Xanax
Alprazolam
Agoraphobia, as defined by Psychology Today, is the fear of getting into a situation one might be unable to get out of. This is the fear of having an anxiety attack; the fear of fear itself.
I don't know when it started, really. Despite being very social in high school, I grew to be very shy somewhere along the way. It started out with the fear of being alone which left me dependent on my best friends. But we leave this world just the way we come into it: alone.
The panic attacks started halfway through my junior year, after the untimely death of a dear friend of mine. Over time my fear of death was escalated into a fear of everything. It was during this time of deep fear that I realized just how alone I was.
Droplets of rain fell from the sky, dripping onto the porch when the wind changed directions. My tea had grown cold hours ago but I couldn't bring myself to move. Something about the rain was so mesmerizing as it trickled down the large window, the cold somehow seeping in. As the sun turned day into night a thin layer of fog descended upon my yard. My yard. What a sad thought that I was only 19 and already keeping up my own house. A house I hadn't even asked for. Though I suppose being alone was inevitable, right? We come into this world alone, so surely loneliness is not a cause for surprise.
I sighed, my breath fogging up the window.
Winter months are said to be the most depressing, the higher suicide rates being a clue. When I was younger I had never found the winter months to be sad. Not until people began to die around the holidays, anyways. The first to go was my grandfather. I found out early in the morning just as sleep was being blinked out of my eyes. My grandmother, my other grandmother, my father, my other grandfather, my aunt, one of my friends, another aunt. Eventually I lost track; eventually the pain was something I could no longer feel.
Becoming immune to pain, or feeling as though I was... that started just near the end of my senior year. My anxiety was high the whole year, but aside from the attacks I felt no pain. Or so I told myself. The trick was the amount of medication I was taking. Self medicating. A quarter of a Xanax just to wind myself down enough to be productive. Half. Three quarters. The whole thing. More than one.
Each gust of wind blowing stronger against the house made me wonder if it was possible that they would rattle themselves to shards. If the windows were to bust themselves out then any passerby would think the house was abandoned, maybe then someone would come in to steal or destroy things.
"That will never happen," I told myself. "It's just a storm."
Hairs prickling up on my skin let me know that it was time to retreat to a warmer portion of the house. How inviting the study sounded; soundproofed so no one would know I was here, candles for light. The idea was beautiful to me. Two Xanax to quiet my thoughts and I was reeling. Maybe self medicating wasn't the best idea but if I went to a psychiatrist that would be the end for me. This would follow me forever if it was recorded in any official way. People would consider me crazy. The beating in my chest picked up to double time once that word crossed my mind. Crazy.
I found myself flipping through television channels in the dark, trying to create some sense of familiarity in the safe haven I had created for myself. This moment was one that let me know I needed the highs; this moment where I tried to distract myself from pulling out more hair or breaking more things that I should have held dear. The pulsating sensation in my fingers eventually turned to tears streaming down my face.
"Please don't pull your hair out," I whispered to myself, taking in deep breaths. Another Xanax made its way into my mouth, slowly being washed down by the nearest bottle of water my dainty fingers could find.
A sigh escaped me again, but this time it was a sign that I was falling into the weight that restrained me.
I don't know when it started, really. Despite being very social in high school, I grew to be very shy somewhere along the way. It started out with the fear of being alone which left me dependent on my best friends. But we leave this world just the way we come into it: alone.
The panic attacks started halfway through my junior year, after the untimely death of a dear friend of mine. Over time my fear of death was escalated into a fear of everything. It was during this time of deep fear that I realized just how alone I was.
Droplets of rain fell from the sky, dripping onto the porch when the wind changed directions. My tea had grown cold hours ago but I couldn't bring myself to move. Something about the rain was so mesmerizing as it trickled down the large window, the cold somehow seeping in. As the sun turned day into night a thin layer of fog descended upon my yard. My yard. What a sad thought that I was only 19 and already keeping up my own house. A house I hadn't even asked for. Though I suppose being alone was inevitable, right? We come into this world alone, so surely loneliness is not a cause for surprise.
I sighed, my breath fogging up the window.
Winter months are said to be the most depressing, the higher suicide rates being a clue. When I was younger I had never found the winter months to be sad. Not until people began to die around the holidays, anyways. The first to go was my grandfather. I found out early in the morning just as sleep was being blinked out of my eyes. My grandmother, my other grandmother, my father, my other grandfather, my aunt, one of my friends, another aunt. Eventually I lost track; eventually the pain was something I could no longer feel.
Becoming immune to pain, or feeling as though I was... that started just near the end of my senior year. My anxiety was high the whole year, but aside from the attacks I felt no pain. Or so I told myself. The trick was the amount of medication I was taking. Self medicating. A quarter of a Xanax just to wind myself down enough to be productive. Half. Three quarters. The whole thing. More than one.
Each gust of wind blowing stronger against the house made me wonder if it was possible that they would rattle themselves to shards. If the windows were to bust themselves out then any passerby would think the house was abandoned, maybe then someone would come in to steal or destroy things.
"That will never happen," I told myself. "It's just a storm."
Hairs prickling up on my skin let me know that it was time to retreat to a warmer portion of the house. How inviting the study sounded; soundproofed so no one would know I was here, candles for light. The idea was beautiful to me. Two Xanax to quiet my thoughts and I was reeling. Maybe self medicating wasn't the best idea but if I went to a psychiatrist that would be the end for me. This would follow me forever if it was recorded in any official way. People would consider me crazy. The beating in my chest picked up to double time once that word crossed my mind. Crazy.
I found myself flipping through television channels in the dark, trying to create some sense of familiarity in the safe haven I had created for myself. This moment was one that let me know I needed the highs; this moment where I tried to distract myself from pulling out more hair or breaking more things that I should have held dear. The pulsating sensation in my fingers eventually turned to tears streaming down my face.
"Please don't pull your hair out," I whispered to myself, taking in deep breaths. Another Xanax made its way into my mouth, slowly being washed down by the nearest bottle of water my dainty fingers could find.
A sigh escaped me again, but this time it was a sign that I was falling into the weight that restrained me.
♠ ♠ ♠
Alprazolam is the pharmaceutical name for Xanax.