Mental Health

I’ve been thinking about writing this kind of a post for a long time now. For years, I’ve debated whether mental health plays an issue in physical health. But really, what is there to debate?

Let me be extremely honest and vulnerable. During the summer of 2006, when I had just turned 24, I started having panic attacks. I also starting suffering from anxiety and depression, but I didn’t know it then. I had a panic attack smack dab in the middle of DC while out to dinner with Mac and Tim. They had no idea why I was crying, and oddly enough, I didn’t know why either. I bailed on a concert with them, knowing I was having trouble functioning in public, and I miraculously made it back to their apartment on the metro. Try taking the metro out of DC while navigating a panic attack that you don’t really understand why you’re having in the first place.

I called best friends when I got back to their apartment. I clearly remember Adro and Cady making me feel better and encouraging me to take my inhaler over the phone. Why was this happening to me? I got back to North Carolina (was living there at the time) and decided to go to a clinic. Xanax was prescribed, and it is a medication to calm you down during panic attacks. The pills said they could be taken every 8 hours, so I took one every 8 hours. Um, in the midst of me losing my marbles, I missed the GIGANTIC MEMO that Xanax are the kind of pills you only take when you’ve actually having a panic attack, not three times a day.

I started having the worst dreams you can imagine. I couldn’t tell if I was sleeping or awake, and I couldn’t shake the terrible emotions. Why weren’t the pills working? (Oh, that’s right, because they were XANAX you fool.) I stopped eating. (If you’ve read previous posts, you know that’s practically impossible for me to do.) I talked to one of my best friends moms who is a social worker/should be my permanent therapist, and she suggested I write. I tried writing. Wasn’t helping. She also said this could be happening bc it was summer and I wasn’t working, and the reason lots of people stay busy is so they don’t go crazy. I totally agree. I practiced the flute, something that usually takes my mind off of anything. Didn’t work. Right after practicing, I called a psychologist in the area off of a recommendation. I left him a horrible message, explaining my thoughts and I’m sure he recognized right off of the break that I was in need of help. Somehow, I got real medicine from my obgyn, who listened very patiently to me as I explained what I was dealing with. She was understanding and empathetic, and she gave me anti-depression/anxiety medicine. Well, those types of meds are awesome, but they don’t kick in right away like advil. My roommate Kristin was amazing with me. She was probably so confused at my behavior, even though she never showed it. I had ALWAYS been happy. So, I was still a mess, and I kept having the same reoccurring nightmare. I barely left my bed. My mom came up and stayed with me for almost a week. I know it sounds melodramatic, but she literally brought me back to life. She took care of me, and we sat on the couch talking for hours. I would tell her college stories that made me laugh, or stories from teaching. She was nothing short of an angel. It is worth noting that I’m tearing up as I write this, but I think it’s important that I write it and share it.

One of the worst parts of all of this was that for the first time in Mac’s and my 2 year relationship I was worried about us. Nothing had happened. He did nothing wrong. I was just so unbelievably unsure of EVERYTHING in my life. I hated the fact that we were in the middle of a long distance relationship. (He was five hours away, in Maryland.) I wondered if at 24, was I supposed to be single? Was I supposed to be dating? Well, that’s impossible, because I love Mac. I remember crying to Ashley one time during that week about my concerns, and she, playing the devil’s advocate, said, “Break up with him.” I sobbed at just the awful thought of ending my relationship with the most amazing person I know. (It’s also worth mentioning that my sister has always absolutely adored Mac since her young age of 15. She was literally testing me. It worked.)

At the end of my mom’s stay, Mac came down to pick me up for our annual trip to Ocean Isle Beach with some of our best friends from college. I remember being so nervous about seeing him… how would I feel? I can honestly say that I’ll never forget how he looked at the door when I opened it; it was so wonderful to see him and not have to talk to him over the phone. I hugged and kissed him, and I felt relief. We were good. So good. He was aware of everything going on in my head, as I tell him everything, so maybe he was nervous too. Either way, I am so lucky. He drove the 4 hours to the beach. He took care of me all week, and told me it was ok to stay in bed some days, when I was feeling down. I don’t know if anyone else at the beach really understood (though everyone was nice), although I did tell the other people there I was dealing with some things. Truthfully though, I didn’t understand it either. Not yet.

Over the course of my being 24, I gained weight, rapidly. This was the year I went from a size 10 to a size 14. OVERFREAKINGNIGHT. I remember getting on the scale and it said 180. Whaaaaat? How did that happen? I joked with my sister that if I tried, I could reach 200. Never actually thought that would happen. Hmph. My moments in size 12 pants were just that: moments. I say I was a 14, but I muffin-topped in some 14s. I was taking medicine regularly and eating a lot for comfort, I guess. Several people have had the medicines I take make them gain weight. Some have lost weight. Not Megan, that would be silly. I stopped exercising and began enjoying my friend, the couch. I was just trying to get through, day to day. I talked to lots of people about it. Know what’s interesting? How many people have mental issues. Or have had them. Or know someone who has. It’s amazing. You can disagree with this next statement, but I believe mental health issues are real. As real as the flu. Or arthritis. Or asthma. Or any illness. I knew I wasn’t "right". I just wanted to get back to being normal Megan. Fortunately, this story has a good ending. I am back. I may be chubby Megan, but I’m Megan. :)

I have occasionally tried going off my meds. I would discourage this. It has failed. One time, it worked for like three months. (Ironically, I didn’t lose any weight, so perhaps it wasn’t really the medicine that made me gain weight in the first place? Don’t answer that.) At the end of those three months, I had a major car accident with 8 other cars on 270 in Maryland, and now I will always drive an SUV, for my SUV saved me when I rammed into the back of a freaking box truck. (Think UPS/Fedex.) There was also a 4 car accident that happened SIMULTANEOUSLY. So there were 12 cars scattered across a huge highway with cops and state troopers all over. We weren’t allowed to move our cars, and they wouldn’t even move if we tried. My hood came up like an accordion at my windshield. I screamed, but I was completely UNINJURED. My passenger door wouldn’t open. My airbag didn’ go off, but the prius at the front of the wreck… every airbag went off. The frame of my car protected me. It didn’t budge. The outside… a mess, but the frame. Damn, it held up like a Volvo. You can imagine on the side of that highway, while radio stations were busy reporting that no traffic was moving on 270 that I needed a cigarette badly and I’m not a smoker. Amazingly, I didn’t have a panic attack. I did cry in any car for days though. I still cringe when brakes are slammed. Three days after that accident, Mac and I got engaged. I also had no job lined up for the following school year. (Read: lots of major things within short about of time.) Right about a week or two later, even though I was over the moon about our wedding plans, I started having the bad thoughts/dreams again. Panic. Anxiety. Depression. Mac took care of me. He was patient with me and understanding when I reached for the medicine I never should have ignored in the first place. He didn’t judge. Back on meds and better than ever. Not going off any time soon, if ever. Don’t judge. If you’re judging, that just means you haven’t been there. And good for you. I hope you’re never there.

If you have any sort of a mental health issue, God bless you. If you’ve dealt with one before, God bless you. If you’ve helped someone through theirs, God bless you. If you think they don’t exist, God bless you and your ignorant self. My high school class alone has lost two members due to private matters that no one will ever understand, yet we all mourn. I know so many people with them. So many friends and/or family members have helped me by sharing their own experiences. I will not name them, bc it’s a private thing. Let’s just say it’s a shocking number. A shockingly comforting number. I am not alone.

I’m not alone in weight loss either. I am not the only person to gain weight when things get tough. I’m also not the first person to try to lose weight. I’m not the first person to say all this crap I’ve already said, but it helps me to say it, and maybe it will help someone reading it.
I’m happy now. Really. I’m not happy with my weight, but I am not depressed, nor am I anxious. I deal with those things by taking medicine, and I can make myself even happier by losing weight and/or working out. Endorphins, right? Besides, what’s the harm in trying to get happier? If my physical health is good, maybe that will make my mental health even better. If my mental health is good, I have the energy and desire to improve my physical health. And round and round we go.

p.s. On my wedding day -nearly four years after my initial panic attacks/problems with depression/anxiety- my sister asked me in the back of the church if I wanted/needed to score a Xanax for old time’s sake. I laughed and said no, but how awesome is my maid of honor that in addition to peanut butter crackers and granola bars and mints that she brought Xanax? Then, right before my mom and dad and I were about to walk down the aisle towards the man I love, I turned to my mom and said, “I’m so happy, and I didn’t have a drink or a Xanax or anything!”