First Draft PS - is a medical condition appropriate?
Posted: Tue Oct 28, 2014 11:35 pm
Do I sound like an obnoxious twat? I have reread this thing so many times it's starting to sound like it. Constructive criticism greatly appreciated.
"Palpitations. The word sits clumsy and overflowing in the mouth of an eight year old. So many letters pressed up against one another, it was prone to picking up a vowel or consonant that didn't belong. Throughout my childhood it would spill across my tongue to explain away an errant absence or inability to participate. I didn't quite understand the meaning, but the the listener always seemed to. Their face would crumple sympathetically, there might be some cooing and clucking, and the interaction would inevitably end with an “it's okay”, “you don't have to”, or “we'll find something else for you to do”. Each iteration solidified my suspicions that this confusing and senseless word meant that there was something wrong with me – something that limited my ability to behave like my classmates.
I may not have understood the word, but I definitely understood the feeling. I was only six or seven when I first remember it. I was playing some innocuous game with my brother when it suddenly felt like a barrel hit me square in the chest. I doubled over, my breath catching erratically, and tasted bile bubbling at the back of my throat. My little legs sprinted to where my mother was and I crushed her hand against my sternum, crying that something terrifying and unfamiliar was happening to me. The episodes happened so infrequently that it was many more months before I had any kind of formal diagnosis.
The doctors were convinced that the palpitations were inextricably linked to an anxiety disorder. Through my mother, they tried to fix me with anxiolytics to calm my nerves and beta-blockers to target faulty receptors. I tried to fix me by spitting my pills in the toilet and desperately avoiding anything I thought might trigger the episodes. What the doctors did not understand was that the palpitations were not only brought on by anxiety, but the anxiety was also brought on by the palpitations. The episodes would pass with relative ease if I kept myself from panicking. I understood this and restricted myself to situations in which I knew I would be able to stay relatively calm. As a child this was manifested by acute introversion; I feigned disinterest in any sports or activities and would rarely play with friends outside of my home. By my teenage years I had developed a superstitious set of rules I thought helped prevent the episodes; I would not travel more than a few hours away from my home, I could not lay flat on my back unless my head was elevated, I avoided physical activity at almost any cost, and under no circumstances could I ever measure my heart rate. My fear of having palpitations was so controlling that I passed up a lot of opportunities.
The first few years of college were just an extension of high school as far as my anxiety was concerned, but things began to change during my senior year. The closing of such a pivotal epoch as college opened my eyes to how much life I had missed out on while I was hiding in my room. With considerable effort, I began to incorporate things into my life that I had never allowed before. It wasn't the graceful transformation one sees in movies, but painful and ugly and almost unbearably formulaic. I had spent nearly twenty years of my life hoping that the palpitations would go away, hoping that I could be less anxious, hoping that somehow things would change – hope got me nowhere. Hope isn't a strategy. Instead, I started running. I drove longer distances alone. I stopped taking my cellphone everywhere. Each opportunity I could, I pushed myself a little bit further outside of my comfort zone. I traveled overseas alone – twice. I lived alone. I ran a half marathon. The palpitations still came but I worked on embracing their transiency; I let them come and forgot them when they were gone. I confronted the monster of fear and it atrophied.
Life is different for me now. I have a fierce need to push myself and make up for all the opportunities my anxiety stole from me. I am driven because I know how easily I could have stayed the victim. I am courageous because I refuse to let fear be a priority again. I know that I am where I am only because of conscious and sustained personal development, and that it is something that will require continual attention. But I am hopeful, I am determined. I have chosen my path in life and I will be tenacious in the pursuit of it. "
"Palpitations. The word sits clumsy and overflowing in the mouth of an eight year old. So many letters pressed up against one another, it was prone to picking up a vowel or consonant that didn't belong. Throughout my childhood it would spill across my tongue to explain away an errant absence or inability to participate. I didn't quite understand the meaning, but the the listener always seemed to. Their face would crumple sympathetically, there might be some cooing and clucking, and the interaction would inevitably end with an “it's okay”, “you don't have to”, or “we'll find something else for you to do”. Each iteration solidified my suspicions that this confusing and senseless word meant that there was something wrong with me – something that limited my ability to behave like my classmates.
I may not have understood the word, but I definitely understood the feeling. I was only six or seven when I first remember it. I was playing some innocuous game with my brother when it suddenly felt like a barrel hit me square in the chest. I doubled over, my breath catching erratically, and tasted bile bubbling at the back of my throat. My little legs sprinted to where my mother was and I crushed her hand against my sternum, crying that something terrifying and unfamiliar was happening to me. The episodes happened so infrequently that it was many more months before I had any kind of formal diagnosis.
The doctors were convinced that the palpitations were inextricably linked to an anxiety disorder. Through my mother, they tried to fix me with anxiolytics to calm my nerves and beta-blockers to target faulty receptors. I tried to fix me by spitting my pills in the toilet and desperately avoiding anything I thought might trigger the episodes. What the doctors did not understand was that the palpitations were not only brought on by anxiety, but the anxiety was also brought on by the palpitations. The episodes would pass with relative ease if I kept myself from panicking. I understood this and restricted myself to situations in which I knew I would be able to stay relatively calm. As a child this was manifested by acute introversion; I feigned disinterest in any sports or activities and would rarely play with friends outside of my home. By my teenage years I had developed a superstitious set of rules I thought helped prevent the episodes; I would not travel more than a few hours away from my home, I could not lay flat on my back unless my head was elevated, I avoided physical activity at almost any cost, and under no circumstances could I ever measure my heart rate. My fear of having palpitations was so controlling that I passed up a lot of opportunities.
The first few years of college were just an extension of high school as far as my anxiety was concerned, but things began to change during my senior year. The closing of such a pivotal epoch as college opened my eyes to how much life I had missed out on while I was hiding in my room. With considerable effort, I began to incorporate things into my life that I had never allowed before. It wasn't the graceful transformation one sees in movies, but painful and ugly and almost unbearably formulaic. I had spent nearly twenty years of my life hoping that the palpitations would go away, hoping that I could be less anxious, hoping that somehow things would change – hope got me nowhere. Hope isn't a strategy. Instead, I started running. I drove longer distances alone. I stopped taking my cellphone everywhere. Each opportunity I could, I pushed myself a little bit further outside of my comfort zone. I traveled overseas alone – twice. I lived alone. I ran a half marathon. The palpitations still came but I worked on embracing their transiency; I let them come and forgot them when they were gone. I confronted the monster of fear and it atrophied.
Life is different for me now. I have a fierce need to push myself and make up for all the opportunities my anxiety stole from me. I am driven because I know how easily I could have stayed the victim. I am courageous because I refuse to let fear be a priority again. I know that I am where I am only because of conscious and sustained personal development, and that it is something that will require continual attention. But I am hopeful, I am determined. I have chosen my path in life and I will be tenacious in the pursuit of it. "
