“I thought I was dying” – Milli describes what a panic attack feels like
Milli Johnston grew up in New Zealand. It had always been her dream to live abroad and in her mid-20s she landed a job at a big financial firm in London. Unfortunately, this all happened at the beginning of the Global Financial Crisis, and Milli’s job offer was soon retracted. Unemployed and living in a city on the other side of the world, stress and anxiety started to take hold. It took Milli several months to find a new job, and while it was a relief, she still felt very anxious. One day, Milli was walking through the office foyer on her way out to lunch when she suddenly froze. She didn’t know it at the time but she was about to experience her first panic attack. In her own words, Milli recalls exactly what it felt like and explains how it prompted her to seek support for her mental health. “All of a sudden, I froze” I couldn’t move. I’ve described it before as having jelly legs but it was more that. I felt like I didn’t have legs at all. As though if I tried to take a step forward, my legs wouldn’t be there to support me. I could feel myself starting to sweat. It wasn’t just that I couldn’t move – I was so self-conscious that someone from work would see me like that. Tears welled in my eyes. My heart raced. I thought I was about to faint. I thought I was having a medical emergency. I thought I was dying. The great irony was that to anyone just walking past, all they would have seen was a girl standing in a foyer. It felt like I was standing there for an eternity, but in reality, it was probably only 30 seconds. I was terrified. I eventually managed to call my boyfriend and he came and got me. It was after this incident that I realized I couldn’t hide my struggles any longer. A build-up of symptoms On reflection, that first panic attack shouldn’t have been a surprise. Nor the many that followed. Ever since I moved to London, I’d experienced symptoms of anxiety. They didn’t hit me all at once – they built gradually over six months. The longer I was away from home, the more symptoms I developed. I’d get pins and needles and start trembling. I’d clench my jaw. I’d struggle to breathe, as though a tight band was wrapped around my ribs. I became consumed by my symptoms. The more regular they become, the more fatigued I would feel. I started thinking that there must be something sinister causing them. That I had some terrible physical problem or hidden disease. I visited my GP. A lot. I just wanted to know what was wrong with me. Finding an answer I know you’re not meant to use Google to diagnose yourself but that’s what I ended up doing. I typed in a bunch of my symptoms and a website about anxiety popped up. It seemed like I had experienced every symptom listed at some point. I went back to my GP and opened up about my mental health. I was diagnosed with generalized anxiety disorder and panic disorder. I’d spent so long thinking I had some horrible physical illness that I actually felt relieved. Simply knowing what was wrong with me was like a huge weight being lifted, and almost immediately my physical symptoms started to ease. Putting the effort into recovery I was referred to a therapist and though I didn’t fully commit to it while in London, I now live in Australia and regularly see a psychologist. Therapy isn’t for everyone but for me it’s invaluable, especially when you find someone you have a rapport with. I made sure I exercise regularly, lean on my support networks and pay close attention to my triggers. These all contributed to the easing of my physical symptoms. My recovery journey has been a rollercoaster. There were times I lost hope of ever being happy again. But I think those lows have helped me appreciate the highs even more. And today, those highs far outweigh the lows. Over time, the panic attacks became less and less frequent. I don’t get them at all now.A kid with a fuse – Ross’ experience of anger and depression
“I always had this sort of short fuse that would kind of just go off.” Ross Read grew up in the 80s on his family’s dairy farm in central Victoria. Even as a kid, Ross put in long days helping with the cattle. He was used to being frustrated, shouting or swearing when something wasn’t going right. "My brother would just walk the other way. Mum or Dad would probably just absorb it. They just thought I was angry because the cow was doing something wrong,” says Ross. “I just thought that was who I was.” While he didn’t recognize it at the time, Ross was bottling up something that had happened to him years earlier. As much as he tried to bury these feelings, they started to seriously affect his mental health. Taking over the farm, dealing with drought In the mid-90s, Ross and his brother took over the farm and expanded, taking on more land and more cattle. Then came one of the worst droughts on record in Australia’s south. Having experienced drought in the past, Ross and his brother assumed this one wouldn't last more than a couple of years. So they just knuckled down. But by the late 2000s, the drought still hadn’t lifted. The strain of life on the farm, coupled with Ross’ anger, started to take a toll on his relationships. With his brother. With his wife and two young children. And with himself. “I was going off; I had no control. It was just me venting... letting out everything that I could at that point. So, whatever I was frustrated at – that cow, or that tractor, or whatever else I was angry at – that just took the whole brunt,” says Ross. “I felt like I didn’t have control of the situation, that I was a failure and I started hating being a dairy farmer. My stress levels were off the chart, my mental health was terrible, but if you asked was I okay, I would have smiled and said, ‘I’m fine’.” Reaching a crossroads, asking for help All of this came to a head one day in 2008 when Ross was driving home from a trip to Adelaide. Alone with his thoughts, Ross began questioning whether his life on the farm was the life he wanted. “I was driving and I remember the sign in front of me was an arrow to Sydney and the arrow to the right was directing me back home. And I sat at that intersection for half an hour or so, just deciding which way.” For Ross, the turn to Sydney not only represented escape, it meant giving his family some relief Ross had convinced himself that his wife and two young boys would be better off without him. After some time, Ross chose to go right. Back to his farm. To his family. And to face his anger. That’s when he booked an appointment with his GP. Uncovering trauma, understanding the impact At that appointment, somewhat unexpectedly, Ross opened about something he had buried for a long time: the abuse he had experienced as a child. “It started when I was about five. I didn’t recognise it as abuse. I knew it didn’t feel right. It was just what happened,” says Ross. “I couldn’t tell anyone. Mum and dad never knew. It was kind a wall that I put up." By not talking about the abuse, Ross had hoped it would just go away. "That’s what I did. For years.” This visit to the GP became a turning point. “I felt a sense of relief, that I didn’t need to hide the truth. This was the first time I spoke about living with the guilt and shame of being abused and how I blamed myself for what had happened,” says Ross. “It was no turning back. It couldn’t be stuffed back away.” The GP walked Ross through a mental health treatment plan and referred him to a psychologist. “My first few sessions were an emotional roller-coaster. I don’t think I have cried as much as I did in those first few visits, but it was like a weight had been lifted off my shoulders.” Coping strategies It’s well over a decade on and Ross has been seeing his psychologist ever since those first sessions. Cognitive behaviour therapy has empowered Ross to work through the feelings of hurt and humiliation stemming from his abuse. “[My psychologist] was able to explain how traumatic events that happen in your life that are no fault of your own. They can develop into a serious mental illness if not diagnosed and treated properly,” says Ross. Therapy has also helped Ross to understand his anger and why he reacts as he does when he feels like he’s not in control. He’s learned that he needs to take a breath, and think about who or what is causing him to feel angry and why that might be happening. Making peace with himself Ross has come to realise that despite the strain of trying to run the farm through drought, the property holds a special place in his heart. “I really think for those early years, the farm did save me. Yes, it was a means of hiding, but it allowed me time to grow, allowed me time to build some confidence,” Ross explains. “It’s just that sort of safe space.” The farm continues to play a vital role in Ross’ healing. It, along with his family, his GP, and his psychologist, is a critical part of the management plan Ross follows to maintain his well-being. “With mental illness, it’s not something that you can treat once, and it just goes away,” he notes. Ross is proud of having stuck at it. But mostly, he is grateful for the life he’s built. And for taking the right turn at that intersection so many years ago. Listen to Ross' story on Beyond Blue's Not Alone podcast."I came because I didn't want to die" – Jake’s story of anxiety, depression and therapy
Recovery started with a question ‘Why do you think you need to be here?’ It was Jake’s first session with a psychologist. And this question would be the first of many he'd confront from this armchair over the coming two and a half years. While it was hard to answer, Jake realised that for the first time in his 22 years, he wanted to find the answers. “I knew that I was essentially broken,” he says. “My attitude was, crack me open and pour me out onto the table. Let’s figure this thing out.” Self-loathing in teenage years Jake, 18, was asking himself a similar/an almost identical question. ‘Why am I here?’ But it applied to his place in the world, not a therapy session. And for years, he struggled to find an answer. Since early teens he’d been dealing with a growing sense of worthlessness and self-loathing. “It feels like everything I did, I didn’t deserve,” Jake says. “Everything that I accomplished and received, was a crime. I hadn’t done anything to be worthy of receiving it.” “If I failed, it’s because I was useless and had nothing to offer.” Whereas if he found success in something, there was no sense of achievement or fulfilment - only a sense that he had accomplished what he expected of himself; as if he had brushed his teeth or drank a glass of water. Sometimes, the good times were actually good and Jake could be the life of a party. But his low times were becoming especially low. “I felt guilty, I hated myself. And if I had to put up with this for another 50 years, I wasn’t interested.” A few months after his 18th birthday, Jake tried to take his own life. Waking up the next morning, the thing that struck him the hardest was how uneventful the whole situation (night before?) felt. "It was just normal behaviour because I’d been thinking about it for five or six years straight, either once a day or once every couple of days.” “The reflection of that not being normal behaviour didn’t come until four years later.” Not dwelling on a diagnosis A month after his first session with the psychologist, Jake was diagnosed with clinical depression and an anxiety disorder. For some, a diagnosis can lead to a place of validation, a satisfaction in having a name for their experience and feelings. Others might reject a diagnosis as being merely an unwelcome label. But Jake had known for a long time that the issues he’d been experiencing needed addressing. So he didn't dwell too long on the process of naming them. He wanted to work on ways to manage them. “That’s why I was there, sitting in that armchair and telling someone I didn’t know that I didn’t really want to be alive anymore,” he says. “I came because I didn’t want to die.” Therapy: Profound sadness, profound growth Jake's willingness to engage in therapy didn't mean it was easy. In fact, those weekly sessions for two and a half years were some of the hardest times of his life. “It made for an enormous amount of learning; understanding; perhaps most importantly to my situation, forgiving,” he says. “But it also made for a lot of heartbreaking realisations. It made for a lot of profound sadness. There were a lot of conversations we had that left me emotionally and sometimes physically numb for days.” “But it was in these conversations that the most growth, the most healing, occurred.” Jake and his psychologist worked on ways to reframe his thinking. “I learned how to identify what emotions I was feeling the thoughts associated with that emotion, and vice versa. I learned how to identify behavioural patterns I had developed to cope, or was falling into, and how to break their cycle.” It’s a process he’s still working on today. It’s a process he will always be working on. Jake knows that his depression isn’t a problem to be solved. "Depression isn't something to cure, it's something to manage,” he says. “Some days it is less manageable than others, but I'm under no illusions that it will ever be something I don't have to deal with." I'm worth recovering for From a place of self-loathing and hopelessness, Jake came to many realisations. About therapy, he came to understand that the pain, the hardship, the exhaustion after sessions: they're worth it. Because he's worth it. “The fundamental change in my perception of mental health had to be, ‘This is not wasted on me. I am worth doing this for. I am worthy of wanting to live,’ he says. “That was the absolute bedrock. Everything else grew forth from that attitude.” And now that he accepts that he’s worthy of help, Jake wants to ensure others feel the same. Sharing his story is Jake’s way of offering hope to others who may suffering like he was, in silence. When it comes to society's views around anxiety, depression and suicide, he wants empathy and compassion to become the norm. Jake has a tattoo of two numbers on his left forearm – 51/49. “It’s my pin number,” he jokes. “No, it’s actually a principle. Always give more than you receive. Always give at least 51 per cent.”
