The stock market and currency market had taken a huge toll on my mental well-being [Read From Rookie to Reckless]. The everyday price fluctuations and market volatility had triggered a roller coaster ride in my brain which turned my chronic worry into anxiety, and I had my first full-blown anxiety attack in April 2009 during a birthday party of one of my friend’s son. I had no idea what anxiety was until then.
The symptoms of my anxiety were so similar to those of a heart attack that I became convinced that I had a heart problem, which further fed my anxiety. I was trapped into a vicious circle where my anxiety would cause panic attacks, which in turn would further feed my anxiety. I ended up calling 911 several times during these panic attacks because I thought I was having a heart attack. I was never able to identify a specific trigger for my anxiety and the randomness of these attacks kept me in a constant state of fear. I simply could not bear the thought of going through one more!
One evening while having dinner at my friend’s house, I suddenly felt my heart racing along with a shortness of breath. I stopped eating and stepped out for some fresh air. My friend followed me and asked, “Are you okay?”
“I don’t know yet.” I replied, still monitoring my pulse.
He sat down and began rubbing my back.
“What’s the problem?” he asked.
“I don’t know. My heart is beating too fast and I can’t breathe. I think I have a problem with my heart,” I said anxiously.
“Can you please give me some time alone?” I requested him.
“Sure.” He said and went back inside.
A few minutes later, my anxiety spiraled into a full-blown panic attack and I started gasping for air. I felt like I was about to pass out or have a heart attack, so I ran inside and asked my friend to call 911. He did, and soon enough I could hear the siren of an ambulance. I was lying in bed in the inside room when I heard a knock at the front door. My friend opened the door and the cop asked, “Who has the medical emergency?”
My friend brought him to the inside room where I was lying in bed, and pointed towards me.
The cop had a good look at me as if trying to recognize me, then took my friend outside and said, “Don’t worry. He is going to be okay. I have gone to his apartment a few times with an ambulance before. He just has an anxiety problem.”
And, true to his word, as soon as I saw the cop and the paramedics, I felt better. It was a mix of relief and embarrassment for causing such a commotion.
The very next day, I booked an appointment with a cardiologist instead of a general physician because I was convinced that it was a problem with my heart. I requested the cardiologist to run all possible heart tests. When all tests came back negative, the final test that could put rest to the doubt was a Holter monitor test. A bunch of electrodes were attached all over my body, and I had to carry a device in my pocket at all times to monitor the electrical activity of my heart 24/7. The only exception was during showers; I was advised to take off the electrodes before showering and put them back on afterward. I felt like Robocop. The test lasted for ten days and finally convinced the cardiologist that I did not have a heart issue but only an anxiety disorder. When I met with him for a verdict, he said, “All tests, including a Holter monitor test, have come back negative. Your heart is just fine.”
“But what about the chest pain, tingling fingers, and numbness in my hand?” I asked.
“That’s anxiety. It can trigger any weird symptoms. You must meet with a psychiatrist for further evaluation,” he replied, writing down the name of a recommended psychiatrist.
“But, doctor, can we run further advanced heart tests?” I asked.
He became furious, denying any further tests because he was convinced that it was not a heart problem. He not only denied further tests but also directed his staff not to give me an appointment for the next six months! I was still not fully convinced about the anxiety part, so when I had another anxiety attack a few days later, I asked my wife to drive me to the hospital. While she was driving and stopped at a red light, I asked her to just run the red light. Traffic laws did not matter. For me, it was a matter of life and death. My breath had almost stopped. It was the worst panic attack I ever had. As soon as we reached the hospital, I jumped out of the running car even before she could park the car, ran to the emergency room and got myself admitted. I told them that I may be having a heart attack! As soon as I got admitted, all my symptoms disappeared within minutes! When the nurses were preparing equipment to run tests, they were gossiping and laughing about the situation because they believed that it was highly unlikely for a 28-year-old man to have a heart attack.
This was the final nail in the coffin that convinced me that it indeed was not a problem with my heart but an anxiety disorder because if it really was a heart problem, I should have been dead by now. It had happened several times, and I was still alive. That means it was all in my head. So far, I had a hard time believing that the mind could be so powerful to make up all sorts of symptoms, but this episode convinced me that the mind is indeed almighty!
My anxiety had affected my temperament, causing me to become easily irritable. While things may have appeared fine on the surface, these events were silently straining my relationship with my wife. As she did not understand that anxiety was a real illness, I had to invite an old friend to my home who had suffered from anxiety and panic attacks in the past to explain its reality to her but it didn’t help. She still thought I was going insane.
Due to my irritable nature, my wife began spending more time at college, focusing extensively on her studies. She would leave home at 7 am while I was still asleep, returning home by 10 pm after I had finished dinner and was ready for bed. The only day we would spend together was Sunday, which she used to finish household chores. I found myself questioning the point of our marriage. This led to frequent conflicts and arguments between us, with our significant age gap of seven years playing a role as well.
My anxiety disorder had turned me into a hypochondriac, causing me to become excessively worried about my health. If my body acted slightly different than normal, I would become very concerned and visit doctors, requesting them to perform all sort of tests on my body. There was hardly a test that was not performed on my body from head to toe. Every part of my body was tested, including my brain, heart, kidneys, liver, pancreas, stomach, and even my testicles! Irina became almost certain that I was going insane.
I was going through a terrible time and if that wasn’t enough, the worst was waiting for me. I had to go to India to attend my brother’s wedding, but my wife could not accompany me due to overlapping exam dates. While in India, I ate some street food on the day of the wedding. I was still under the illusion that my Indian immune system was strong enough to handle street food. How wrong I was! Within hours, I began shivering and running a high fever. My fever was so severe that I was unable to attend the wedding ceremony. The doctors had to administer a couple of emergency injections to temporarily relieve my symptoms and make me functional enough to attend the ceremony. While the injections worked for a couple of hours, my fever returned that night.
That same night, Irina called me and I told her about my condition and all she had to say was “Take care of yourself and congratulate your brother on my behalf”. Her cold and indifferent response with a lack of empathy in her voice upset me so much that in my next phone call with her a couple of days later, I had a heated argument with her and in the moment of the heat I ended up asking her to move out of my apartment. When I flew back to the US, I discovered that she had done exactly that! She had indeed moved out.
Despite my efforts, I couldn’t persuade her to work on our marriage, and reaching out to friends for help proved fruitless. The situation led me to spiral into depression, which began to take a severe toll on my physical and mental health. I became so lethargic that I was mostly confined to my bed. At the peak of my depression, even the simple task of going to the bathroom became a daunting task. I resorted to peeing in empty water bottles, much like DiCaprio’s character in the movie The Aviator. My appetite vanished, and I was surviving on nothing but Maggi noodles, often unable to finish even one packet. My weight plummeted to a meager 90 pounds, with every bone of my body visible.
My depression was affecting my work performance as well, and my manager began to express concerns. It felt like everything was going wrong at once – as they say, “when it rains, it pours.” In search of hope, I turned to psychics and astrology to find some solace.
As I questioned why this had happened to me, the story of Arthur Ashe, the iconic Wimbledon player who contracted HIV from blood transfusions during a heart surgery and later died of AIDS, came to mind. During his illness, he received letters from his fans, one of which conveyed:
”Why did God have to select you for such a bad disease?”
to which the former player replied:
“50 million children started playing tennis, five million learnt to play tennis, 500,000 learnt professional tennis, 50 thousand came to the circuit, five thousand reached Grand Slam, 50 reached Wimbledon, four reached the semifinals, two reached the finals and when I was holding the cup in my hand, I never asked God, ‘Why me?’ So now that I’m in pain, how can I ask God, ‘Why me?’,”
I lived through hell for next six months until the day my worst fears were realized when I was served with divorce papers. My entire world came crashing down and despite my efforts to reach out to her through every means possible, it was all in vain. I felt completely helpless, as if I was banging my head against a wall. The sky was falling on me, and I felt like the king of misery. These were the words I wrote in my diary on the day I received the divorce papers:
“All my hopes, dreams and prayers are almost coming to a fruitless end. Sept. 1st is the court date and I will be divorced on that day. Something starts happening in my stomach just by the thought. Tears start rolling down my eyes immediately. The mouth starts speaking words of prayers automatically. This divorce must not happen is the only thought that comes to my mind. I’d never be the same. Life will never be the same. It’ll remain as an unhealed wound deep inside forever. The pain is great. Sometimes so overwhelming that it freezes me and leaves me totally incapable of doing anything, even eating food. My heart still refuses to believe that this is happening. Am I living in denial? Only God can stop it now. Nothing less than a miracle can correct it and heal this. Lord, can you hear my prayer?”
Knowing that I wouldn’t give up easily, my spouse’s attorney included an alimony clause in the papers to pressure me into submission. I spoke to her attorney, who told me that if I signed the settlement without a fuss, she would waive alimony. I was already in debt after losing my savings in the stock market, leaving me with no other option. I was given 35 days to respond to the divorce complaint. There was nothing I didn’t do in those 35 days, left no stone unturned to persuade her to reconsider or withdraw but I had to finally give up and sign the papers. I received a court notice about the final hearing date but I had no strength to see her in the court and face the hearing. I was too weak to do so. I feared breaking down in the court so I chose to stay at home and accepted a default judgement. These were my words on the day of the divorce:
“Default judgement passed and I’m divorced now. The pain I’ve gone through and still going through is so immense and indescribable. Something happens in my stomach and chest all the time. Tears roll down my eyes anytime. I don’t believe anything anymore. Not even god. He doesn’t exist. He can’t.”
