I really want to diagnose myself with an anxiety disorder. I know many of you may have strong feelings and opinions about this statement, so please feel free to comment about it or message me on social media about it. One purpose of this blog is to start conversations, even if they are difficult ones.

To give you some background, ever since I was about 9 or 10, I would have these episodes where I feel like my throat is closing up and I can’t breathe. The harder I try to breathe, the more I hyperventilate. The more I hyperventilate, the harder it is to breathe. I proceed to panic more and more as each breath becomes shallower and each thought in my head races faster. There are spots in my vision now and I sit there basically waiting to die. However, over the years I’ve noticed my non-death in these instances. I have learned that my brain is plotting against me to make me believe that I can’t breathe. Nevertheless, this knowledge of my brain’s tricks doesn’t stop the panic from occurring. The clever little shit presents real life events that might possibly be the cause of me not breathing: working with chemicals in the lab (even thought I used all the safety precautions), online creeps with a vendetta to come to my house and human traffic me. A car “following” me on my walk home from work. I’m unsure what these events have to do with my breathing patterns but somehow my brain convinces me that panic is the only option to resolve the thought patterns. I also often feel an indistinct worry about nothing at all and everything all at once. If this doesn’t sound like anxious or paranoid behavior I don’t know what does. Also did I mention that I am the recipient of a Bachelor of Science degree in Psychology? So CLEARLY, I know what I’m talking about. 

I don’t know, you know, self-diagnosis is highly controversial, in part because it undermines the authority of the mental health institutions in the U.S, and in part because a self-misdiagnosis can be harmful. I respect the authority of mental health professionals, I really do. But I also respect my own understanding of myself, because I live inside my internal world every passing second of every day.

Some have said that I am appropriating the term “anxiety” to explain my emotions and that it takes away from other people’s real problems. So maybe I am being a dick because nobody with a doctoral degree has signed off on the issue of my anxiousness. I think that is a fair point to make because who knows, maybe my feelings aren’t quite enough to put me in the “having an anxiety disorder box.” It is certainly true that others have a way more fucked up version of anxiety than I do and they need much more help than I do. I might say that I am a high-functioning ball of anxiety. But at the same time, when my feelings of anxiety prevent me from doing things that I want to do, I really do feel like it is a problem, whether it has been diagnosed officially or not. I know what you’re thinking, just go to a goddamn therapist already! I know, I know, but I’m anxious lol. 

Do I endorse self-diagnosing yourself and consequently self-medicating? No, absolutely not. Do I do it anyway? Yes, unfortunately. Ever since senior year of high school in 2016 when the pretty little xanax bars came on the scene, I was hooked. For some idiotic-hormone-infused reason I thought I looked cooler if I popped a random pill in my mouth. But then, it made me feel good, like really good and calm and confident and best of all, not anxious at all. I had never felt so at ease and so okay with myself and my surroundings, not since childhood. I was cured of the nagging plague of self-consciousness and shame. 

I wanted another one. In fact, it turned out I could not bring myself to graduate high school without swallowing a milligram of the stuff. I had a smile so big and beautiful that day. My grandma captured it on her iPad. I look at that picture in wonder sometimes. I smiled the best when I did not have a care in the world. Beauty really does come from within. Or from drugs that fuck you up from within. No, but it really does strike me thinking back on it: if only I could unlock the secret to consistently great smiles and happy feelings. But I guess that’s just the neurotic in me…

I have never been prescribed the drug, but it solved so many irrational worries of mine. The drug makes me more myself, I thought. It got dark, however, like very dark, when I would use around family. And one time at the Fort Lauderdale Airport with my Grandma I had blacked out and jumped onto a moving conveyor belt at baggage claim. Security was not happy to say the least. I have no recollection of this. After sleeping it off, I felt like shit the next day. To this day I have never told my Grandma that I was using benzodiazepines and she never asked. Grandma, If you are reading this I am truly sorry to put you through that. It was a wake up call that I was using my self-diagnosed illness to abuse prescription drugs, and that did not help me in the long run. It quite possibly made me more anxious than before.

Anyway. Maybe its about time I go seek some mental health assistance, but I guess I’m just scared that my problems won’t be legitimized due to my affinity for benzos. 

Also, please stay tuned for a post focusing on drug addiction, because that topic warrants it’s own set of discussions about stigma, social-labelling, the rise of addiction during quarantine, etc.

Upon writing this piece, I do have some hesitation about publishing it to the everlasting internet, where my prospective future employers may see it and be like “Yikes, thats a red flag, NEXT”. but I don’t know, fuck it, life is short and we gotta tell the truth sometimes. And maybe if someone else is going through a similar situation it could bring them comfort to know that you are not alone, and that its important to validate your own feelings regardless of a diagnosis. But at the same time its important to give yourself room to grow and face your self-diagnosed issues head on. 

What have you diagnosed yourself with, if anything? I think knowing you have some issues inside yourself is the first step towards getting professional help. So maybe I ought to treat my desire to self-diagnose as a recognition that sometimes my emotions and mental state works against me in some way, and leave the actual diagnosis to a professional. On the other hand, although there are many rigid parameters for creating a diagnosis, many people become misdiagnosed, even by professionals.

So all I’m trying to say is that we’re all humans here, even mental health professionals, we all make mistakes and go off subjective knowledge. It’s important to listen to yourself and identify when things go wrong mentally. On the other hand, there must be a level of trust for the mental health institution, otherwise we would not be able to progress in our collective understanding of the psyche. All I’m saying is that Freud used to think cocaine was a miracle psychoanalysis drug. ‘Nuff said. 

This was a bit of a rant-y exposé, but I am really interested to have deeper conversations with people about this topic, so again please reach out in the comment section or online or in person. 

xx