I've been overwhelmingly depressed lately. To the point where I've become a couch potato. I come home from work, and go straight to either bed or the couch, and stay at either spot the rest of the day. As a result, chores have been left undone and my house is becoming a mess. I know this. I am bothered by this. But I cannot will myself to move and do anything.
So what's the difference from everyday anxiety and living with panic disorder? Anxiety could manifest as "Oh, I got to do the laundry and dishes and feed the animals and oh gosh! There are bills to pay and I am feeling so overwhelmed." It might trigger you to be jittery, or maybe you cry a little. Maybe you do have a panic attack. But the point is, you still are able to pick yourself up and complete your tasks. You feel better after you let out a good cry. You move on.
So here is what panic disorder is like for me, using an example from 2 days ago. I come home. I notice that the place needs to be vacuumed. I notice that the dishes are well overdue. I notice so many things that are just an absolute mess. They all bug me, but I have no fight left in me. So I head to the couch and sit. Erich sits with me and explains that he can't keep doing all the chores himself, that he needs me to do the dishes after dinner. I smile and so "I can do that! I just need some motivation."
After dinner is completed, which I took my sweet time doing, I stall and avoid doing the dishes as long as I can. Erich notices and comes to get me. I ask him to pull up a chair and sit in the kitchen while I do the dishes. That I need him there because I feel anxious about it. He agrees.
The first dish I grab is one of our smallest cups in our cupboard. It's less than an 8oz cup. It's already mostly clean. I think Erich just used the small cup for a sip of water to take one of his pills. I grab it and the tears start flowing immediately. I take the soapy sponge and slowly start cleaning it. My heart is pained. I don't know how else to put it. It hurts. It aches. It pounds. I start my panic attack. I try to push through it though. As I am having a panic attack, I am leaning against the sink, to keep me supported and standing, and finishing up that glass. I rinse it and rest it to the side. Still mid-panic, I reach for the next glass. I sob harder. Tears are pouring, my chest is pounding. I slowly start to clean the next glass.
Erich comes up from behind to try and stop me. He hug me tight as I cry harder and harder. I keep trying to finish cleaning the glass, but Erich tells me to stop. I think if I can just push through the first few, my panic symptoms would go away and my anxiety would subside. I tell him I want to finish, but I am unsure if he can understand the words leaving my mouth. He starts asking: What is it? Is it the noise - glass clinking, squeaky noises, water running? I shake my head. Is it being forced to do something - to do this chore, he asks? I shake my head. I try, through heavy breaths and a shaky voice, to explain that it's just how I feel. How my heart feels. How my soul feels. Everything feels crushed. Nothing is causing this anxiety - nothing that I am consciously aware of. I am unsure if I explained it to him or not. Maybe it was all in my head. Maybe he just took my cues of wanting to continue as a sign to sit back down.
He sat and watched. I stood, supported by the edge of the sink, and pressed on. The panic and crying didn't stop. I don't even think I can use the word cry. A cry is from sadness. This was a more painful sound I was making. Acid tears that were pouring. If there are words for what it sounds like for your soul to die, that was the sound I was making.
Doing the dishes, I believe maybe less than 10 dishes total, took almost 45 minutes. I couldn't catch my breath the whole time. The tears didn't stop flowing, the whole time. My howls of grief and pain didn't stop. Erich helped. As best as he could. He occasionally stood to rub my back. He handed me dishes. He tried to get me to stop a few times too. I just truly thought that it was something I could beat. That if I kept pushing through it, I could get over my anxiety and then become gleeful as I finished up the dishes. But that wasn't the case. Even after I rested the last glass to the side, I pressed my face into Erich's chest and sobbed. My heart aches just remembering all of this.
Anxiety is real.
Panic disorder is real.
Depression is real.
Mental illness is real.
And it hurts all it touches.
Erich can't do this alone. That's what he said. He cannot take care of me, take care of our animals, take care of the house, and take care of himself. He cannot do it alone. That's why I pushed myself. That's why I tried so hard. Do you want to know how the story ends? The next day, after work, I came home and went to the couch. That's how the story ends. Nothing changes. I am still depressed. I am still too anxious to move. The pain is still present. There was no lesson in this. There is no point to any of this. I am a burden. I am useless. Erich needs help and support I can no longer provide for him. And there isn't anything I can do to change that.
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