Exposure Therapy for Panic Disorder and Agoraphobia.

Day Two.

Today is day two of me actively trying exposure therapy. I have gone out, and attempted a walk. (Actually, this was yesterday, I am writing retrospectively). I decided to take my phone, and just record how I got on. I don't know why. Perhaps seeing me do it could help someone else try it?

If anyone would like an exposure therapy buddy, I am happy to share my contact details, you can send me an email on here, or a message on Facebook, and we can see how we get on together. If there is enough of us, perhaps we could even start a small group. Lets see how it goes.

I am now addressing you as readers. In previous posts, I have covered my history, and just talked about what had gone on in my slightly dysfunctional life. Now we are bang up to date though, I am reaching out to you. All of you. I don't know if anyone even reads this. Perhaps I am just talking to myself. Even if that is the case, its fine. Its quite therapeutic just writing it all down. But I'd love to think that there may be some readers out there who can relate, and I want those people to reach out! Click on 'follow', leave a comment, send me a message, follow me on Twitter. Lets reach out.

For any of those interested, here is a video of me trialling my first exposure therapy. Its not taken at the most glamorous of angles, and I look like crap, but do you know what? I don't care! It is very unlike me to publish even pictures of myself, let alone a video. But as part of facing this social anxiety head on, I am going to bite the bullet, and just put it out there. Its all part of the recovery.

Since this video, I have done the walk down the road again, very very comfortably. I am literally heading out the door when I finish this post, to try the walk up the road again towards the park and to see whether I can get a bit closer to the gate. I shall let you know how it goes!

Recovery from Panic Attacks and Agoraphobia.

Its Not as Easy as I Hoped.

So the key to my recovery lie solely with me. I spent years waiting for a magic potion, or for someone to miraculously waft away my fears and troubles. That didn't happen. The only one that could help me, was me. Which was incredibly daunting.

 

Now. One thing I will say, is that you have to be ready to start your recovery. You have to WANT to get better. I know that sounds silly, as we all want to get better. But many of us want to get better without actually acknowledging that it is all in our hands. We rely on health professionals and medications, we live in a time where if we want something, we want it now. But recovery from mental health illness doesn't work like that. There isn't a specific medicine that we can take to feel better. We may trial several different medicines throughout our time, until we find one that helps to some degree, but no medicine can alter your thoughts. Only you can do that.

 

Our mind is the most powerful thing we own. More powerful than even the worlds most powerful computer, developed by the worlds most intelligent people. Unfortunately for us, our mind is so powerful, sometimes even we have trouble controlling it.

 

Learning to get that control back is the first step in recovering from mental illness. And its not easy to do. Its something I have been practicing for a while, and I'm slowly starting to get the hang of it. But again, its not something you can learn overnight. Taking back control of your mind and your thoughts is something that will take practice and time. I know when you are living in the hell that is mental illness, that you don't feel like you can cope with the practice and time, but bear with me here, it is doable.

 

I know how you feel. I know how terrible it is living with a mental illness, such as panic disorder, anxiety and agoraphobia. I am still living it myself, every single day. I have been so low that I have been admitted to the mental health hospital on two occasions. But I reached the point that everyone needs to reach. To want to get better, and to have the motivation to pursue that.

 

Early on in my recovery, I visited my uncle. He lives just outside of my comfort zone, but not too much out. I had my Aunt Tre with me. Aunty Tre is one of those magical people. I don't know how, but when she comes down to stay, she has an effect on me that is hard to explain. I almost feel like I can do anything. She builds me full to the brim with confidence and love, and actually makes me want to do anything. I am still very much confined to my comfort zone for 99% of the time she comes to stay. But there is 1% of time that she enables me to push myself, comfortably, and do things I never thought I could. I think everyone in life should have an Aunty Tre. Unfortunately for all of you, this one is mine!

Immerse yourself in someone who does to you what Aunty Tre does to me. Be with someone who gives you confidence and self belief. Some one who loves you for you. Someone who teaches you that it is perfectly OK to fail. Failure is a normal part of life, and just brush it aside and forget it about it, and try again another day.

 

Anyway, I digress. Aunty Tre and I went to visit my uncle. He is a tattooist. We went to his home which was just slightly outside of my comfort zone. I don't see much of him in all honesty, so going round his was a big step for me in itself. I stressed myself out to the max before hand. I had multiple get out clauses along the way, and forced Aunty Tre to agree that if I said I needed to leave, then we leave, straight away. She agreed, and off we went. And do you know what? I had a great time! As is so often the case with panic disorder, the 'what ifs' and the anticipation of leaving and getting there was FAR worse than the actual event. Was it worth all of the stressing and worrying I did? Absolutely not. Would I do it again? Absolutely I would (and I have done a few times since, all with that same silly anticipatory anxiety but was fine when I was there).

 

And whilst I was there, between us, we designed this, and I had this done on my lower leg...

 

 

She is my little lady! Its an image of a girl, standing, free, as the breeze blows her, and birds fly freely around her. She symbolises the start of my recovery. The point at which I decided to become free of this disorder. She doesn't have a care in the world. Her pose with her arms flung back and head up to the sky is symbolic of someone letting their cares and worries go. Of being at one with themselves. Of being free.

 

Obviously, I didn't have a tattoo and was suddenly cured. Oh no. But having that done was my starting point. Mental illness IS all in our heads. Literally. It causes us physical and psychological suffering. But we can try and reach a mindset where we are strong enough to start facing those demons, and tackling this head on. And I regularly just look at my little lady (who Ive had for just over a year now), and she reminds me of my challenges. To stay strong, to be free, to be careless. And trust me when I say, if I can do this, then most certainly so can you.

The Master of My Own Recovery From Panic Attacks and Agoraphobia.

Taking Back Control.

I was discharged from the mental health hospital, knowing it was time to take control of my own health. I was prescribed 5mg diazepam three times a day upon my discharge, and was referred to the home treatment team, who's job it was to help me keep out of hospital.

 

I didn't take the diazepam as prescribed, but rather, took them as and when I felt I needed them. I had a months worth. What was I supposed to do when they ran out? I felt I'd rather keep hold of them, and just use them when I got into a situation where I needed them.

They stayed in my bag for two years!!

 

I returned home, but I just didn't feel comfortable there. I lived on a busy main road, there was always heavy traffic outside, I was flanked by traffic lights either end of the road, and at rush hour in particular, I felt very 'trapped' there. Trapped by the traffic that was essentially locking me in.

It was April. I stayed at my parents house, until in June, I moved into our new home, tucked away up the end of a peaceful little cul de sac. After several thousand pounds, and several months of renovation, we were ready to move in. I was on my own now with three kids. Tommy had gone off with the bit on the side he had been seeing previously. Her and his lovechild clearly didn't make him happy, I heard through the grapevine that they lasted about two weeks in the end, and that even now, over two years later, he is still single.

This was it. It was just me and the kids. Our new lives were starting.

 

The first night in the new house was a strange one. It was the first time I had been in my own home to sleep for several months. The house is situated within walking distance of my parents and siblings, and getting off that main road made me feel at ease. I went to bed nervous, but slept through, and from then on, I have never looked back.

 

In two years, the house has almost become a prison. I don't like describing it as that, as actually, I still love the house just as much today as I did when I moved in. But its almost like a mental prison, in that my agoraphobia means I am confined within it.

 

Following my discharge from hospital, I had one visit a week from a member of the home treatment team, who gave me small tasks to do, and gave me the mindset to try and break those barriers. And briefly, it worked. Until she was redeployed to another area, and her role was closed down. With that, went my weekly support which helped massively.

 

So. I was on my own. That said, I was quite happy with my little confinement. I bought a marine tank, which took up a heck of a lot of my time. I joined Facebook groups for people who kept marine reefs, and got talking to loads of lovely people. Some of whom now I consider to be true friends. More about that in a later blog.

 

I have a small local shop that I am able to get to. The kids' schools are within walking distance. There is a park less than 30 seconds away to walk the dogs on. But that's it. Those are my new confines. I didn't HAVE to go further than that, so didn't. Or haven't. Whilst living inside this tiny 0.5 square mile is maintainable, it is no sort of a life.

 

I'm finally bringing the blog up to date. I shall write in real time. I am attempting mindfulness and exposure therapy, which I shall blog as I go. I am also now back under secondary mental health care, and have a support worker who I met just yesterday. She is great, a really lovely lady. She offered to take me out for a walk. I originally kicked and screamed internally about it. But I sucked it up, knowing I could turn around at any point and come home if I needed to. And off we went. We walked slowly, with her working hard to keep me distracted. And we walked for about 5 minutes out. A slow paced 5 minutes, so the distance wasn't too great. However, it is further than I have walked in two years since living here. Usually I drive everywhere as I feel much less anxious in the car. I did the walk with the support worker, with some discomfort, but nothing unmanageable. I did it! I pushed that mental boundary, I smashed the comfort zone! She had only met me that morning, yet she was beaming, and saying how proud she was of me. Not half as proud as I was of myself! Two whole years of being scared to walk that far, and all of a sudden, slowly but surely, I did it!!
The support worker left, and I was still on a massive high. So much so...that I only went and did the walk again, on my own!! This time the anxiety was much higher. I didn't have her as a distraction. I only had my mind, which was thinking all sorts. But, I did it! Anxiously, I did it!!

That was yesterday. Today, I woke up wanting to break another comfort zone. So I walked the same distance, but in the other direction. I walked up the road rather than down it. I had a target in mind, and made it. I only just made it, admittedly, but I made it nonetheless. Again, somewhere I hadn't walked in two years since being here, yet there I was! It was quite surreal! I used the mindfulness techniques I had learnt, which helped immensely. I turned around and started making the journey towards home, but whilst I was out, I thought I may as well do yesterdays walk again too. So off I went, past mine, and back down the road. And again, I did it. That was the third time I had done that very short walk, but this time, it was much easier. Barely no anxiety compared to yesterday. So I returned home feeling very pleased.

 

It is pitiful really. Such a small small walk. Literally about a minute each way at a normal pace. But mentally, it is a huge leap forward, and one I hope to continue to build on. Perhaps this is the finally the start of my recovery? I hope so!