My biggest fear in the world isn’t really having diarrhea in public, it’s losing control. Ok, so it is having diarrhea in public, but that is just one of the many manifestations of the fear. It’s also having an anxiety attack, getting a migraine, making a fool of myself, people discovering that I’m not perfectly normal. You know those friends you have who effortlessly load your dishwasher for you after having dinner at you house? Or who clean up the kids’ toys before heading home? Or who even just clear the table of dirty dishes? I’m fascinated by those people and jealous of them. I want to help when I’m with friends, but I can’t. My body feels like a huge unwieldy blob, I know I will break things, or have to ask too many questions, or I’ll make a bigger mess than the one I’m trying to tidy. When I’m around other people I want to move as little as humanly possible. If I’m still maybe I can contain the damage my body is always ready to unleash.
When the migraine started yesterday I was able to get C down for his nap and settle T in front of his other Mom, um I mean the TV before taking my medicine and collapsing in my bed. I laid there as still as possible, praying I wouldn’t puke from the pain as I waited for the drug to do its thing. And I felt completely and totally out of control. My mind was racing-what if C woke up or T needed something? I could do nothing to help my kids. The anxiety had won, it had completely incapacitated me. Game over. All fall it has been gaining more and more control over my actions. Since we’ve gotten back into town it has absolutely been ruling my life.
I don’t want to take a daily psychotropic medication. I haven’t been on one since 2006. I know I’m not magically cured, but I thought the use of rescue meds, therapy, and coping mechanisms I’ve developed over the years were enough to get me through life. When I started down the SSRI road I was told I’d probably be on them for the rest of my life. That was back when my diagnosis was Borderline Personality Disorder. But I beat that diagnosis. Why couldn’t I permanently beat the need for daily drugs? I was so proud to get off of them, I felt powerful and like I could accomplish anything.
Today my therapist (who is also my prescriber) told me we need to figure out what the right “cocktail” of drugs is for me and once we find it that I should undertand I will probably be taking daily meds permanently. Surprisingly, I’m not a huge crier in therapy. Yeah, I started weeping hysterically. I know drugs don’t equal failure. I know that seeking help means you are strong and on your way to getting better. But when it comes to my own care I’m a huge hypocrite. My anxiety disorder means I am useless. Taking a daily drug makes me pathetic. Admitting things are bad means I have lost control and I’ll never get it back. Because part of my illness is the voice that tells me I am unloveable, a worthless piece of shit, a waste of space, a drain on everyone’s resources, and fat and ugly on top of all that.
I know, I know, I’m a delight. Wanna be friends?