I know…the title sounds like a Lifetime movie.  I guess that’s strangely appropriate, as my life kind of turned into one last year.  It didn’t entirely have the normal Lifetime premise.  You know the one I’m talking about:

Girl meets boy.

Girl falls in love with boy.

Girl marries boy.

Girl discovers boy is a psycho serial killer who has murdered his 12 wives prior.

Girl tells everyone who will listen boy is a murderous scumbag – nobody believes her.

Girl is held hostage by boy in a log cabin in the stormy woods without heat or electricity.

Girl eventually escapes boy by killing him with a fireplace poker.

Girl stands crying in the rain as the screen slowly fades to black.

Okay, so my story is not quite that dramatic, and I don’t think Tori Spelling is lining up to play me anytime soon.  But, I am a girl who did overcome some serious life-changing shit, so I think that automatically qualifies me as a Lifetime heroine…ironically, without having a serious addition to heroin.  And without an eating disorder.  And without an abusive relationship.  Other than the one I was in with myself.

And the opening credits roll…

The Early Years

Don’t worry, I’m not taking you back to the birth canal.  However, I am going back approximately thirteen years ago, when I turned thirty.  Something started happening to me, and I had no idea what it was.  I was exhausted, but not sleeping.  I was hungry, but nauseous.  I was constantly shaking and sweating – a real attractive quality, by the way.  I felt irritable, restless, and upset at all times.  I couldn’t relax.  I couldn’t shut my brain off, no matter how hard I tried.  I couldn’t stop worrying…about everything. 

Was I dying?

I went to see a few doctors who all gave me a clean bill of health and told me nothing was wrong with me.  But I knew there was.  Something was off.  Something wasn’t right.

I was eventually sent to a therapist who diagnosed me with Generalized Anxiety Disorder, and from there, my life was forever changed.  The funny thing was, this was the first time I realized that I suffered from anxiety, and it was more than likely something I had struggled with since birth.

Yes, I was actually born a nervous wreck.

I have to admit, once I realized what anxiety was and what was triggering my unwanted symptoms – Hello Thirty – I was able to cope with my disorder and continue on with my life, unassisted and unmedicated.

When Panic Attacks

Another great Lifetime movie title.

Now we jump back about five years or so.  I had been invited to attend a Golden State Warriors game with a friend at the Oakland Coliseum.  I met her for dinner prior to the game, where she introduced me to a few other people who were joining us to cheer on the Warriors as well.  She then told me that I was going to have to drive everyone to the game, because none of them had a car.

Now, I’ve always been a nervous driver, and there are certain places I’ve been extremely leery to travel through.  At the top of the list?  You guessed it, Oakland.  And what’s worst then driving around Oakland?  Driving around it with a bunch of strangers in my car.

As we embarked on our awkward journey to the game, a strange feeling washed over me.  My palms and feet started sweating profusely, my heart started beating erratically, and while my entire body felt shaky, it was my right knee that was of most concern, as it started trembling uncontrollably…while I was driving!   And of course, this was extremely noticeable.  The cute stranger sitting next to me in the passenger seat looked at me as if I was crazy.  “Don’t be alarmed,” I said.  “It’s just my Trigger Knee acting up!”  I know what you’re all thinking – what the fuck is Trigger Knee???  I have no clue, but it was the only thing I could think to say.  I felt that telling them the truth – that I had apparently lost control of my limbs and we could all die – might be a tad more disturbing to hear.

Luckily, we all made it to the stadium in one piece, with the exception of my newly fractured ego.  Although I merely laughed off the Trigger Knee at the time, what I didn’t realize back then that I realize now…I had just experienced my very first panic attack.

She’s Come Undone

I believe it was 2014, (coincidently, the year I turned forty), that I started to experience these so-called panic attacks more frequently, always while driving.

It started with driving to work.  I would be on my way and then suddenly, the old Trigger Knee would kick in…no pun intended.  At first, it was a bit distressing.  I had no idea why this was happening to me.  It would come out of nowhere, and then go away as fast as it came.

Yet, as the attacks continued, I became more and more fearful.  As soon as my knee would start to tremble, I’d get this horrible feeling that I was going to die.  The sheer panic that would come over me was completely all-consuming, and soon began to alter my behavior.

And then, the shit just got weird.

For nearly twenty years, I had crossed the Benicia Bridge to and from work.  And suddenly, one random day, I couldn’t make it over the bridge – in either direction.  I was terrified.  I was absolutely terrified to cross this bridge.  And even more terrifying…there was no way around it.  I had to cross this goddamn bridge.  And I just…I just couldn’t.

What the hell was happening to me?

Bridge Over Troubled Water

This new development was the start to my change in routine.  Not only would the bridge stress me out, but traffic caused the old Trigger Knee to flare up as well.  Every time I saw break lights on the freeway, the panic would seize my body, and I just had to GET OFF.  I’d pull off the road, not always in the best of places, and just sit in my car, anxiously waiting for the panic to pass.  And sometimes, I’d just sit for hours.

I started leaving for work at 6am and going home after 8pm, all to avoid getting stuck in traffic on that stupid bridge.  I started taking the backroads, adding a good half hour to my commute, in an attempt to avoid the dangers of the main road.  I was doing everything I could think to escape my attacks, completely miserable in the process.  The fear of these attacks was all I could think about throughout the day.  Was I going to make it into work without incident?  Was I going to make it home?  Was I going to make it…period?

Although my world was slowly unraveling, it was not lost on me that I needed help.  It took a while, but I finally made an appointment to see a therapist who specialized in anxiety disorders.  After a few visits, she gave me a new diagnosis.  I suffered from Agoraphobia, to which I asked, why would the fear of spiders cause me to have panic attacks?  Uh, yeah…that’s Arachnophobia, dummy.

Agoraphobia:  An abnormal fear of being in crowds, public places, or open areas, sometimes accompanied by anxiety attacks.

I had actually heard this word before, as it always accompanied stories about my grandmother, Elsie. However, I was always told my grandmother never left the house, so naturally, I thought that’s what it meant.  And I couldn’t understand how it related to me, as I had no trouble leaving my condo in the ghetto.

The therapist explained that this phobia was not about being unable to leave a place, but unable to escape, and she said this is where my fear of driving across the bridge came in, as it was the one place I couldn’t get off.   Well, I guess I could, but it’d be a long way down.

She also told me that she thought I suffered from Agoraphobia by Panic Disorder.

Agoraphobia by Panic Disorder:  A type of anxiety disorder in which you fear and AVOID places or situations that might cause you to panic and make you feel trapped, helpless or embarrassed.

For me, I was so afraid of having these panic attacks, that I completely changed not only my routine, but my behavior.  I was doing everything in my power to avoid the attacks, but really, I was trying to evade all the other issues in my life that bothered me – Hello Forty.  (And hello single, childless, workaholic loser.)  All the anxiety that was building up inside of me was coming out when I was driving, and, for lack of a better term, that just SUCKED.  Sucked big time.  Sucked balls.  Sucked the life out of me.

Believe it or not, no one is entirely sure what causes Agoraphobia, but they, (not sure who they are), believe it’s hereditary.

I never knew my grandma Elsie.  She died the year I was born.  However, I did know two things about her – she was incredibly funny and Agoraphobic.  So basically, she was me.  Or, I was her.  It’s weird to have this special connection to someone I don’t remember meeting.  I wish she was around when I was growing up.  I feel she would have been the only person to understand what I was going through.  Yet, because of our shared circumstance, I feel we have an extraordinary bond, and even though I grew up without her in my life, she is in my thoughts often, and in my heart, always.

Tracy Goes Cray Cray

While the therapy was helping with the anxiety and learning how to deal with it, the one thing it wasn’t helping with was the driving.  And it was right around this time last year, I went off the deep end. Or better yet, veered off the road…way off.

The panic followed me everywhere, and it came to the point that I was deathly afraid to get in the car.  Every night, I’d start my drive home, knowing it could take hours.  I would drive to a certain point, and then pull into a parking lot, and I would remain there until I felt it was absolutely safe to go home.

This parking lot became my home base.  It wasn’t in the safest area, but I remained there, sometimes for hours.  I’d read the internet.  Listen to the radio.  Or, go shopping at the nearby Target, which proved to be just as dangerous as driving over the bridge, because apparently, it’s impossible to walk out of that store without buying something!

Sometimes I’d sit in the rain.  Sometimes I’d watch shoplifters being chased across the parking lot.  Sometimes I’d witness random arrests.

I just sat there, as my legs (and mind) had officially stopped working.

When I finally would make it home, I’d be exhausted.  I’d go to bed, and then just lie awake all night, worried about the next day.  Worried about driving to work.  Worried about driving home.  Worrying about feeling scared for my life.

And then, it was Groundhog’s day, and I did it all over again.

By now, I was not only avoiding freeways, bridges and traffic, I was also avoiding people, social occasions and anything else I didn’t have to do.  I became very depressed and retreated to a very lonely world, pretty much staying locked away in the safety of my home, curled up on my couch, watching TV.  Hmmm…I think how my grandmother’s issues relate to me finally make sense.

I didn’t want to die, but I didn’t want to live like this either.

Operation Rescue Me

This is the point in the Lifetime movie when a handsome hero sweeps in and rescues the heroine.  However, since I didn’t have a handsome hero in my life, I had to call on the next best thing…my parents.

I really didn’t want to make that call.  I had been desperately trying to protect them from the fact that their daughter had turned into a complete basket case.  Yet, one night, after sitting in the Target parking lot for almost four hours, exhausted, scared, frustrated and unable to move, I finally made the call.

My parents immediately came to my rescue, with one of them driving me home and the other driving my car home.  I don’t think I’ve ever been so humiliated in my life.  I couldn’t explain what was happening to me, and I didn’t want to.  I didn’t want to talk about it.  I didn’t want to acknowledge I had a problem.  I just wanted to go home.

I remember asking my therapist why I couldn’t manage my anxiety anymore.  I had always been able to do it in the past.  Basically, she told me my nerves were shot and I couldn’t resist the panic anymore.  I was malfunctioning.

Not only was I now depressed, but I was also angry.  I had waited so long for something monumental to happen in my life.  While everyone else was experiencing engagements and babies and weddings and career success, I was having a breakdown.  It wasn’t fair.

This wasn’t what I signed up for.

Some of my friends and family were aware that I was having some problems, but no one knew the extent of my suffering, except my parents.  I became very dependent on them.  They picked me up in that dark, scary parking lot more times than I can recall.  Sometimes they also drove me to work.   As well as everywhere else in between.

Bottom line:  I wasn’t getting any better.

Although I was totally aware I had a severe problem, I was in denial of how to fix it.  The word “medication” kept coming up, but I had worked through my anxiety without medication before, and I believed I could do it again.

Yeah…not so much.

This encompassing disorder had completely taken over my life, and it was absolutely debilitating.

Epilogue

Spoiler Alert: I did eventually get better.  It was the combination of a lot of things.  Exercise.  Sleep.  Writing.  Therapy.  Balance.  Speaking up.  Accepting myself and where I was in life.

Oh, and Zoloft.  The Zoloft helped a lot.

Yep, I gave in, and honestly, if I would have known how much better it would make me feel, I would have gone on medication a long time ago.  Although I’m on a relatively low dosage, I feel like a new person.  Or, better yet, the old Tracy.  I hadn’t seen her in so long!  She had gained some weight and had a few more gray hairs than I remember, but it was her.  And she was smiling again.  She was no longer depressed and the anxiety had somewhat subsided.

Readers Note:  I was also given a prescription to Xanax to help ease the panic attacks.  I’m happy to say that I haven’t had to use these pills in quite some time, but I do like carrying them around in my purse.  It makes me feel very Housewife-ish.

There have been some side effects.  Nausea, headaches, indigestion, drowsiness, restlessness and more.  But compared to the positive effects…I’ll  take them.  I was used to those symptoms anyway, as I often experienced them while watching Keeping Up With The Kardashians.

Medication is not for everyone, but it has been beneficial in my case.  My life has certainly not been perfect since I started making all these changes, but overall, it has improved drastically.  I still have bad days.  I still cry.  I still feel afraid.  I still take the backroads.  But not as much.  And rather than fearing my anxiety, I feel good about myself, because I know I am continuing to get better.  I’m staying on the main road a little longer.  I’m making it over the bridge without my legs giving out.  I’m getting home a little faster.

I wasn’t sure if I should write about this.  It is extremely personal and, quite frankly, whenever I try to talk about it, I still tear up.  However, I came to realize that this is my story.  This is who I am.  Sure I’m the Poster Child for Anxiety, but I’m okay with that.  I’m going to slap a Copyright on Trigger Knee and I’m going to OWN my disorder, and I’m going to own this blog post.

I’m always the first to roll my eyes when someone overshares, but I felt it was time to tell my tale.  I’m not quite sure if I should be embarrassed by this or proud, but if there is anyone out there who is as alone as I was, I want them to know…you’re going to be alright.

I think people tend to downplay anxiety.  They think it’s just merely an excuse for being stressed out or over-emotional.  But it’s not.  I’m here to tell you, it is very real and can take a huge toll on you, both physically and mentally.

No one should ever feel afraid every single day of their life.  It’s no way to live, and for those who suffer from this sometimes devastating condition, you shouldn’t have to.  I know anxiety brings with it a lot of shame and can be extremely isolating.  But, what I’ve discovered is that it is more common than one might think, and finding support from loved ones and seeking help are two good ways to start the road to recovery.

I’m not sure if I’m helping others by coming forward with my story, or maybe just confirming that I’m completely nuts.  After all, the three people who read my blog are the same three people who knew I had this problem.  But, if there is someone out there suffering, it will get better, I promise.  Please don’t give up!  I was in the dark for a long time – YEARS.  And that darkness was nearly my downfall.  However, I’ve moved back into the light, and I just want you to know….

It’s fucking awesome.

Girl rescues herself and lives hopefully ever after.

And the closing credits roll…