Sometimes I can share parts of my anxiety and recovery experience in the hope that I might help you to avoid some of the mistakes that I made.
This is one of those times.
Beth was a lovely human being. She was funny. She was smart as a whip. We shared a similar sense of humor, both had brains that held on to silly references and trivia. We were interested in many of the same things. Beth made me laugh all the time. I really valued the time I got to spend with her, even when we were just doing nothing and talking about nothing. She was important to me.
I want to respect the privacy of Beth and her family, so I will just tell you that she was the victim of a rare disease that left her with no options but to undergo a major transplant procedure to save her life. It was the very biggest of deals. No joke.
Someone important to me was facing a huge challenge, so this brings me to my regrets.
When Beth was declining in health and being backed into a corner by that infernal disease, I was in the middle of my antidepressant withdrawal experience. See episodes 145 through 147 of The Anxious Truth podcast if you want to hear that story. The point is, I was literally no use to anyone in those days. We lost touch. I did not get to be there to provide support, even when that support could be something as small as bringing her lunch or sitting with her to share some laughs for a while. I was absent. I am not here to judge anyone’s decisions. I will never tell anyone that what they are doing is wrong. But on a personal level, for as many times as I say out loud that I would relive that experience again because it is part of who I am now, my choice to medicate for so many years rather than facing my problem haunts sometimes for this reason.
Then I was done with withdrawal, and at it turns out Beth had received her transplant. It seemed miraculous. Her life had been saved. I was so happy to re-connect with her and see this. But while the worst of my medication journey was behind me, anxiety, panic, depression and agoraphobia were again present in my life. I was trying to hold them off, but not doing a very good job of that. My life was beginning to shrink again bit by bit. I tried to be there to support her as best I could, but I was not doing a very good job. I was still mostly absent. More regret.
When organ rejection set in, which is the worst news for any transplant patient, Beth got really sick. And here’s the part that I will likely regret for the rest of my life. I remember the day she went back into the hospital, figuring she’d get some medication adjustments and return home in a few days. I had seen her earlier that day. We had a bite to eat together. I was an anxious mess, but did my best to hide it from her.
(This is a burnt sienna crayon. If Beth were here, she would laugh.)
That was the last time I would see her.
Beth spent almost a year in that hospital no more about 50 miles in a straight line from me. But I did not see her. We texted. Talked on the phone sometimes. She asked me to come see her. Her sister asked if I wanted to go in with her when she would go visit. But I didn’t. I couldn’t. I was barely able to get a half mile from home in those days without winding up in a blind panic. A trip into the city - even for her sake - was like a trip to Mars for me. Completely impossible.
At some point it was evident that Beth was not going to come home. Everyone knew. But even then, my fear of my own body and mind kept me from doing what friends do. What we do for the people we care about. How we show someone that we care for them and they they are not alone in their struggles. My insistence that it FELT so strong and FELT so dangerous kept me from seeing Beth in her final days and weeks when I should have been there at least once.
Anxiety, panic, and irrational fear kept me from very large chunks of my life for a long time. It impacted ALL of my relationships with ALL of the important people in my life. But I got the opportunity to repair many of those relationships. I got another chance. I made good for the lost time to the best of my ability. I continue to do that every day.
But Beth didn’t have time. I didn’t get another chance. I chose to listen to sensations and thoughts that never actually hurt me rather than to do what I know in my bones was the right thing to do. I betrayed some of the things I value most in life. I lost out on a chance to support someone that mattered to me and I will never get that chance back.
Regret. That doesn’t go away. And maybe it shouldn’t.
People often ask me why I do this thing. Why do I spend so much time on this? Why put so much effort into this? Why change everything and go back to school and spend more time and money to immerse myself in the world of anxiety, anxiety disorders, and recovery?
Partially, because of regret. This is not atonement for my sins. I am not trying to get anyone’s sympathy here nor am I deluding myself into thinking I am going to get some kind of metaphysical forgiveness for what I did. But if you want to know why I am so interested in this thing that is in my past that you think I might want to forget about, I’ll tell you.
I HATE IT. I HATE IT. And when I see it pushing people around like it pushed me around, I hate it even more. When you come to my Facebook group hoping for calming or soothing words and instead I call out the irrational nature of your fear and encourage you to stand up and take a step forward, I do that because I do not want you to ever feel the regret that I sometimes feel. Regret that can’t be fixed. Second chances that won’t come.
Maybe I don’t hate anxiety for taking from me. Maybe I’m really angry at myself for giving when I didn’t have to. It’s a feeling I wish I didn’t have, but also a feeling that I’m trying to make useful in whatever way I can. So if you find yourself looking for a reason to get better, or lacking in motivation, or wondering WHY you should do scary things that you really don’t want to do, remember this story.
Unchecked avoidance knows no limits and respects no boundaries. It doesn’t give a shit if you get a second chance or not. It only WANTS, and it WANTS NOW, regardless of the cost later. Sometimes the cost later isn’t very high and you can pay it and move on. Sometimes the cost is astronomical and can’t ever be paid. So when you chose your actions, chose wisely. I wish I had chosen more wisely.
That fear I felt back then was fleeting and temporary. This feeling hangs around.
“Make the most of your regrets; never smother your sorrow, but tend and cherish it till it comes to have a separate and integral interest. To regret deeply is to live afresh.” - Henry David Thoreau
Every Friday I’ll share one of my favorite quotes. They’ll often have direct application in recovery, but sometimes they’re just generally funny, inspiring, or thought-provoking. I hope you enjoy them.
155. A Story of Regret With A Lesson