problem; it sounded like my throat was closing. It started during that Spanish class and didn't stop for HOURS. I even imagined that I was dying at one point. A quick trip to the ER started a doctor’s visiting circus. I saw ENTs for possible blockages to my nasal passages and throat, I had laryngoscopies, and finally…. many allergists and neurologists later…. it was decided that I suffered from panic attacks. WHAT?!?! ME?!?!? But I’m so together! I get perfect grades, I’m taking piano and voice lessons, I’m a tour guide at multiple museums, I write for international institutions…. THIS IS NOT HAPPENING TO ME.
When I was 15 I was stung by a bee in Spanish class. This was the beginning of a (literally) death-defying journey into mental illness. How could a fluffy, voiced-by-Jerry-Seinfeld kind of character start this all off? Well, I was also on an NSAID for pain/swelling (something silly, an infection or something), and felt like my entire life could fall apart at any moment. I was a sophomore in high school, and was fighting a whole lot of crap in my brain. I was a pretty typical teenager. I had crushes on boys, did way too much homework, and thought that I was the most disgusting thing that ever traversed the face of the earth. I was fat, I was ugly, and I was a geek. I loved Star Wars, Star Trek, and The Three Stooges; every boy I liked either didn't look at girls when they spoke to them, or thought of me as the troll that came up from the DHS woodshop to go to school each day. Bullying (or "survival of the fittest") was the name of the game in my high school. I received my portion, just like most...... Well, a bee stung me, I was on a big honkin' NSAID, and all of a sudden, breathing was a problem; it sounded like my throat was closing. It started during that Spanish class and didn't stop for HOURS. I even imagined that I was dying at one point. A quick trip to the ER started a doctor’s visiting circus. I saw ENTs for possible blockages to my nasal passages and throat, I had laryngoscopies, and finally…. many allergists and neurologists later…. it was decided that I suffered from panic attacks. WHAT?!?! ME?!?!? But I’m so together! I get perfect grades, I’m taking piano and voice lessons, I’m a tour guide at multiple museums, I write for international institutions…. THIS IS NOT HAPPENING TO ME.
That’s what the “responsible” part of me said. And you know what the rest of my 15 year old body did? Freaked out even more. I was eating all the time. I would take food from the cabinets in my house and hide it in my room so I could eat without my parents getting upset. I couldn’t stop thinking about dying. I would hit myself in my room. I would look for ways to cause the physical pain that matched the emotional pain of my mind. (This particular trend would continue for years to come, and eventually turn into full-blown cutting; for now, it was a once in a while thing, and happened seldom during high school).
During those high school years, I went to a psychiatrist on a bi-weekly or weekly basis, depending on how I was feeling. He was kind and understanding, and knew that I was doing WAY too much. That panic-attack/throat closing thing was now diagnosed a "psychosomatic symptom of stress and anxiety". I took Xanax as an anxiety PRN, and some low doses of Zoloft in order to keep the depression at bay. At the time of my first panic attacks, I was on two different sports teams, played piano, played trombone in 3 groups, sang in another 3 groups, was in all Honors classes, and worked at multiple museums as a tour guide and children's program volunteer. I cut back on my activities, did a few less honors courses, and started to take things at a bit of a slower pace. I was ok for awhile. I still felt a lot of depression closing in, but there were a ton of bright spots, and I didn't want to give in yet.
Then the end of senior year hit. I was, of course, taking on way too much again, and hey Laura how about if you apply to 10 different colleges and do interviews/auditions at all of them? By then, I had decided I was going to major in vocal performance, and most of the schools I applied to needed to hear me sing, as well as interview me. My grades were fabulous, and two of my classes were AP classes, so if I scored well in the tests, there were 2 less college courses I had to take. I was working really hard now to save myself later, right? RIGHT?
Wrong. My Zoloft was jacked up again, and instead of taking Xanax (which I had all but stopped taking), I was put on Klonopin. A word to the wise: Klonopin makes Laura act like a mean drunk. I got into a fistfight in the middle of my high school cafeteria (over my prom seating, because THAT's really important in the grand scheme of things), and was physically removed to the nurse's office by a few teachers. (I really hope I didn't punch any of them by accident! No one had any visible bruises.) After I had come off of the Klonopin stupor (almost a full 24 hours later!), the psychiatrist put me back on Xanax, and encouraged me to take it easy. Yeah.... ok, dude. Have you seen my schedule? Which super-important thing should I NOT do first?!? There was no way I was giving up ANYTHING. I loved doing it all.
So I graduated from high school in the top ranks of my class, with great grades, a ton of accomplishment. I was off to BU with a diagnosis of Generalized Anxiety and Clinical Depression, a bottle of Zoloft, and dreams of singing at the Metropolitan Opera.......
.....Part II to come soon! :)
During those high school years, I went to a psychiatrist on a bi-weekly or weekly basis, depending on how I was feeling. He was kind and understanding, and knew that I was doing WAY too much. That panic-attack/throat closing thing was now diagnosed a "psychosomatic symptom of stress and anxiety". I took Xanax as an anxiety PRN, and some low doses of Zoloft in order to keep the depression at bay. At the time of my first panic attacks, I was on two different sports teams, played piano, played trombone in 3 groups, sang in another 3 groups, was in all Honors classes, and worked at multiple museums as a tour guide and children's program volunteer. I cut back on my activities, did a few less honors courses, and started to take things at a bit of a slower pace. I was ok for awhile. I still felt a lot of depression closing in, but there were a ton of bright spots, and I didn't want to give in yet.
Then the end of senior year hit. I was, of course, taking on way too much again, and hey Laura how about if you apply to 10 different colleges and do interviews/auditions at all of them? By then, I had decided I was going to major in vocal performance, and most of the schools I applied to needed to hear me sing, as well as interview me. My grades were fabulous, and two of my classes were AP classes, so if I scored well in the tests, there were 2 less college courses I had to take. I was working really hard now to save myself later, right? RIGHT?
Wrong. My Zoloft was jacked up again, and instead of taking Xanax (which I had all but stopped taking), I was put on Klonopin. A word to the wise: Klonopin makes Laura act like a mean drunk. I got into a fistfight in the middle of my high school cafeteria (over my prom seating, because THAT's really important in the grand scheme of things), and was physically removed to the nurse's office by a few teachers. (I really hope I didn't punch any of them by accident! No one had any visible bruises.) After I had come off of the Klonopin stupor (almost a full 24 hours later!), the psychiatrist put me back on Xanax, and encouraged me to take it easy. Yeah.... ok, dude. Have you seen my schedule? Which super-important thing should I NOT do first?!? There was no way I was giving up ANYTHING. I loved doing it all.
So I graduated from high school in the top ranks of my class, with great grades, a ton of accomplishment. I was off to BU with a diagnosis of Generalized Anxiety and Clinical Depression, a bottle of Zoloft, and dreams of singing at the Metropolitan Opera.......
.....Part II to come soon! :)
This is really good
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