My name is Megan. I'm a twenty-five-year-old writer with a completed first novel just waiting for the right agent. I have a BA in Applied Psychology and a minor in General Sociology from Carson-Newman University. I'm a person of faith. I also have an anxiety disorder.
I was diagnosed with Panic Disorder in July 2015, but my anxiety disorder struggle starts way before that. I remember distinctly the day I was sure I was going crazy/evil/possessed (because those were all the things I thought were happening at that time). I was a high school senior in my last semester, and I was just having a normal conversation with the girl behind me in class. Nothing out of the ordinary was going on. I didn't feel strange. I wasn't stressed out that I knew of. This very distressing, and to me, blasphemous thought whooshed into my brain. The thought kept happening, and it's still happening.
I tried to ignore the thought. I tried to push it out. I prayed. I did everything I possibly could, except the one thing I absolutely should have done. I didn't ask for help or tell anyone what was happening. I didn't have a panic attack then, but I got really scared. I got anxious, but I somehow managed to ignore it and power on with my life for a few months.
Fast forward to my freshman year of college, Christmas break. The obsessive intrusive thought was still there. I was already stressed because I was in college, but I thought everything was fine. Then over Christmas break, it hit me like a punch in the stomach. I was positive that I was either crazy or possessed or just straight up evil, and that I was going to Hell because God didn't love me because of that one thought I couldn't control. I FREAKED OUT. I couldn't eat. I couldn't be alone. I even convinced my mom to let me sleep in her room, and I got her to sleep in mine. I prayed and begged God to help me. I read my Bible. I cried. I made sure to try and keep religious songs in my head to make up for the blasphemous thought that I couldn't get rid of. I still didn't tell anyone or seek help. I went back to school, and I was so busy and distracted that I could ignore my anxiety. I even went to the required chapels joyfully because I somehow got it through my head that God still loved me, even though I was a bad or evil person.
Fast forward again to summer 2015. It was the week before my 25th birthday. It was a Sunday. Of course, the bad obsessive thought was still there. All of a sudden, I was overwhelmed by this fear again, that God wasn't going to love me because of my bad thought that I couldn't control. I knew I was going to burn in Hell for eternity. Bad things happened because of me, as my punishment. BOOM! PANIC! I couldn't breathe. My chest hurt. I broke out in a sweat. I started to shake. I wanted to cry. I thought my heart was going to give out because it was pounding. I couldn't eat again. I tried not to show it because I didn't want anyone to know what I was hiding. I was so afraid they would validate my worst fear: that I was evil and going to Hell. I was so filled with shame and guilt. I just wanted to be good.
I had a panic attack every day for a over a week. I even cried when my mom left for work because I didn't want to be alone. I didn't know they were panic attacks until I was told they were. I thought I was just crazy. I even showed up at my mom's work, in another county, because I was terrified. My mom also suffers from anxiety (not Panic Disorder) so she suggested I seek counseling. I ended up in the emergency department. I visited my primary care physician, and she suggested therapy for panic attacks.
I finally did the thing I should have done in high school. I told my mom about my intrusive thought, and we called a counseling service. I was evaluated and immediately diagnosed with Panic Disorder. I wasn't evil or possessed. I wasn't even crazy. I just had a very treatable and very manageable mental health issue that I had let get out of hand, much like someone might let diabetes or blood pressure get out of control. My obsessive intrusive (and blasphemous) thought was a product of my brain chemistry issue. That was a huge relief, but it also scared me because that meant I actually had an issue that wouldn't be as easy to fix as I wanted. That also meant I was human, just like everyone else (gasp!). I also wouldn't be able to learn how to fix things and manage Panic Disorder on my own.
I'm currently in counseling, and I'm improving. It's a rough road, and I've had a few setbacks. I still have panic attacks, and I still get anxious. I'm OK, though. I can manage it. After a little less than a decade of thinking I was evil, it's hard to change that belief, but I'm trying. I still pray. I even have friends pray with me. I also still have my obsessive intrusive thought, but I can deal with them now, most of the time. Some days are harder than others.
I had a realization. I can't be the only person of faith with an anxiety disorder, and I can't be the only person in the world with obsessive intrusive thoughts that fall into the blasphemous category. So, I'm reaching out. I'm here. God is still here, and God loves us no matter what. God isn't going to give up on us. We don't have to struggle alone because we think no one else gets it. I don't want anyone else to feel the way I felt for years before I was finally forced to seek help.
I'll end with this: if you're having bad thoughts that intrude into your mind or happen without your control, whether they are violent thoughts, sexual thoughts, or blasphemous thoughts, or anything that goes against your moral code and causes you anxiety, it's okay. You are not your thoughts. You aren't bad, evil, possessed or crazy. You're human. Just, please, talk to someone you trust, a friend, parent, family member, clergy, school counselor, or other mental health professional. The sooner you can receive help, the better, believe me. I wish someone would have said this to me.
