How I Use Reading & Writing to Fight Anxiety and Depression (My Story of Healing)
There are so many reasons I started this blog. I wanted to share my passion. I wanted to meet new people and interact with the book-loving community. Mostly, I started this blog, because I knew it was what I needed to recover.
In August of 2017, I moved back to my college campus for the start of the new semester, ready to start my senior year with guns blazing. I don’t mean to toot my own horn, but I was a great student. I took the maximum amount of classes every semester, I participated in extracurriculars, I led student organizations, all while maintaining a 3.8 GPA. I was doing as well as anyone could hope to do in college. Imagine my surprise when, on the second day of my senior year, I had a total meltdown.
As I sat in my first class of that day, I felt a terrifying sensation I had not felt in a very long time. My mind began to race, and I thought of everything that could possibly go wrong that semester. I did my best to calm myself, but I just continued to sit at my desk with tears running down my face. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t think of anything other than catastrophic failure.
The panic attack continued off and on for over four hours. I was taken to my campus’ health center, and I was granted a medical leave for the rest of the week. My university is only an hour away from my home town, so I went home for the rest of the week to try and get the panic attacks and obsessive thoughts under control. While I was home with my family, I couldn’t do anything but cry. Though on leave, I still had to complete the assignments I would miss while I was gone. Every morning, the sheer thought of have to do any assignment sent me in to full blown panic.
I couldn’t understand what was happening. School was something I was good at, and it was something I enjoyed, so why was I having such a visceral reaction to my coursework? At the end of the week, I went back to campus, only for the same series of events to be repeated. I went to class, the overwhelming panic came back, and I officially decided to withdraw for the semester.
My heart was broken. On top of feeling like I was losing my mind, I felt like a complete failure. The withdrawal would mean pushing back my graduation date, and the crippling anxiety prevented me from getting a job during my time off. I was constantly crying, having nightmares every night, and I could barely convince myself to eat or shower. When I woke in the mornings, all the memories of my withdrawal came rushing back, and I started every day crying, hyperventilating, and in the clutches of pure fear. My parents spent so much time trying to bring me down from the heights of panic, and I felt like a burden. I was only able to watch television or scroll through the same apps on my phone.
I couldn’t read books or write, because they weren’t enough of a distraction from the fact that my world was upside down. I could not focus on anything but the anxiety unless I had a mind-numbing distraction such as TV or the Internet. Everything I dreamed of was being torn away from me, and I couldn’t stand the feelings of misery and fear. I was convinced I would never get better, that I would never achieve anything, because my anxiety and depression would take over my life. It was a daily battle against the urge to end it all, and I was terrified to be alone.
I have dealt with anxiety and depression for most of my life, but I had had it under control since high school. I couldn’t understand why it came back with such a vengeance. Thinking back, the year prior had been very difficult, and that summer was one of the most trying times of my life. I dealt with a very disheartening failure, and some personal health issues dredged up some very traumatizing memories. Looking back now, it’s no wonder that the stress of beginning my senior year was the final push I needed to fall into a complete breakdown. Soon after coming home, I began treatment for Major Depression with recurrent episodes and Panic Disorder, and I found a wonderful counselor. Soon enough, the panic attacks and nightmares became less frequent. My mind began to think of things other than fear and failure. I was slowly getting control back.
One day, after counseling, I went to a local bookstore to browse. After the panic attacks had prevented me from reading for so long, I wanted something new. I bought three books, and when I got home, I sat down and read for the first time since I came home. To some, this might seem trivial, but to me, it meant that I was finally healing.
I knew the worst thing I could do was sit around and watch television for the five months I would be home. Before I took my leave of absence, I was taking a writing class in which I was to spend the entire semester working on one large project. I had an idea for a historical fiction novel that I planned to work on for that class. However, I figured, “Why not do it anyway?” I had all that time, and I wanted to make the best of my situation. I started planning the novel and began doing research.
As I spent more and more time reading and working on my book, I slowly gained my confidence back. It was then I realized how truly impactful books were, for the reader and the writer. That is why I decided to start this blog. Not only to make new friends and rave about books together, but also to reach out to those who might need it. If books and writing and talking about those things helped me, maybe they could help others, too.
Starting my book and this blog were great decisions. They provided a distraction, and they reminded me that I am capable of doing something other than sitting around and crying. Tomorrow, on January 7th, I will be returning to school. I will be honest; the issues that forced me to take some time off have not gone away. I am very nervous about going back, and as I type this, I can feel panic lurking in the background. However, I am happy to say that I am in a much better place, and though I am still scared and my self-confidence is still shaky, I feel as ready to go back to school as I could possibly be.
Life is very different now. Having your life torn apart by a major depressive episode shines light on a lot of cracks in your life. There were people I expected to hear from that never reached out, and there were others I never imagined would be there that helped me through one of the most horrifying times of my life. A lot has been put into perspective, and I expect that my final year of college will be very different from what I anticipated. I’m still learning how to cope with my panic attacks. I’ve lost and gained many relationships. It’s been a hard journey, and though I have to constantly remind myself, I am healing.
If you are dealing with any of these feelings, I promise you are not alone, and it is not your fault that you feel this way. I know it seems like it will never get better, but all you need is time. Turn to the people who love you. Do things that make you happy. There’s no shame in asking for help.
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