I was diagnosed, now what?

I was prescribed Citalopram, 20mg to start, and then put on a waiting list for a counsellor. When I was given my prescription, I was advised that it can take up to 2 months for the effects of the medication to start working, but I should start to notice improvements after 30 days. 30 days? I asked if they had anything that would work now, and I was advised of betablockers, but they weren’t keen. I was assured that Citalopram was the right one for me, as it was the most common to be prescribed for Depression/Anxiety, with the best results. Well what can you say to that? You want the best results, right? I took the prescription and started my medication that day.

My first couple of days were OK, I even felt like they were working, of which I know was totally all in my head. Complete placebo effect, as they had not been in my system nearly long enough. Did that matter though? Well, no. Not if it made me feel better. I was looking at things more positively, this medication was the answer to all my problems and it was going to bring the old me back. Right? Well, no. My optimism lasted but a few days, my feeling of fear hadn’t gone, despite me knowing I wouldn’t feel better for nearly two months. I wanted results, and I wanted them yesterday. Why wasn’t I feeling better yet? I started to feel quite poorly, if I remember rightly I had a cold or something, but naturally, I’d convinced myself that my medication was doing this to me. I made the big mistake of reading the side effects of Citalopram. Yeah, don’t do that. In fact, if you’re reading this and have anxiety, I urge you to take all the little leaflets inside all of the boxes of medication you have and throw them out. These side effects are worst case scenario and are put on these leaflets, for the 1 in a however many chances it would ever happen, to cover their backs.

Reading that leaflet sent my anxiety into overdrive; Stiff muscles? Umm well yeah. Check. Sweating? Check. Irregular heartbeats? Check. Agitation? Definitely check. Seizure?? What? Umm, well probably now yes! I started to hyperventilate. I was beside myself. What had this doctor given me? Was he trying to kill me? Naturally I went into full blown panic mode, and had to be peeled off the ceiling. My partner phoned the doctors surgery, and I was given an emergency appointment. Well of course this was an emergency. I’m clearly taking a reaction to this medication you gave me. What use is medication if it makes you worse? I was now crying with fear and frustration at the whole situation. Why can’t someone just help me? Why couldn’t someone have the answer to make it go away?

When at the doctors, I had my blood pressure and breathing checked. Was that it? I mean seriously, this medication could have killed me. I then had it explained to me that everything was fine, they had no concerns that the medication was causing any of these symptoms and that it was my Anxiety. To say I was unamused, would be a gross understatement. Here we are again, “Umm, it’s all in your head, now bore off please”. I get this is not what was said, but in my mind, it may as well have been. I was then asked if I’d tried 7/11 breathing. Well no, never heard of it. They explained that when I feel overwhelmed like that, I was to breathe in for the count of 7, then out for the count of 11. Try it, it’s not as easy as you think. Well not for an ex-smoker. They then told me to never read these leaflets within medication voluntarily. This, apparently, is one of the worst things an Anxiety sufferer can do. This, and google symptoms. If I got a £1 for every time I googled a symptom and ended up in a blind panic, then at the GP or A&E, I’d never need to work again. I bet you didn’t know you’re reading the blog of a woman who has successfully overcome many heart attacks, strokes, all different types of cancer, brain haemorrhage, stomach ulcer etc. Yup. I’m quite a woman.


Going home and realising, yet again, this was all in my head, and that I had wasted even more of my doctor’s time was upsetting. I just needed this to be over. I was a mess. I just had to wait the two months I was advised, and assume that all symptoms felt in the next few weeks were all in my head. Sounds simple and matter of fact, but it wasn’t. It was far from in fact. Those few weeks waiting for my medication to work, were tough. I felt detached from reality pretty much all of the time, I wasn’t sleeping/eating right, I was an emotional wreck. All whilst having to look after 3 kids under the age of 5, with a man who was about as much use a chocolate tea pot. I had absolutely no support network what so ever, and lived 20miles away from my nearest family member. So, to say I felt lonely would be an understatement. These few weeks of waiting, and the months to come, were by far the darkest times of my life.

I relied on No More Panic a lot for their support. Even going back over some of my old posts I see how needy I was, and to me now it’s somewhat embarrassing, but at the time they were all I had. I couldn’t leave the house, I had no friends, not even one, no support, and I was going it alone. I spent most days/nights in their chat room, speaking to people. Some of them I still have in my social network today and who I’m very happy to see are doing so well. The chat room would often do quizzes in an evening, or some sort of game. Sounds cheesy but it was a bit of light hearted fun, that helped to distract us from the reality of what we were all facing when we logged off. Speaking with my online friends made me realise I was not alone with regards to my diagnosis, medication, symptoms etc. I could discuss with them how I was feeling, and at least one person in the room would get it. That was all I needed, was to know I wasn’t alone, and whatever I was going through was ‘normal’ to at least one other person.

What did I do when I wasn’t online? I looked after my kids, cooked and cleaned. That was my existence, being Mum. My partner at the time, wasn’t of any real help, both emotionally or with the family/home. Our relationship was toxic, and I believe this is a huge contributor as to why I ended up this way.  I became so low that I would often think of just ending it all. I couldn’t do this anymore. I was so alone. I was permanently exhausted and I was struggling to be the Mum my kids needed and deserved. I would often think about my life, my anxiety, my toxic relationship, was I good mum? Would the world be better off without me and my drama? Does anyone love me? I remember that being a big question. Who actually loves me? Who can love me?  I’m a mess. No-one wants to be around me. Hell, I don’t even want to be around me, but I’m stuck. I honestly loathed myself. When you’re feeling low and isolated, it’s so easy to just assume that no-one loves you. I think it’s because we’re finding it hard loving ourselves, so cannot possibly fathom that someone else out there that cares. Well I did have someone, in fact I had 3 little someone’s. I needed to woman up for them, they needed a Mum that could care for them, and they loved me very much. If you have read my post on PMA, you will know that I need to find the one good thing in every situation, well my kids have always been mine. As hard as it was to do, I got up every day and I got myself back into a routine. Albeit, leaving the house was now an issue, and my routine may have been a bit sketchy at times, but the point is I got up and I tried. I wasn’t perfect and I wasn’t better, but I was doing the best I could to manage my Depression/Anxiety, but still try and be the best possible Mum I could be.

In my second month of being on Citalopram, I did notice a difference. I was calmer. The Anxiety didn’t magically go away, I wasn’t suddenly happy and all my troubles had gone, but I was calmer. I cried less and I coped more. Medication is not a magic wand, but it does help. As you can imagine, I was still upset by this. I was expecting this to be my magic cure, and it wasn’t. This was literally the beginning to me learning to manage my issues, the first stepping stone if you will. When I went back to my Doctor for a check-up I was put up to 40mg of Citalopram, and by the time I went to see a counsellor I was up to 60mg. This was a very high dose that helped to keep the severe symptoms at bay, but in turn made me incredibly tired/groggy and my panic attacks were not kept at bay for long. This would later be attributed to the fact that I suffer from low blood pressure, meaning if my blood pressure gets too low, my body gives me a surge of adrenaline, thus making me feel I’m about to panic, and inevitably I do. Whilst the medication helped, it’s not the sole reason I managed my Anxiety. The rest of it was down to me, the medication only dulled the symptoms, to allow me more time to focus. I’m not sure exactly when I got my appointment for my counsellor, all I know is; I wasn’t there that long, maybe only 6 months. I would go to see her every 2 weeks for an hour, and we’d just sit and have a chat about things that had been going on with me; Did I have any panic attacks recently? Any major stresses? How were things with my partner? How was I coping with the kids? Etc. Counselling helped me to see I was completely miserable with all aspects of my life, not just one or two things. I was in a very bad relationship, I was grossly overweight, I had no friends, no support network as my family were 20miles away, I lived in a city I didn’t particularly like and I didn’t have a job.  So, first things first, I sat with her and discussed all the things about myself and my life, that I could change for the better. This is when I realised that the only person who could help me, was me. Fact. I had spent these few months waiting for the right person or the right medication to wave a magic wand and make everything ok, and now I knew this was never going to happen. It was all down to me.

I took stock of my life, what was important, what I needed to change, and I just went for it. I knew things had to change, I was miserable. I started by ending my toxic relationship. By far, the best thing I have ever done. You do not need toxic people in your life, it’s far too short to have them making you unhappy. I then had to address the fact I hated not working and that I had a poor education. I went back to work for a bit, but then enrolled into college, of which was another great decision. I love that I chose to go back and get my education, and I love that I have made some lifelong friends in doing so. In fact, it was going back to college that helped me immensely with my Anxiety. That is not to say it wasn’t difficult, it was especially difficult. It involved me going into a building with lots of strangers, putting me into crowds, queue like systems on the stairs and in the halls, sitting in a class with strangers etc. I had a dry mouth and sweaty palms most days, and I relapsed back onto medication at one point. Despite that, I still don’t regret it. Exposing myself to these situations, and forcing myself to get up and do, has helped me to better understand how to cope and my personal boundaries. I was 25 when I went back to college, so imagine my shock when on my first day I was put into a class full of pubescent boys, only for the tutor to realise my age and then shift me into the ‘mature students’ class. Both nervous and offended, I slinked to the back of my new class where I just sat staring at the board, never daring to look at someone else. What if they looked back? Caught my eye and then I’d have to speak, or feel the need to smile. Umm no thanks. I stayed very quiet for the first few days, but soon warmed up in class discussions. It was then I got talking to a few girls in my class, and realised I knew one of them from years before. We hit it off, and she is one of my best friends to this day. The next three years in college, were some of the best years of my 20’s. I would elaborate more here, but I feel that time of my life is a blog of its own.

The moral to my story is; Take all the help from your doctor that you can, they do know what they’re talking about, but be prepared for the positive changes to come from you. You need to find out what it is that makes you unhappy and what makes you happy. Make a list if you must. Assess the things in life you can change, and those you can’t. The ones you can change – do it. It won’t be easy, and more than likely the decisions you will be faced with will be tough, but they’ll be a step in the right direction to you changing something that makes you unhappy, into something that makes you happy.

My story of when Anxiety took hold

Where to begin? I guess from the very start…

Around 10 years ago, I was sitting minding my own watching my usual evening T.V programs when all of a sudden I couldn’t breath. My chest was tight, my breathing and heart rate quickened, what was happening to me? I must be dying! It must be a heart attack. I was taken to the hospital where it was decided I was OK. Umm excuse me, no, I was not ok, I just suffered a major heart attack. Didn’t I? That’s definitely what it felt like, or what I imagine one would feel like. I had a doctor sit me down and explain that all of my vitals were fine, bloods and urine was fine. However, the whole time he was talking I was just thinking “Do them again. This is wrong. You’re wrong. The medical system is wrong. I’m dying”.

I left the hospital sobbing. I felt unsupported, cheated, lied to, hurt, patronised, embarrassed and scared. These feelings didn’t leave me any time soon, and the very next day I had another ‘heart attack’. I called NHS24, to be told to calm down. I’m sure it wasn’t as simple or as straight to the point as that, but it’s certainly what it felt like. Over the next few days I had more of these ‘heart attacks’, I was besides myself. What was wrong with me? Am I dying and they’re just not telling me?

An appointment was made with my G.P, although I had no faith that they would be able to help me. What use would a G.P be if an ER doctor couldn’t diagnose the fact I’m clearly very very ill. When I got to the surgery I was given a doctor I’d never had before, so this naturally had me believing the appointment was totally pointless. I still remember the day well, although not the doctors name unfortunately, I just remember he was a middle aged man, slender, softly spoken and probably the first/best start to my getting help. He walked me in and sat me down, he sympathetically listened to my somewhat incoherent ramblings of our failed medical system and why I needed someone to take me seriously. He calmly said that he would do everything he could to help me, there and then, and that he recognised I needed to be checked. He sent me to the nurse for blood and urine samples to be taken, when I returned he took my blood pressure and listened to my heart and lungs. Then we just spoke for a bit.

During our conversation I had revealed that I was a Mum to 3 children under the age of 5, and I was only 22 years old. He also asked about how I coped with this, what else did I have going on, and had anything big happened in my life recently? Well it had; around 3 months prior I had hemorrhaged in my womb, which had lead to me ending up in hospital. I had hemorrhaged that badly, I required 3 blood transfusions before I was able to receive anesthetic for the operation, I then hemorrhaged during the surgery and required a further 2 transfusions when I was back on the ward. I nearly died. The last thing I had said to my children before this happened to me was “Goodnight, love you, see you in the morning”, but they nearly didn’t see me in the morning. The experience was scary and I guess traumatic, but as soon as I was well enough to go home to my kids, I hot footed out of the hospital. I hate hospitals, always have, absolutely no intentions of staying longer than required. I didn’t dwell on the situation. In fact, I dare to say it wasn’t even a thought. I was just happy to be better and home.

I believe the G.P asked this, due to having looked at my medical history and realising that this was probably a pretty significant thing to have happen. He went on to explain that he feels that I may have been suffering from ‘Anxiety’, and continues to explain that this is a very common thing, especially when people can feel overwhelmed and have significant triggers happen in their lives. This was not the answer that I wanted to hear. I was essentially being told that this is all in my head, I’m making it up, it’s not real. When it is real. It’s physical, It hurts. I cried. No, I sobbed. I was devastated at his proposed diagnosis and again, refused to believe it.

When leaving the surgery that day, I felt worse. Even more patronised and humiliated. I refused his diagnosis and I refused his suggestion of medication and a referral to talk to someone. The days went by and these attacks got worse. I stopped eating, my stomach was in knots, I sat in a permanent state of fear. I longed for sleep, as I was sooo tired and drained, but I couldn’t switch off. My thoughts were racing a 100mph, I was thinking about thinking, then overthinking the thinking about thinking. It was horrible situation to be in. It felt like I was losing my mind. The level of anxiety I was now feeling, left me in a permanent heightened state, that rendered me unable to function daily, and definitely not able to leave the house. Oh no, I wasn’t going outside for everyone to see the mess I had become. They’d know. They’d see that I was now crazy!

It was at this point, my Mum came to stay for a few days. Naturally I got the whole ‘pull yourself together’ talk, of which was of no help what so ever, it just made me feel even more out of control, as if it were that easy would I not have done it? Who actually wants to be in a situation where they cannot eat, sleep or function? I know the words came from a place of good intention, but that didn’t mean they were helpful. My Mum then decided I wasn’t staying in the house anymore, I was to get up, get dressed and get to the shop. First stop? Asda. Yup, busy supermarket. As I walked in the door I felt my heart pounding out of my chest, the lights were so bright I could barely see. People were looking at me, they must see I’m not right. They know. They know I’m crazy. My thoughts are racing, and I’m trying to keep pace with my Mum, but now I can’t breathe. I’m on the ground, gasping for air. I now have a crowd around me and my Mum telling me to get up. I can’t. I can’t breathe, I can’t see. I hear someone shout “Someone get a first aider, she’s having an asthma attack”.  My Mum is trying to tell them I’m ok, I don’t have asthma. She manages to get me off the floor and get me out to the car. I sat in that passenger seat and shouted at her. This was all her fault. Why did she make me do this. Then I just burst into tears. The realisation of what had happened. I had just shown the world I was a crazy!

Another appointment was made with my G.P for the next morning, and it was the same doctor. This time my Mum came in with me and she proceeds to tell the doctor I’m not coping and he needs to help me. I let out a sob “Just tell me, am I crazy?”, to which he replied “No. Do you know why I know? Crazy people don’t know they’re crazy”. After another long chat, with my Mum and I, he strongly urged me to accept his suggestion of medication and a referral for someone to talk to. I’m pleased to say I did, and that it was the first step on my journey to be able to better manage my Anxiety.