Falling Apart, Silently!
It was another usual afternoon in the summer of 2021 when I started feeling nauseous. My digestive issues have been increasing over the last few months. I have been seeing doctors and taking various medical tests to understand the underlying cause of indigestion and vomiting. I have already been told by various doctors that I have IBS (Irritable bowel syndrome) and that there is no permanent cure except for managing the symptoms. IBS, as per medical definition, is a gastrointestinal disorder characterised by frequent stomach pain, diarrhoea, or constipation without any underlying cause or physical abnormalities in the abdomen. The exact cause of IBS is still not known, but the major causes are stress and anxiety. Therefore, to get better, I had to work on my mental health, which I avoided accepting due to the stigma and fear attached to it.
The mental health issues didn’t start at once. It was a gradual decline. Only at the age of 19 did it start showing its physical symptoms when I started having incidents of continuous vomiting that lasted for months. No doctor could understand what was happening to me. All tests came back normal; there was no physical abnormality. The doctors prescribed antacids and kept experimenting for months as if my stomach issues were merely digestive. The medical system in our country is only equipped to deal with physical symptoms without trying to understand the underlying cause, and neither my parents nor I had the courage to accept the root cause.
Temporary relief
It took me six months to finally get to know a doctor who helped me identify that I was suffering from IBS and that the underlying cause was my mental health issues. He put me on antidepressants and anti-anxiety medications, after which I began to see some improvement in my health. I started to work on my lifestyle, and things felt somewhat better. But it was just a band-aid on the injury.
I kept feeling anxiety lingering in the background. A relentless sense of fear that something could go wrong at any instant. I kept struggling with digestive issues. The embarrassment of going to the toilet many times during the day was intolerable. It was often a point of ridicule to keep having constant stomach issues, which only extended my sense of isolation and insecurity.
When I Finally Reached Out
I was admitted to IIT Roorkee in PhD Civil Engineering in February 2021. All my repressed anxiety resurfaced with the pressure to be perfect, attached to the terror of COVID-19, which became too much for me. Finally, on July 6th, 2021, I had an anxiety attack. I felt breathless, and my body got paralyzed and numb. I couldn’t feel and control my hands and legs. It felt as if I was going to die at any moment. I was taken to the district hospital by my parents, which is still the only big hospital in my hometown. No one there had any understanding of what was happening to me. They gave me a few injections, which I still am unaware of. My heart was thumping as if it was going to come out of my chest at any moment. My parents then took me to a local private clinic, which seemed to be a better option than a government hospital. The doctor then gave me a pill, after which I started to feel better. The pill was anti-anxiety medicine. He told me I have depression and I have to keep coming to him to get better. Then, after three more months of taking anti-anxiety and antacid pills and not feeling better, I finally gave up and resorted to therapy.
Facing inner demons!
I started my journey with therapy in April 2022, thanks to the counselling services provided by the college. It was not easy. I had to face my own hidden demons. The major problem was that I had to talk, and not just talk, but talk about myself. I was the center of attention here. I was given the time and attention of someone who wanted to know my story. It was not at all familiar to have a stranger sitting with me just to know about me, which had never happened to me before. I was never made to feel as important by anyone. This was the first time in my life I felt heard. The first time, I felt that someone cared and that I mattered. That someone is sitting on the other side of the chair, wanting to understand, not to be understood. Someone patient enough not to give up on me and ready to provide all the support that I so desperately need. Initially, it was difficult for me to open up. How could I when, through my life, I had been made to feel that what I was, say, and feel didn’t matter much? All that mattered was what I did and achieved. Now, someone is giving her time and attention just to listen to my story without judgment. Someone was there who wasn’t mad when I made a mistake and didn’t judge me for not obeying her demands. Slowly, I started to feel better, and things started to improve. The frequency of anxiety attacks was reduced, and I was able to manage my IBS. This was the first time in my life I realised that I was not unwanted, that I was important, and that my life mattered. As my mental health started to improve, so did my physical health. I gained a better understanding of my self-worth. I started to trust myself more, which I never did. I started to feel more human, not less than.
The reflection!
As I look back, I realise that my panic attacks were never sudden. It was a result of accumulated letdowns and childhood trauma. My breakdown was a turning point; my mind had given up, and I could no longer continue disregarding the damage I had suffered. It wasn’t easy, but it was the beginning of understanding that my mental health was as important as my physical health. I won’t say that therapy has solved all my life’s problems because it cannot. But it has made me mentally equipped to deal with them. Do I still get anxious after years of therapy? Yes. But now I know how to manage it. Now, I know that it is just anxiety, and it can’t kill me. It doesn’t have that power over me anymore.
Therapy is not magic!
Not everything is perfect even now. There are still days when my body gives up to all the external demands and pressures, and my mind starts imagining all the worst that can happen. But then I keep telling myself that recovery is not linear. I have learned to value the little wins, to be kinder to myself, and to trust that my body and mind are doing their best.
Today, I feel bad when I see people struggling with their mental health and not being able to get proper treatment even when it is so easily available. Therapy is the last option most people go for due to the stigma attached. I sometimes want to shout aloud and tell everyone that therapy can heal you. That you deserve it, that everyone deserves it, and you are not mad for choosing it.