the anxious me//when the medication is not enough

Just a warning, this is going to be a haphazard, shaky kind of post -- I am haphazard and shaky right now. Three days in of withdrawing from my current medication. It hurts. My body shakes between nausea and dizziness and most of the time my vision is blurred and I can't fucking cope. You have depression/anxiety/ocd/ptsd and you finally get brave enough to go to a doctor and they put you on the medication and then you finally get your head to not be scared of taking the medication so you take it and... Sick for two weeks straight. Can't get out of bed kind of sick. Vomiting. You can't eat or move. Sleep is all you need. And you're endlessly tired. Except your head feels better and it's screaming at you to do something and you can't so you wait.

And 2 weeks pass and you start to feel human and your life goes back to normal. Slightly. Except this medication doesn't feel quite right. You still have trouble sleeping and your head still tells you to die. So you tell your doctor who tells you to wait three months. And then another three. And then it's almost been two years and he asks you if you still want to die and you clutch your wrist and nod meekly. So he ups your dosage and calls a number to let you have double for the same price. It will help. But it doesn't help. You still feel the same and most of the time you're drowning.

And finally, finally, you feel brave enough to go see another doctor even though the thought of one more person knowing you're a fucking mess kills you but you do it and they suggest something else but, first, tests to check your liver works fine because, hey, did you know this one might make your liver shitty? Never mind the fact that the pills could increase your suicidal thoughts and make you feel like fucking crap. So you take the tests and your liver works fine so, hey, lucky you, you get to take that stupidly scary leap into this new medication river and hope like heck this one works for you and doesn't make you want to die even more than usual. Fun.

Except before you do that you have to get your old medication out of your system. So for 3 days you get to withdraw from medication that did nothing much at all and, hey, it's lots of fun. I swear. If fun means feeling as though you are dying and screaming crying because all your senses hurt then, yep, fun. And you know what is more fun? Going to work when you're withdrawing and vomiting in the bathroom and just fucking sucking for seven hours before you can go home, shove hot chips in your mouth and feel like death some more. And, sure, you could have taken the day off but the anxiety you got when trying to write an email explaining why you couldn't work those days that week was too overwhelming and you contemplated just giving a none-reason but couldn't face that either so you went and tried to suck it up as best you could even if that means racing to the chemist in a blind panic, muttering about anxiety and depression and withdrawals and needing help please! and then dropping chocolate on the floor while crying mid-panic/anxiety attack to your Husband because you feel like you're dying.

And then as night creeps on the third day and you can take your new medication, the anxiety sets in because of all the damn side affects and everything else that these pills could possibly mean. And you know you have to take them because three days without medication means you've turned back into that person who bursts into tears when her body lotion falls on the floor and you hate that person but, also, you're not sure if you fear her or the unknown more and what if all the things?


So that's medication... for me, at least. Because my first go that lasted over two years did not turn out so well and, now, I'm so fucking anxious and nervous and sick and I can't stand it. Medication doesn't always work and sometimes it takes a few goes to get right and I hate that. I just want to click my fingers, tap my shoes, and be better. Wouldn't that be a dream?

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