Yesterday I wrote a post that included a picture that said, “Do one thing a day that scares you.” And although I agree with Heather that this probably isn’t possible for people who have really bad anxiety, it may not be practical for anybody, either. For example, the scary thing I did yesterday was finally getting my ass into the shower. No, the act didn’t terrify me, but just the thought of doing it — or not doing it, for that matter — increased my anxiety. So, that “scary thing” is different for everyone on different days and should be something realistic.

Brian and I made plans to go to my “new” gym to try a Group Kick class at 12:30pm. After thinking it through this morning, I realized that it probably wasn’t realistic and there’s no way I could make it an entire hour kicking and boxing and whatever else they do. So I suggested we take the Group Step class at 9:30am instead. How hard could that be? You just step up and down on this step thing. Besides, I’d already used the bathroom so any anxiety about having frantic scary urges because of the IBS was out of the way. Neither of us has taken any aerobics classes before and Brian never would other than for moral support.

I packed my gym bag so I could shower there to make sure I was totally OK with the facilities and besides, I’d be less likely to shower at home later no matter how stinky I was. By the time we got into the car, I didn’t think we’d make it in time. Besides, Brian didn’t have a free pass — he’d have to sign up for a guest pass and who knew how long that would take? I wanted to make sure we had a spot in the way back of the room.

There was no parking. I changed my mind and told Brian to head home, even though that wasn’t what I wanted to do. So we drove around until we found street parking. We were late. One of the employees walked me up to where the class was taking place and I could clearly see through the plate glass into the studio that the class was well on its way. Luckily, there was a chair just outside the door. I collapsed into it and burst into tears. Right there. At the gym. In front of the gym employee, and where I was convinced the people nearby and in the class could see me blubbering like an idiot about how there was no way I could do that class, I was too uncoordinated, and so on. I couldn’t even tell which one was the instructor! And Brian hadn’t even come up from the men’s locker room yet.

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For someone who has pretty bad anxiety, to the point where you’re almost agoraphobic, this is a good thing to do. Still, just the thought of doing one scary thing a day causes me anxiety. My heart starts racing a little and my mind starts racing a lot, trying to think of different things that would qualify as scary for me.

I’ve been driving on Lake Shore Drive once a week now for 3 or 4 weeks to see my therapist. That was scary the first time I did it. Making the commitment to return to regular therapy was scary, but one I’ve been doing well at. When I first started going I took the El on my own, which was also scary, especially because I haven’t ridden it in years and they’ve remodeled a lot of the stations. Going to the dentist for a few appointments by myself was scary. Anyway, I’ve been doing quite a few scary things in recent months, but not one a day. I guess you have to start somewhere.

Yesterday I did a really scary thing. In fact, it was so scary that I was very close to tears as I drove and nearly had an anxiety attack, even after I arrived. The previous day I made the decision to attend a Stretch class at that gym I visited over the weekend. When yesterday morning came along, I didn’t think I could do it. Then I was afraid I’d be late. Shortly after I got into the car, I realized that I left my cell phone at home, but I knew that if I went back for it I wouldn’t go back out. Several times during the 10-minute drive there, I seriously considered turning around and going home.

I made it in plenty of time and thankfully found a parking space in the lot. The woman who gave us the tour on Saturday was glad to see me. I introduced myself to the instructor, which is what you’re supposed to do when you’re new to a class. I explained to her about my anxiety and she assured me the class would help, which it did. I was a little uncomfortable because it was more crowded than I expected, but I found a space for myself in the back of the room.

The stretching exercises were wonderful, but I admit that my mind was racing the entire time. The class was only 30 minutes and I considered using the treadmill afterwards, but the instructor advised that it’s better to do cardio before stretching. Excellent, I thought. Besides, I figured, I accomplished my goal for the day. I did one scary thing.

photo [via]

Recently, I admitted my difficulty in accepting that I am on disability because I don’t fit my own personal stereotype of someone who is mentally disabled: that of a person who talks to him/herself, the person you wouldn’t sit next to on the El, the person whose attention you wouldn’t want to draw to yourself. A few people left comments, people who, like me, don’t fit that stereotype. Boo suggested giving group therapy a try where I might meet other people like me.

I gave that serious thought, but decided to attend a DBSA meeting because it’s free. I used to go to DBSA meetings years ago but never liked them because they were large. They were also presentations rather than discussions. Most of the others who went, if I remember correctly, were much older, like in their 60s, though I did meet one person around my age and with whom I still keep in touch.

Last night I went to a meeting held at a different location. I was scared of course, and never would have done it if Brian hadn’t come along. Luckily, the meetings are open to families and friends of people who have mental illness. It was exactly what I needed!

The group was peer-led and there weren’t more than a dozen people there. Many attendees were or are grad students, college grads, or about to return to college. I think I might have been the only one on disability, but that was OK. It was just a great feeling to be able to talk with others about our conditions, what works, what doesn’t, what we have in common, and to learn from each other. Certainly I appreciate all of the support and encouragement I receive online and don’t consider that any less helpful, but there’s something different about being face-to-face with others like yourself — perhaps it’s that you can actually see their smiles or their tears.

On the way to Borders this past Saturday, Brian and I spontaneously — well, OK, I was the one who made the decision — paid a visit to a nearby health club that’s connected/affiliated with a hospital. The facilities are on the same campus.

This health club holds a ton of appeal for me: it’s closer; they focus on the mind and body and overall wellness; if something happens, the hospital’s right there; and most important, the client demographics are much more varied than the already skinny young set of yuppies at our current health club. I didn’t mind working out there when I weighed 112 lbs. In fact, I weighed about as much as I do now when I first started going there, but it’s…I don’t know. I’m so incredibly self-conscious. And I feel horrible that I’ve regained all that weight.

Anyway, this new place is going to start an 8-week long, one-hour program that includes both exercise and discussion about eating properly, eating due to stress, etc. It sounds perfect for me, but it hasn’t started yet.

The place itself meets my standards in terms of cleanliness and the equipment I’d use, and the person who gave us the tour didn’t make me wait for 2 hours like “Brett” (not his real name but close) with the fancy goatee at our current gym. When I finally said something to him, he gave me some lame excuse about not realizing why I was there. Whatever, Brett. Fuck you. And yeah, I really did wait 2 hours. Granted, the woman on Saturday was definitely a salesperson, but she seemed to have my health interests in mind.

I now have 2 free passes to use in the next 30 days. I really wanted to go to the Stretch and Tone class yesterday, a low-key class to get me started up again on increasing my flexibility. I wanted to try out the tai chi class today. I chickened out. I’ve never been to group classes at the gym and always made sure to work out when most people were at work. This class thing though — that means other people and I have horrible social anxiety. I don’t even know how I made it to the few yoga classes I took last year or whenever that was, let alone martial arts.

Brian offered to join for a month so he could accompany me, just to get me started. The problem is, the classes wouldn’t interest him and anyway, they’re during the day while he’s at work. I’m sure he’d join to use the machines, but the reason he goes to our old gym is because they have pick-up basketball. Recently, he’s started working out on our stationary bike that we bought for me a while back, and I’m actually jealous.

Anyway, I’m also looking into Weight Watchers. I’ve spoken to a few people about their experiences with it and both have been positive. I meant to go to the drop-in open house thingy at a nearby location this past weekend, but I chickened out, surprise, surprise. I rationalized this by telling myself that I visited that health club on Saturday; but I really did and that’s a step.

All I know is that I’m tired of looking the way that I do, and I’m definitely tired of the way I look makes me feel. I’ve always been the type of person whose mindset is, “If you don’t like something, quit your bitching and do something about it.” But I can’t. It’s not even that I can’t because I have in the past, but now I’m terrified. Absolutely terrified. And in the meantime, this terror and anxiety has me eating shit that I should be staying the hell away from.

When I saw the pdoc last week I told him that I haven’t been sleeping well. I’ve been having vivid dreams, which isn’t new, but although I don’t remember most of these recent ones, each one puts me in a stressful situation — kind of like those dreams about not having studied for a big exam, but 10 times more stressful. I wake up with my jaws clenched and with my entire body a knot of tensed muscle. I feel physically and mentally exhausted.

The pdoc was surprised because the 1 mg. of Klonopin I take every night has muscle relaxing properties. Well, it doesn’t. Not 1 mg., anyway, unlike the 3 mg. I took before my root canal last week (1 mg. the night before, 1 mg. the next morning, and 1 mg. a couple of hours before my appointment). He said that it is possible to actually stress while you sleep, so he replaced the Klonopin with 5 mg. of Valium.

I was concerned because of my past history of overdosing on prescription meds, although I haven’t done that in years; I take all of my medications exactly as prescribed. I am allowed to take 1 or 2 extra Klonopins during stressful situations, and even that has been rare — just the emergency dental appointment this past summer and this recent root canal. Other times I just eat, but that’s another story.

Although this is a valid concern, my pdoc and therapist agree that there isn’t any danger of this happening. Besides, if you’ve ever had to drink activated charcoal, you’re not going to be ODing again anytime soon. At least it worked as a deterrent for me. That web site’s claim that activated charcoal is “tasteless” is complete and utter bullshit, I’ll tell you that right now — it’s quite possibly the worst thing I’ve ever tasted in my life. And if you don’t drink it, they pump your stomach and force it down your throat. No, thank you.

Anyway, I left his office feeling like a middle-class suburban mom in need of a “chill pill,” the image that comes to mind when I hear “Valium,” but also with some hope of relief.

If anything, things are worse. Now, I’m not even sleeping through the night! I wake up several times and often have trouble falling back asleep. This is in addition to the stressful dreams. It’s only been a week, and admittedly, I’m too lazy to call the doctor, so I’m giving it another week. I just hope it starts working.