Another one from Mattie-
Being new to the whole anxiety scene is really frustrating. I know part of having it is learning how to deal with it in daily situations, but just about every day lately I feel like I am done with the coping and I just want it to end. I just want to take a magic pill and be all better forever. I just want to go back to how I felt before this stupid diagnosis – in my opinion – ruined me. Every little pain or itch or sniffle is assessed far beyond what was normal. Every activity is planned and re-planned to avoid having any issues or an attack.
I hate it. I know that I am the one doing it. I am the one making sure that I have every backup medication possible in my purse. I am the one freaking out about whether or not the Tylenol I took for my shoulder pain is going to affect my liver, or if I should risk the stomach bleeding by taking Ibuprofen instead. I am the one trying to find ways to run my errands without my children because I have had anxiety attacks with them in Wal-Mart. I am the one trying too hard to put her daughter to bed earlier and earlier so that we both get enough sleep. I am the one in charge of my life and my health, so why can’t I fix this?
I am also the one who decided that driving from Florida to Virginia to go to my Uncle’s funeral was probably not in my best interest.
When Uncle Jim passed away this past Saturday, my mother was the one who had the misfortune of calling me. Poor thing usually is the one who gets that job. I could tell just by the way she said “Hello,” that he was gone. We had been talking about how we were going to handle things when the time came, and I had it in my head that if I were to drive North with my family, I would probably end up in whatever hospital is closest for the entire duration of our stay due to nervous breakdown. I had just started taking Citalopram on Thursday night, and to this day I am not sure how it is going to affect me. I decided without even trying that I simply could not handle an 18 hour drive with my children. I hate myself for that. I know for a fact that I have a huge support network in my parents and the rest of my family, and I feel as if I have just slapped them in the face and told them they are not good enough. Selfish little girl.,
At the same time, I know that this is not about me. It’s about being there for my cousins who have just lost their father. It is about being there for my aunt, who is burying the love of her life on their 48th wedding anniversary, and the 16th anniversary of the death of their youngest son. I already missed that funeral, and anyone who knew me at the age of sixteen can tell you that it seriously messed me up. I ran away from home that weekend and did quite a few things that I am so not proud of, and my parents will never let me forget. I finally got some closure last year when I was in Virginia and was able to visit Clay’s grave. I feel more and more like I am telling myself that I am not strong enough to handle it. That I probably will never be. And if that isn’t the scariest thing I have ever felt in my life, I don’t know what is.
But, I ultimately decided it would be best if I stayed home. Selfish, selfish.
I went to the wedding of two friends on Saturday night and had a wonderful time. The Huzz asked me to dance for the first time in our almost eleven years together. The Teenager was sufficiently bored until food was served. Little Miss didn’t stop dancing and stalking the bride until we left. I woke up feeling great on Sunday, which was a blessing because it was my birthday. I went to my parents’ house and saw them off on their drive to Virginia, then came home and opened presents and smiled and laughed with friends. I ordered the flowers for the funeral from our mixed families. I went to dinner with my husband and kids. My boss gives everyone a paid day off for their birthday, so I took Monday off and snuggled on the couch with Little Miss and watched The Little Mermaid (one of my gifts). I relaxed and did laundry like any normal day.
In the end I knew it wasn’t a normal day. I still had to take my pills at the end of the night. I got confused by having the day off and took the wrong pill, which gave me twice the dose I normally take. It was a dosage I had taken in the past, but when I added my new meds on top, it made me a little scared. I texted a friend who is an RN and she assured me that I wasn’t going to die. I already knew that I should be fine, but it helps me to hear it from a professional. I still have that scared little girl inside of me who just wishes her Mommy was here, and not so far away. And then I feel selfish again. See? Vicious cycle.
Rambly long post, I know, and I am sorry for that, readers. I guess what I am trying to say is, you never know what is going to happen and you can’t let your anxiety rule your life. Every missed opportunity and experience just adds to the anxiety for me. The what if’s pile on each other and then I am back in the ER And even as I am typing this, my brain is screaming, “HOW CAN YOU EVEN SAY THAT? HYPOCRITE! YOU KNOW FULL WELL IF SOMEONE TOLD YOU THAT, YOU’D BITE THEIR HEAD OFF.” Which is completely true.