(Trigger warning for emetophobes: the “N” and “V” words are used in this post.)

I really wanted to do another “Win Wednesday” post yesterday, but I couldn’t. And why, you might ask?

Well, I was hanging out on the bathroom floor with a box of saltines, a bottle of Pepto Bismol, peppermint oil, anti-nausea wristbands, Xanax, ginger candy, Pepsi, ginger ale, and Emetrol.

I’m deathly afraid of the stomach virus to the point where I have a legitimate phobia of throwing up. Believe it or not, this fear is incredibly common, and it has a name: emetophobia.

EMETOPHOBIA: THE FEAR OF VOMITING

When I first learned it had a name, I felt less alone. I didn’t feel weird for engaging in bizarre preventative measures to prevent me from throwing up (even when puking would probably make me feel better).

For example: chewing some ginger gum at the first sign of nausea. Wearing anti-nausea wristbands in the car even before you feel nauseated. Always carrying a tin of peppermint Altoids in your purse or pocket.

Just in case.

Yesterday, as I lay on the bathroom floor in a mess of misery and fear, I turned to YouTube for distraction. First, I watched cute videos of small animals.

Then, for some reason, I entered “emetophobia” as a search term.

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Yes, my husband and I are buying a house. Oh, the excitement! A house of our very own. A house where we’ll raise kids and grow old together.

We’re buying a house!

(Well, we’re trying to.)

It’s a buyer’s market in many areas of the country, but I’m lucky enough to live in the 7th-fastest growing metro area in the US. Translation: seller’s market.

Bah.

Having an anxiety disorder affects my life quite enough the way it is. Throw something as big as house hunting into the mix and it’s very easy to become overwhelmed — with the process, with the decisions, and with the somewhat-manic fear of missing out on the perfect home.

Here are my tips to help you get through the house hunting process with as little additional anxiety and stress as possible:

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Earlier, I wrote about how I began to struggle with panic attacks again — in a pretty severe way — about three years after withdrawing myself from Paxil, an SSRI medication that treats anxiety disorders.

Then, after some heavy-hearted contemplation and a few shed tears, I threw up my hands and swallowed my first Celexa pill. I felt terrible about doing it. Even with the first pill, I knew I was taking out a loan — a loan with interest. Celexa would give me a break from all the anxiety, I reasoned, but just like with Paxil, there will come a day during which I’ll have to pay it all back via the horrors of SSRI withdrawal.

I felt ashamed when I began taking the Celexa. It wasn’t the “I’m ashamed I’m on psych meds” shame that no one ought to have; it was more like “I’m ashamed because I’m doing something I’d promised myself I’d never do again” kind of shame. And now, I (and only I) would be responsible for whatever might happen. With Paxil, I was uninformed. With Celexa, I knew what I was getting into.

And I didn’t feel like I had a choice in the matter.

SO, WHY ADMIT ALL OF THIS NOW?

The reason I’ve now decided to, uh, “come out” about my current SSRI use is this: my husband and I want to make a baby soon.

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(Note: We spend so much time dwelling on the debilitating effects of our anxiety disorders, don’t we? Why not devote an entire day to focusing on our accomplishments [instead of our bumps in the road]? Enter “Win Wednesday“: a day to reflect upon the past week and share our successes — no matter what their shape or size.)

Patience is a virtue, they say.

And I lack it.

Even when I’m feeling relatively calm, I have trouble waiting. (Lines, waiting rooms, and restaurants are the worst. How long do I have to stand in line? When will the nurse call my name? Will they bring my appetizers before my blood sugar drops to zilch and I begin to panic?)

But this week, I had a small waiting-related win.

I had woken up early to meet my husband and our realtor to sign some paperwork. (We’re in the process of buying a house! More on that soon.) I’m more of a night owl these days, so morning energy doesn’t come easily.

We finished up our paperwork and I decided, on a whim, to take a drive to the mall. I had some coupons to use at CVS for some dirt-cheap makeup and a free candy bar, and I also wanted to browse through the bookstore. (Even though gas is expensive, and the mall is a good 15 miles away, I can always rationalize spending money on gas. If it helps to keep agoraphobia at bay, it’s worth it.)

I drove right from the realtor’s office to the mall. I parked in a strangely-empty parking lot, got out of my car, walked to the mall entrance, and tried to open the door.

Locked.

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(Note: We spend so much time dwelling on the debilitating effects of our anxiety disorders, don’t we? I sure as hell do.

Why not devote an entire day to focusing on our accomplishments [instead of our bumps in the road]?

Enter “Win Wednesday“: a day to reflect upon the past week and share our successes — no matter what their shape or size.)

It’s here! Happy Wednesday.

Today, we’re not just celebrating the midpoint of the work week — we’re here to celebrate Panic About Anxiety’s inaugural Win Wednesday.

The rules are simple:

1. Read about my own “win” for the week (if you’d like).
2. Post your own win in the comments below (and on Twitter, if you’d like, with a #winwednesday hashtag).
3. Read about the wins of your fellow anxiety sufferers (and cheer them on)!

Define “win” however you’d like. Tell us how you overcame anxiety this week, even if only for one fleeting moment. Perhaps you bravely walked down to the end of your driveway to collect the day’s mail. Maybe you managed to talk to your boss without getting a nervous stomach. Or maybe you made it through a grocery shopping trip without meds.

No matter how “large” or “small” the success might seem to the “outside world”, your success is 100% valid here.

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We all know how difficult anxiety disorders are. We all know how easy it is to focus on the negatives: the endless setbacks, the embarrassment, and the ever-present triggers.

It’s exhausting, isn’t it?

Well, let’s counter all of that exhaustion. It’s time to focus on the wins.

Enter “Win Wednesday”.

Admittedly, I’m sort of borrowing this concept from an ADHD forum on the social bookmarking and forum website Reddit.com. There’s a “subreddit” (or sub-forum) specifically for folks with ADHD — and each Wednesday, users post their “wins” — no matter how small.

Every success, after all, demonstrates progress — right?

Users reflect upon the past 7 days and share those brief-but-stunning periods of clarity, productivity, and organization that many ADHD’ers are constantly seeking. Here’s just a few examples from a recent Win Wednesday post:

• “I cleaned my desk off, and the area around it!”
• “Since the start of the year, I’ve gotten away without doing the reading in a lecture/seminar based course, because I’m bright and wily [sic] enough to get good grades while bullshitting my way through conversation. But tonight, I actually sat down and did the whole reading. A small victory, but a victory nonetheless.”
• “I actually studied last week and got 84% on a math test.”

“WIN WEDNESDAY” FOR THE PANICKY CROWD

I think Win Wednesday would be perfect for us anxiety and panic sufferers. It’s so easy to remember the bad times while discounting the good times, isn’t it? Why do we do such a thing?

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The scene: late summer, on a leave of absence from my cubicle-farm workplace. The culprit? Panic. Really bad panic that was keeping me, for the most part, stuck in my apartment. Most days, I was too scared to even drive down the street to Walgreens.

I had been relying on Xanax to treat my panic attacks as they happened. I’d been diligently working through Dr. Edmund Bourne’s Anxiety & Phobia Workbook (which I would honestly recommend to anyone who suffers from frequent panic attacks), but not seeing any immediate benefit. I’d been doing therapy and trying to eat normally again. At only 95 lbs, an all-time low for my adult life, I felt unhealthy and deflated.

“Why don’t you just try Celexa and see what happens?” my family doctor said at my next appointment. “If you don’t like it, you don’t have to continue taking it.”

Yeah. I’ve heard that story before. Cough cough PAXIL cough.

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Earlier, I wrote about how I began to struggle with panic attacks again — in a pretty severe way — about three years after withdrawing myself from Paxil, an SSRI medication that treats anxiety disorders.

I had a full-time “big girl” job in a customer service call center that, over time, began to painfully grate on my nerves. After successfully transferring to a new department (yay!) where my workday was less hectic, I found out that my entire department was being laid off — except for me and about 8 other employees — and we were all magically being transferred back to the nerve-grating department from whence I came.

The anxiety was unbearable. Couldn’t sleep; couldn’t eat. I felt stuck. Even Xanax didn’t help.

And that’s when I found myself on the Med-Go-Round again. I took a leave of absence from work and went to my doctor. In the exam room, I cried as he signed my LOA paperwork.

“I think you’d feel much better if you tried some medication other than Xanax,” he said. His concern was genuine. “Instead of treating your panic as it happens, we should try to prevent it.”

I refused. I said I just needed to rest and let my body and mind unwind for awhile.

Next appointment:

“I still think you’d feel much better if you tried some medication. Why don’t we try an SSRI?”

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I’m an advocate of being open and honest about mental health. I try to lead by example (with this blog!) by talking candidly about my anxiety disorder.

But there’s one thing I haven’t been sharing. It’s not because I’m embarrassed. It’s not because I’m ashamed.

It’s because I’ve hit that “fool me twice, shame on me” mile marker.

I promised myself I’d never take an SSRI again after my horrible experience with Paxil.

But now it’s time for me to admit that I’m on Celexa. I’ve been on it for about a year and a half.

Like Paxil, it’s an SSRI. The same kind of drug I promised myself I’d never touch again.

Sigh.

So, how’d it come to this? After year of vociferously bashing SSRI’s online, in the LA Times, and in a yet-to-be-released documentary about SSRI withdrawal — what in holy hell convinced me to get back on one?

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I haven’t talked about meds on this blog for some time. And it’s been an intentional choice.

It’s been a whopping 6 years since I took my last shard of Paxil. (Yes, shard — in my final weeks of tapering off that horrific SSRI, I relied on miniscule shards of Paxil to jury-rig an appropriate dose. Often, those shards would simply pulverize under the pressure of my plastic pill-splitting device. White Paxil powder? You bet. Everywhere. On my desk, on my jeans, and on my hands. I’m sure I looked like a coke addict.)

Paxil was a difficult drug for me for many reasons. First, it was expensive. My doctor had prescribed me the controlled-release version, which was still under patent protection at the time, so of course it was pricey (think $120/month without insurance). Kinda tough for a college gal making $6/hour working 15 hours a week fixing printer jams in the college computer labs.

Second, it did its job so well that I didn’t even consider any type of psychotherapy. It stopped the panic attacks, so I mistakenly thought that my job as a patient was done. Not so.

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