Trigger Warning: This post contains language relating to suicidal ideation and panic attacks. Reader discretion is advised. Canadian resources for support will be available below.
Do you ever find yourself in a situation you never imagined you’d be in? That was where I found myself for the first time in 2018.
The situation? A mental health crisis.
As a Registered Nurse, I learned about mental health in school, I even had placements in mental health centres and had worked in one as a health care aide. I thought I knew what those suffering from mental health disorders were going through. But I couldn’t understand what it was like until I found myself at the bottom of a mental pit debating whether to take my own life.
I know that that sounds dramatic. We throw around phrases like “I’m literally dead” and “I just want to die” so often in our society that they have lost their impact. But when I said I wanted to be dead, I wanted to cease to exist, float away into the great unknown, join the forever rest. I was ready to get away from this earth and all of my pain and suffering and meet Jesus and all of the sweet promises of Heaven. I was ready to make a plan.
For over a week now, I had completely lost touch with reality. I was existing in a state somewhere between sleep and wakefulness, not knowing what was conjured by my mind in a dream state or what was real. I felt paranoid, terrified, angry, irritable, panicked, guilty beyond redemption, worthless, useless… I couldn’t eat, I couldn’t sleep, I felt like I couldn’t breathe and that my heart would jump right out of my chest…I was in the deep throws of what I would later learn was depression with anxious distress. And I was about to have my first panic attack.
I had seen others go though panic attacks, I had even coached others through panic attacks. But the realization that I no longer wanted to live scared me so much that it sent me right over the edge and suddenly I had no idea what to do or how to make it stop. There I sat, alone, in my tornado of a bedroom, in the middle of my floor, sobbing uncontrollably and struggling to breathe.
If you’ve never experienced a panic attack, you may just think of someone who is hyperventilating into a paper bag, maybe sweating profusely.
My first panic attack felt like I had an elephant sitting on my chest. My heart felt like it had the Energizer Bunny powering it. My lungs struggled to expand and fill with air. I could hear my raging pulse, only second to the deafening ringing in my ears. I could feel rivers of sweat running down my body - down my arms, down my back, down my chest. I couldn’t see anything, my vision distorted to the point of only recognizing vague outlines of familiar objects. My limbs went numb, I felt as if I would faint. I thought I was having a heart attack. I thought I was going to die.
Ironically, for someone who moments before was contemplating how to end her life, when faced with a situation where I felt like I was actually dying, I was terrified! I cried out to God between heaving breaths to spare me and to save my life, that I wasn’t ready to stop living and that I had so much to live for.
That’s the funny thing about being in crisis. You don’t know what you want: all that you know is that you want it to stop.
So how did I get out of that crippling situation? I listened to the whisper behind all of the voices yelling and telling me that I would be better off dead. Beyond those, I heard a faint voice telling me to reach out to someone. I believe that voice was the Holy Spirit coaching me through.
And I obeyed.
I lifted my phone, which I had been clutching for dear life. First, I tried to get ahold of my mom, but her being out of the country at a funeral made things complicated and I couldn’t get through to her. Then, I tried a couple of friends. I didn’t tell them what was going on right away, I just sent about 10 “Hey, are you busy right now?” messages. Finally, after what felt like an eternity of hearing the voices in my head tell me that no one will answer because no one loved me or cared enough to help me, I got a notification. She asked “What’s up?” I broke down again into tears. I couldn’t even use my fingers to call her, I had to ask Siri to do it for me.
And here is where I can honestly say that God works in mysterious ways.
Do you know which of my friends answered me? The one with a degree in Neuroscience with a specialization in Mental Health. My friend who had just spent the past few years coaching students through various mental health states of unwellness was now on the other line of my phone, ready to talk to me.
Of all the friends He could have sent, He sent the perfect one. In His way, He was showing me that even in my deepest pit of despair, He was still with me.
My friend encouraged me to call my doctor, which I did as soon as I got off the phone with her. And finally my mom saw my missed calls and called me back. Between my friend, my doctor and my mom, I was able to calm down and regain control over my body.
That was the first of years of panic attacks, each as vivid as the last. But what I learned that day, was that I needed help. I needed to reach out to the resources available to me, including, but not limited to a little blue pill.
If you or someone you know if suffering right now, please, I urge you to get help. Call your family doctor, call a friend, call someone! I’m leaving some links to crisis programs at the bottom of this post so that if you don’t know who to call it will at least give you a starting point.
Reaching out for help saved my life, it could save yours too.
I hope you have a wonderful rest of your day, and remember, you aren’t alone!
Sincerely,
Mikeera
Click here for resources for support in Canada.
