After the incident that traumatised me much, life went on pretty much normal. However, I did not realise that I was never quite the same again. I started to doubt myself and anything that was work-related would make me paranoid. I did not bother much about it until the following year when the fear I had eventually caused me to have serious anxiety attacks.
The following year was a tough year for me. My form class students were bright but many had behaviourial problems. There was never a day which there were no behaviourial issues in my class. Parents were relatively much more demanding than the previous years and I felt that everything I did with my class, was under their scrutiny. It was like anytime, a parent might just shoot an email to the school. Managing the class, coupled with teaching the syllabus, marking and other responsibilities eventually made me doubt my self-worth. But I really did my best for the class to resolve any issues. I really did. It came to a point whereby I was so helpless and started asking myself, “What more could I do? It seems that whatever I do is never enough. I am never enough."
Eventually, I started getting paranoid over my work. E.g. I knew I had sent a work email. When my colleague asked me about it, I would think that I did not do it or forgot about it but in fact, I had already sent the email. And if I really forgot something, I would self blame. Why didn't I remember to do this? Why am I like that? Why didn't I do enough? Without myself knowing, I was sinking deeper into this sea of self doubts. I didn't see myself as a good teacher. MY BEST WOULD NEVER BE ENOUGH.
So how did I even realise I had anxiety attacks?
It was my husband who started to notice the changes in me. I would lash out at my two young children on weekends, Sundays in particular. I also got defensive over minor mistakes I made at home. I started feeling breathless on EVERY Sunday evenings, around 5 pm onwards and the breathlessness would be at its peak at about 8 to 9 pm. These symptoms got worse when my kids threw tantrums which I found it exhausting to manage. The breathlessness could be so bad that at times, I wanted to end my life in order to stop the pain. My husband sat me down one night and spoke to me and asked me if I was feeling stressed at work. I told him that I didn't know. But I did tell him I felt suicidal many times. Sometimes I would look down from my house window and asked myself how I would look if I just jumped down. Most likely, I might not even die because I stayed at the third level. I could just very well be paralysed. But the view from my window was so good. It seemed so peaceful. It has the peace that I longed for. When the wind blew against my face, I would tell myself how good it would be if I just join the wind. But I usually snap out of it when I hear my children calling me.
After some talks with my husband, it seemed that the incident coupled with work stress that year caused me to be in an unstable psychological state. I decided to seek professional help. I booked an appointment at KKH to see a psychiatrist. That was during end May or during the June holidays. After an hour session with the psychiatrist, she diagnosed me with adjustment disorder. I remembered my tears came flowing like a tap as she asked for details about the incident and what I was going through. She prescribed me with relaxants to help me out with my anxiety attacks.
Relaxants did help me but only to a certain extent. They were taken only if I had a really bad anxiety attack. I tried my best at times not to take them and to just wait for my anxiety attacks to go away. BUT THE WAIT WAS EXCRUCIATING PAINFUL. And the psychiatrist told me not to take it too often as my body could be reliant on the relaxants. I also saw a psychologist as I wanted to learn some coping strategies to deal with the current situation. However, it was hard to keep up with my medical appointments due to a busy work schedule. I had to see my psychiatrist every three weeks and psychologist every three weeks. WHERE GOT TIME?????
Besides dealing with the breathlessness, I could not accept my condition which was the most painful thing and I could not understand why I could not get over the incident. Why am I still clinging on to the fear and panic? Why am I so weak? Why is it that I cannot stand up again? Why do I have anxiety attacks? Why can't they just go away and leave me alone? JUST LEAVE ME ALONE. It is so easy to tell myself to let go. It is so easy to tell myself not to beat myself over it. BUT I JUST CAN'T. I know many people would tell me to just let it go. BUT HOW??? It's like telling a person who has fractured his leg to run. The person can't run, can he? I was helpless. And relaxants could only help to relieve that moment of pain.
It took me about 3 months to accept my condition with lots of family support and encouragement. That is only acceptance and I have not even gone into treatment yet. Who would have imagined what emotional disorders can do to you? I did not know how to tell my parents about it as I was afraid they would not understand. Eventually, my sister helped me with it and my family eventually knew. Initially, I told no one except my family and two of my very close colleagues. I was afraid. I was afraid of being judged. I still had suicidal thoughts at that time. I even googled how much paracetamol I could take to end my life - it was 16 tablets by the way. There were a few times I pulled out my medicine drawer but to close it back eventually. Once, I even told my husband to keep the medicines out of my reach because I was having a severe anxiety attack.
By the time it was September, I told a few colleagues who were sitting around me about my condition. I started to feel breathless in school sometimes. In case I had an anxiety attack, they know what was happening. One of the most vivid attacks was the night of the day of the September holidays. Breathlessness came. I could not remember if I took my relaxants. But I just could not bring myself to go to work. I saw my GP the next day and he gave me two days MC. I reported to work on a Wednesday at about 5.30 am in the morning. No one was in the staff room. I made sure I was the earliest. I passed the school gates with sweaty palms and my heart pounding against my chest. I took deep breaths to calm myself down as I entered the lift. When I opened the door of the staff room, it was pitch dark. I switched on the lights and walked briskly to my table. My hands held onto my table tightly and I broke into choking sobs. Tears came down uncontrollably. I took time to cry and settled down just in time for other colleagues to come into the staff room without seeing me in tears.
I started to get very scared of the last day of school which means distributing result slips. I would always expect that my students would come to me to tell me that their marks are entered wrongly. I was so afraid to the extent that I excused myself from a meeting to go to the toilet to cry. I wanted to go home. I called my husband. He told me that everything would be okay. The result slips would be okay. "When you have finished crying and ready, leave the toilet and go back to the meeting. You will be okay.” And I did just that. And the result slips were really okay.
At the end of the year, I shared about my anxiety attacks with a few colleagues. They told me that they did not expect that this could happen to me as I was always so cheerful, bubbly and always laughing. And one of them said that she had heard of anxiety attacks but never had someone she knew who experienced it. I was sharing with them for awareness. People who have emotional disorders do not have it written on their faces. They look normal and could still be smiling but suffering inside. They are trying to cheer up but they just can't. And now I could understand almost totally what these people are going through. It is not that they didn't want to get well. They are trying their best to get well.
My emotional struggles were more than this long read. It was much much more as I even tried taking anti-depressants for about 2 months to control my condition. Eventually, with my sister's encouragement, I transferred school so that I could start anew. I was happy there. And I got back a bit of my self-worth. It was my form class kids in the new school that made me realise that I was enough. And I could never thank them enough for their 35 little hearts to almost fully heal one broken heart of mine.
*As I am putting this down, I am glad that my tears did not pour like yesterday. I smiled as I wrote the last paragraph. I know I am getting better.*
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