How my anxiety made me a better person

A little over two years ago, I had my first panic attack.

In retrospect, it was a pretty normal night — I was in bed with my (now ex) girlfriend, watching Parks and Recreation and eating junk food. This was right before I began university, and a dead end barista job was pretty much my only responsibility. I spent most of my days watching movies, drinking with my friends, and playing video games. I had no concrete plans for my future, and little to no passion for anything.

My anxiety changed all that. That night, my heart went into overdrive, my body started shaking uncontrollably, and my vision blurred. I laid on the bathroom floor for what seemed like hours, trying to catch my breath. I can still remember the feeling of the cold tile on my cheek.

I was sure that I was having a stroke, a brain aneurysm, a seizure — something like that. I’ve always been a hypochondriac, and that night, it felt like all my fears had finally been confirmed. I stuck my finger down my throat until I threw up, just to make sure I hadn’t accidentally swallowed something poisonous.

Things didn’t get much better from there.

The person I am today is a result of the struggles and challenges that my anxiety has presented me.

The next six months were a blur of sleepless nights, sick days, and empty beer bottles. Never the most social person, I retreated even deeper into my shell. I didn’t call anyone, and I barely ever went outside. I self-medicated with alcohol and chamomile tea. On the off chance someone tried to contact me, I pretended I wasn’t there. My girlfriend and I grew more and more distant, and my growing isolation only made me more anxious, more afraid.

For months and months afterward, I struggled to keep my head above water. I would start to feel my hands shake, a chill would go down my spine, and instantly I’d be transported back to that night, lying on the bathroom floor.

But somewhere along the way — whether it was the pills, a gradual increase in confidence, or plain old time — I got stronger. I stopped feeling sorry for myself and I started stepping outside of my comfort zone. It was scary, and more than once I felt like I was making a huge mistake.

Two years later, I’m in university, I’ve met someone new, and I’m doing the best work of my life. If I met the kid I was two years ago, I wouldn’t recognize him.

People with mental illness are too often told to “suck it up” or “think positively,” as though depression or anxiety are conditions that can be cured by sheer willpower. This, of course, is not true — it takes time, a steady support system, and often the help of a doctor or a medical professional.

But I’d be lying if I said that my anxiety hasn’t made my life better than it was before. I know that in no small part, the person that I am today is a result of the struggles and challenges that my mental illness has presented me.

Once I had the strength to start broadening my horizons, I did so; the thought of being holed up in my room for the rest of my life was even more terrifying than coming out of my carefully constructed shell. I applied to SFU, and got an entrance scholarship. I started writing for the student newspaper, and rediscovered a passion for writing and journalism. I ended an unhealthy relationship and I made new connections.

This meant stepping out of my comfort zone almost daily — most of the time, it sucked. But it didn’t suck half as much as standing still and waiting for my situation to get better on its own.

I told my doctor about what I was going through, even though I was terrified and ashamed of admitting it, and he wrote me a prescription. It took a lot more than willpower to put my life in the right direction, but having the courage to admit that I had a problem is one of the most important decisions I’ve ever made.

Now, I think of myself as a better, more courageous person, because I know that if my anxiety threatens to take over my life again, I’ll have the tools necessary to beat it. After all, I’ve done it before.

I’m not arguing that all other people in similar predicaments should take the same approach as me; different strategies work for different people. The important thing is to find what works for you, and to follow through. If watching reruns of Buffy the Vampire Slayer calms your nerves, do that. If exercise and healthy food make the world seem a little less dim, more power to you.

People forget that mental illness, at the end of the day, is a lot like most physical illness. It’s not easy to fix, and it’s impossible to beat it all by yourself. But that doesn’t make you powerless — if you’re willing to ask for help and to find out which strategies suit you best, you have a much better chance at controlling your illness, rather than letting it control you.

If I met my former self two years ago, worrying he’d be this way forever, I would tell him the same thing I’m saying here: your life isn’t over. It’s just beginning.