A former coworker of mine shared an article on facebook called “Anxiety is an Invalid Excuse.” I’ve cleverly linked it, so if you care to take a read, click the words in quotes (i.e. the name of the article.) I read it and cried. I feel for the author. I can physically FEEL the words on the page. Yes, I’m anthropomorphizing words, but if you have experienced anxiety or depression, or mood disregulation, or really any emotion (or lack of emotion) based concerns, you get it, too. I wish I could write how I feel as well as it is written in that article. But I’m going to try like hell.
I feel empty and unwanted.
I feel like your kid sister that your mom made you babysit and take with you to the store when all you wanted to do is ride bikes with your friends, but now you can’t because of your stupid kid sister.
Except, unlike your stupid kid sister, I recognize that you don’t want me there.
I know that you want me there.
Logically I know I am surrounded by support and love and understanding.
I know that when I am having a shitty day, my parents will drive an hour and a half to meet me for dinner so that I don’t sit around letting my brain play tricks on me.
I’m fully aware that The Sidepiece (the ridiculous nickname for my boyfriend that we agreed upon) thinks I am special and important in ways that no one has ever expressed or shown me before.
Why doesn’t it help?
When I have a cold, someone brings me soup, and I feel better.
When I have a cut, I put a Band-Aid on it, it heals, and I feel better.
So why doesn’t knowing I am supported, loved, and considered special make me feel better?
Because it’s not physical.
But my heart feels empty, sunken, like it’s pushing against my spine trying to get away from the feelings.
But my stomach feels like it’s being dragged along the floor like toilet paper stuck to the bottom of a shoe.
But my limbs feel like cooked spaghetti, unable to hold on to the support around me, unable to support myself.
But my eyes feel like smoldering coals with tears of smoke billowing from my lower lids like attempting to put out a campfire with ice and cold water.
So now what?
Now we wait it out.
Or, now we medicate.
Or, now we un-medicate.
There’s a solid possibility that I feel this thing as a result of a medication. I’m currently working with my doctor to figure that part of it out. It’s possible that weaning off my medication will put me in a better place to mentally power through the difficult times that are happening in my life.
It’s possible that the medication has nothing to do with it. It’s possible that I need to be medicated.
It’s possible that it’ll all just go away.
And I guess that’s the second worst part…
The not knowing is one of the hardest things (secondary to the way it actually feels.)
What if it doesn’t just go away? What if it comes back?
What if it isn’t medication related? What if it is?
I don’t need to be monitored. I AM going to be fine one way or another. I’ll be my normal happy, annoyingly chipper self again soon. My blog posts will become consistent again. I will share happy stories, and funny stories, and (as soon as I can find the words) one of the hardest stories I’ll ever share.
But just in case someone else feels this, or feels the way the author of the article listed at the top feels, I wanted to share my truth. Thanks for reading it. 🙂