So, after a really gnarly anxiety attack yesterday, we’re on a new regimen. We’ve added a med, readjusted another med, and – hopefully – in tandem with the regular exercise and recovery meetings, I’m going to get this shit under control again.
The last few years dumped a whole lot of awful on me. I thought that I could handle it just doing what I was doing. I was horribly, laughably wrong. I’ve been in a depressive, paranoiac swirl (sounds like a good ice cream flavor, if you’re totally losing your shit) since October, when I got badly triggered by a series of events (and anyone who thinks that “triggers” are bullshit can have all of these seats, and should remain in them until further notice). A lot of the time I was able to manage, but I shouldn’t just be “managing.” It’s a joyless way to go about your days, boy fucking howdy.
So I’m on this new medication now. I can’t say for certain what it’s doing. I feel a little less like running down the street screaming, but that’s probably psychosomatic. There’s a lot of behavioral stuff that I need to incorporate over the next weeks and months as well.
I’m in this place where the worst case scenarios in my head are intruding into my actual reality. RUDE. I can stave that off at work, because cold, hard data is something I understand and take comfort in extracting and manipulating. The SQL Management Studio and Excel are my boon companions. But being at home invites aaallllll the neurochemical uglies. And it’s become increasingly hard to keep them down in the root cellar where they belong.
I know how a lot of people feel about medication. I’ll just say that I’m not here for anyone who wants to scream BIG PHARMA at me right now. I’ve been worn down to an emotional nub since moving into my mother-in-law’s house in 2010, and if you don’t believe that caregiving can actually mess with someone’s brain, well, Google is your friend, but here’s a good start.
Even with my mother-in-law gone, I’m struggling to put myself back together. I’m still afraid to make plans. And I can’t keep the panic at bay anymore, not without help. Take an imaginary stroll in my stacked heels before you judge me or how I’m choosing to get my life back.
Sorry. I’m tired. I’m angry. I’m angry at my brain for, you know, not being able to DEAL.
We’re heading into summer soon. I want to have a nice summer. I want to go to Maine like we do every July and not be a panicky mess. I want to take day trips to Salem and New Bedford. I want to go to my annual Database Nerd conference and be a poised, knowledgeable nerd. I want to be someone that Coombsie doesn’t have to walk on eggshells around. And damn it, I got Walker Stalker Con to go to. The Governor is going to be there. No, not Charlie Baker, because fuck that guy. THE GOVERNOR.
So, here’s hoping I’m going to stomp this down for a while. Pass the Trazodone.