Mind vs. Body

For years I battled depression and anxiety without even knowing, or understanding, what was actually happening inside my mind and inside my body. Growing up around the traditional western medical model, I was trained to treat my mind separate from my body. So, I went to therapy and talked about my feelings until all of my tears were gone and I was too exhausted to go on, but yet, I never actually felt better. It does help to say what was going on in my mind and to try and articulate what I was feeling, but I still went home feeling sluggish, overly fatigued, and unmotivated to do anything other than sit in my bedroom and sob.

When I finally was able to move away to college, I felt some of those symptoms subside as I was attempting to integrate myself into the new lifestyle. I played lacrosse and took about 16 credits of courses my first semester. My schedule was busy, but I was accustomed to being in school full-time and playing sports year-round for my entire life, so it was definitely manageable. However, once the novelty wore off and the stress of the "real world" began to settle in, the ever familiar feelings of anxiety and depression began to rush right back without skipping a beat. As a naive college student, it seemed that the best way to cope with those feelings was to escape; and it seemed the only way anyone around me knew how to do that was to abuse alcohol. The escape felt nice momentarily; I numbed myself to whatever was hurting me so terribly on the inside. The problem was, and what many people do not realize at first, that once the initial intoxicating effects of the substance begins to subside, the feelings you were trying to mask in the first place actually become amplified. This, combined with physical intoxication, sets anyone up for a disastrous evening.

Some people become reckless; they get into fights or throw furniture. Some people cry. Some of us eat what we feel and order an entire pizza to ourselves, and then cry. Some of us succumb to euphoric feelings of happiness to the point where it's actually a little strange for the type of setting you're in. Some of us decide that we need love, so we search for it in the wrong people. However it adds up, the substance that was abused will win every time, leaving you feeling even more angry and upset the next day.

Every one of those examples I listed above are all experiences that I have personally dealt with. Some I wish I could take back.

It wasn't until my third year of college where I began to take my life, and my body, a little more seriously. I realized that while playing lacrosse was something that I loved, it was actually also a source of major anxiety for me. So, I made a decision to quit the sport, and I picked up a part-time waitressing job down the street from campus. In my Junior year, I also changed majors from a Health and PE Teacher to Nutrition and Dietetics. My new course load was much more intense, which took up a lot of my time. The time I would have spent out drinking with friends I was now spending in the library or at work. It wasn't a complete fix though; since I worked at a bar, I would stay up until close to 2 or 3 AM because I'd be so wired from working a busy late-night shift. I would then have 8 AM classes the next morning, or I would wake up really early to work out. Having no time to eat food, and loading up on tons of caffeine combined with sleep deprivation and still underlying depression, you can imagine the amount of stress that I was putting on my body.

Finally, during my fifth and final year of college, I was training for a half marathon while also taking nearly 20 credits and still working at the bar. I would run really early in the morning so that I could make it to class at 8 AM, and then I would study in between classes and afterwards before I would go into work at 5 PM. At work, I'd usually stay until close to midnight if it was a weekday, and beyond that if it was a weekend night. Thinking about it now, I have no idea how I pulled all of this off. I remember having a daily agenda book on me at all times that I would religiously refer to, and cross off each item as the day grew on. This year was my breaking point, and my ultimate "ah-ha" moment.

I was studying for an exam late one night in my bed with my usual cup of chamomile tea and one melatonin pill. I had worked earlier that evening and was oddly let go early because the bar was slow. I rushed home so I could fit in a few good hours of study time before I took my exam the next day. As my eyes began to shut, I allowed myself to just go to sleep without a fight. What felt like moments later, I woke up to extremely painful angina (chest pains) and a strange sense that I was going to pass out. Knowing that my roommate was only a few steps away, I somehow got out of bed and rushed into her room. I let out the words, "Call 9-1-1!" and then I completely blacked out. The next thing I remember is waking up in the emergency room with my friends and doctors all around me. I was hooked up to a heart monitor and had a bunch of bracelets attached to my wrist. One of them said, "Fall risk." The doctor told me that I was admitted because they could not figure out right away what was going on, and wanted to keep me under observation.

The next morning, I had to use the restroom. I notified the nurse, and was escorted into the bathroom. The nurse then waited outside to allow me privacy. As I turned to reach for the toilet paper the feeling of passing out started to come back, and I could hear my heart monitor beeping like crazy. The next moment, I was lying on the bathroom floor covered in sweat. I could see people all around me, but I couldn't quite hear them yet, almost like in the movies. My hands were seized up against my chest, and I couldn't move them. I was extremely short of breath and my body was completely limp; I couldn't move on my own. Everyone thought that I was in hypoglycemic shock, so they drew my blood to check my glucose levels; which turned out to be normal. When I was finally alert and aware, the doctor informed me that for some reason my heart had stopped, and I lost oxygen circulation around my body which is why I couldn't move my limbs. I had to stay overnight again, and I wasn't allowed to use the restroom alone anymore.

Finally, by the third full day, I was discharged. My levels were normal, and I didn't have another "episode." They suggested for me to stop exercising, eat more foods higher in salt, and consume more calories per day in general to allow my body to heal. My mom had to pick me up from the hospital and take me to my house at school. Keep in mind that this all occurred just a few weeks away from finals and graduation. At this point, if I wasn't depressed before, I certainly was now. Not being able to exercise, to me, was considered a death sentence. Running was my outlet; it allowed me to release whatever tension I was holding inside. Once I graduated, I moved in with my sisters in Baltimore, Maryland, and still had to sleep with them some nights because I was afraid that my heart was going to stop. I then began to develop severe migraines, which would hinder me from going to work, and then I wouldn't have enough money to pay rent. After about six months of living in Baltimore, I then had to move back home with my parents in King of Prussia, Pennsylvania, so that I could afford to live.

For another six months, I lived there, and worked as a waitress again at the same bar I worked at during school. Slowly but surely, I was making back all of the money that I had lost. I was also in therapy, and went on long walks with my mom from time to time. While my life as a whole felt a little more stable, I still was battling those feelings of major anxiety, followed by heart palpitations, chest pains, and shortness of breath. I felt really lonely a lot of the time.

Finally, once I had a fair amount of money saved up, I decided enough was enough. Despite all of the symptoms that I was fighting every day, I made a bold choice to move to Phoenix, Arizona, where I only knew two people. I just needed a new beginning. In May of 2015 I drove from Philadelphia to Phoenix all by myself, stopping in various cities across the country along the way. I didn't do or say much during my trip, I just listened to music, stared at the road ahead, and allowed my thoughts to wander.

Now, I have been out here for over two years. Since I moved, I completely changed the way that I eat, exercise, and view life as a whole. Having some anxiety will always be part of who I am, but that doesn't mean it has to control my entire life. Since I have been out here, I can't remember the last time I had an "episode," and just by making a few simple life changes like cutting out alcohol or certain foods, I no longer get migraine headaches. My life has changed around for the better. I go outdoors more, experience nature, and feel a lot more confident in myself and my abilities to make the right choice.

Moral of the story: mental disorders such as depression and anxiety are completely real. What goes on in your mind definitely and directly affects how you feel inside your body. However, they are not, and should not, be determining factors for how you live your life. They also should never be an excuse. Just by making a few simple, positive lifestyle changes, you can relieve most of your symptoms, without any medication! By tuning into your body and taking care of yourself, you will get to know your strengths and weaknesses, and curate your life accordingly. It is no fun to be sad and destructive all of the time. It's even less fun when you blame every one else but yourself for the way you feel. Look within, find where it hurts, and nurture the hell out of it until you no longer feel it is a source of pain for you. Discover who you are, and figure out what works. Roll with it. We only truly have one moment, here and now. How would you like to spend it?