Anxiety, party of one.

I have a couple of topics swirling around in my head, and have been there all day, so I thought I’d take the time to write them down.

 

Let’s chase this and see where it goes.

 

The first topic I want to talk about is Ikea. We’ve also got Chris LeDoux and potatoes to write about, so be patient with me here. I’m writing as fast as I can.

 

So, Ikea first.

 

The first thing that you need to know is that I’ve been sick for going on eight weeks. I do not have COVID or pneumonia or anything serious, really, and I’m thankful for that.

 

However, I do have bronchitis, which is painful and annoying and mostly just painful. When my Dad was here, he timed my coughs. According to him, I coughed every 20 seconds. When you cough that much, your sides hurt, and I got to the point where I would just hold my ribs when I coughed.

 

There’s a ton of physical pain involved.

 

Also, I tend to get bronchitis every 2-3 years like clockwork, and have since high school, so this is something I deal with a lot. (Please note that I don’t smoke and never have.)

 

For the past 7-8 weeks, I haven’t done a whole lot in my personal life, besides cough and not sleep a whole lot. Grocery shopping is pick up because I don’t have the energy to walk into a grocery store. I switched pharmacies to a drive-thru one because walking into a store is physically exhausting.

 

For the first several weeks of it, I could sleep 2-3 hours a night. The physical exhaustion part just comes from not sleeping and your body being in so much physical pain.

 

I’ve been feeling a little better recently. Sorry for that tangent. This blog post is/was not intended to talk about bronchitis.

 

I want to talk about Ikea.

--

 

I’ve been feeling better recently. I can sleep five hours a night now, which feels like I’m staying at a luxury resort compared to the two hours I was sleeping per night a few weeks ago.

 

I woke up this morning pretty refreshed. I decided to do some errands in the morning, (including losing my dog...who ended up being in bed snoring), and then for the afternoon, I thought I’d venture off into the big city a couple of hours away.

 

I haven’t had a pedicure in eight weeks, and I really want some new lamps for my new place.

 

Kansas City and Ikea, here I come.

 

The pedicure was fine, and it was nothing to write home about. I tried out a new color, which I hate, but that can be redone after a while.

 

I noticed at the nail salon that I haven’t really been around people in public for a really long time. Eight weeks, to be exact.

 

And then I noticed that it’s kind of fun doing things in public. The group of girls around me were hilarious and it felt nice to be around people.

(They were talking about the differences between American television and British television. Their words: "America: Murder, death, sex, scandal! Darkness everywhere!" As opposed to British tv: "Oh, that's a nice looking puff pastry." It was hilarious.)

--

 

After that, I decided to go to Ikea to get some lamps.

 

I made a mistake when I walked in. Instead of going directly into the store, I screwed up and went into the parking garage instead. That isn’t actually a big deal, as you just walk through a couple extra set of doors to fix your mistake.

 

But here’s the thing about me: I have anxiety. Not only do I have anxiety, but I also have a few personality traits that are kind of weird.

 

I hate parking garages. They give me anxiety. I hate parking in them, they’re dark and scary to me, and I don’t really feel safe in them.

 

Plus, when I drive out of them, the dumb machine never takes the stupid ticket and then people behind me get inpatient and upset and honk at me.

They stress me out and I avoid them if I can. (I also got lost in one in St. Louis and had to Google Maps my way out of it. And my hotel was attached to it.)

 

So at this point in my Kansas City trip, I have really cute toes, but I’m now in a place that I hate (parking garages) and I’m kind of freaking out a little bit.

 

All throughout college and after, up until last year, really, I thought I had asthma. I kept an inhaler in my purse at all times. There are times in my life where I feel like I can’t breathe.

 

I joke about it, because of all the things to suck at in life, breathing is sometimes at the top of my list.

 

Sometimes, it just feels like I can’t get enough air. My chest will hurt. It’s hard to explain, but it feels like someone or something heavy is sitting on my chest.

 

Through the past 12-24 months of my life, which were the worst months of my life, I learned that the feeling in that situation or those situations is not asthma.

 

That feeling is anxiety.

 

That feeling is panic.

 

That feeling is a panic attack.

 

I know, now, somewhat, how to control that feeling in my chest. Stop what I’m doing, find a quiet place away from people, and just focus on breathing. I visually imaging my chest filling with air, and I stay in that space and place for a couple minutes, maybe a few minutes, until the feeling passes.

 

And then I realized today that this isn’t the first time that I’ve felt this feeling in Ikea.

 

I had a panic attack in Ikea today.

 

I almost left the store. I could see my car from where I was standing, and for a minute, I was going to just walk back to my car, admit that I got defeated by the big city, and go back home.

 

But I’m not a quitter.

 

I walked my butt up the stairs, and I went into the store.

 

I was too overwhelmed to walk through the displays, even though I really wanted to because they’re really, really cute.

 

I know that instead of going right to the displays, I can instead to left, skip to the lamps, find what I’m looking for, and then get the hell out of that big city as fast as possible.

 

I did eventually find the lamps. I really wanted three of them, including a floor lamp and two desk lamps.

 

As I stood there looking at them, it occurred to me that while I was freaking out about a parking garage that I didn’t even park in, I completely overlooked the fact that I needed a shopping cart for my lamps.

 

And because I’m weird and I have anxiety, I can’t just go get one.

 

I’m now in the middle of Ikea, and I am realizing that sometimes, I make poor life decisions. Today was one of them.

 

Going back and getting a cart was not an option, but there were some shopping bags nearby, so I grabbed one of those, got a couple of lamps and a couple of other things, and then left.

 

Guys, I’m from a small town. We don’t have parking garages or stores with escalators or elevators or weird carts that you put bags in.

 

This trip was completely overwhelming to me.

 

I was so stressed out, I didn’t even go to Trader Joes to buy weird fruit afterward, which is one of my favorite things to do.

 

I haven’t put the lamps together yet, but I will soon. That’s a project I’ll tackle tomorrow. I have an art project in mind for one of them, so I went to a craft store afterward to get some stuff.

 

I’m not thrilled about another store at that point, but I managed, and survived, and then I went and got a frozen Coke, listened to music really loud for a couple of hours, and then drove back to my little piece of the world.

 

I guess the moral of the story is that you shouldn’t venture to a big city when you’ve been a hermit for eight weeks.

 

Welcome to anxiety city.

 

There are days

I'm watching The Mindy Project on Hulu.

I actually laughed out loud at this comment: "Oh my God, I'm going to be on the third season of Serial."

There are days I think the same thing.

Part 1

Interesting things about oral surgery, medications and anxiety, part 1:

1. My right arm hurt today, and I didn’t know why. I have two punctures on my right arm, which is fine, but my dentist took blood from my left arm. They tried my right arm, and I don’t even remember them doing that. Anxiety is awesome like that.
2. Dentists take blood now? That’s a first for me.
3. I’m about ready to itch my skin off. Side effect of antibiotics, I guess? Wearing clothes that are 100 percent cotton helps. Weird.
4. I have stitches on both sides of my mouth. Every time my face touches something, like a pillow or a make-up brush, it hurts.
5. Being in cold weather makes it feel like someone is taking a baseball bat to my face.
6. I have to eat food to take medicine, but I can’t chew on either side of my mouth. What?
7. I had to drink a lot of water before the surgery because they told me to be nice and hydrated when I got my blood taken. Thankfully I learned how to drink really fast in my younger years. Thanks, college!

Life sucks sometimes.

Side rant: Garth Brooks, who did not sing live at the CMAs, won Entertainer of the Year. First my mouth hurts, and now my heart hurts. 

Nurse Penny: Yo, something happened to your face today. 

"It looks like filet mignon."

The good news: I got my dental implants yesterday!

The bad news: I got my dental implants yesterday.

Punctuation matters.

I don't think I can talk about it yet. I will say, for now, that it was a wonderful experience. It means a lot to me when dentists acknowledge how hard and traumatic this is, especially when you have anxiety and have been treated terribly by dentists in the past.

I have also learned from my mistakes.

1.  Pain medicine is to be filled in the city you have your surgery in. 
2. Anxiety is to be talked about beforehand. 
3. Probiotics are to be taken when you're on antibiotics, especially when your digestive system has a mind of its own.
4. PTs are okay to consult with when you have no idea how to handle your body when you're on antibiotics. In fact, they want to help. 

First world problem whine:

Do you have any idea how many uses your face, your mouth and your teeth have? You don't realize how much you need those until something goes wrong.

I sleep with my face buried in my pillow. I can't do that when anything touching my face literally feels like it's trying to murder me.

I put make-up on this morning. It felt like I was trying to murder my own face.

I stepped outside to let my dogs out, and the cold air felt like it was beating the crap out of my face.

Eating breakfast with stitches on both sides of your mouth? This whole process is stupid. I have to eat in order to take medicine to make me feel better, but eating hurts and taking medicine without eating makes me toss my cookies.

It's a vicious cycle.

I am strong for doing this.

After it was over (2 hours!), my dentist made a point to talk to me about anxiety.

She also made it a point to tell me that this is a really traumatic experience to go through.

---

The stupid thing about dental anxiety is that you can't avoid appointments. You just end up making your problems worse when you avoid it.

These are my anxiety ridden, very very sleepy thoughts at the moment.

I'll end with this.

After my dentist finished the first implant, she looked at it and said it was beautiful.

She said: "It looks like filet mignon."

I cried, gagged, and tried really hard not to throw up on everyone.

That's life.

I can fix a drink

As it stands now, I cannot have an implant.

The thing is, I kind of assumed the bone graft I had over the summer would not work. When I say the word 'pain,' I don't mean the normal kind of pain that you feel when you don't feel good.

This was a level of pain that I can't even describe.

Plus, I'm not the kind of person who gets easy fixes. I don't just have a bone graft and then get an implant that works like unicorn poop.

There's not enough bone in that spot for an implant, even with a bone graft.

I saw the x-ray. There's the bone graft, then there's a black hole of nothingness above it.

The oral surgeon asked me if I wanted a bridge. I told him that I just had a $7,000 bridge pulled from my mouth.

He said he could try another bone graft, but my sinus is in the way, so he'd have to "bump the sinus up."

Uh...no.

Or, he said, you could just walk around with a missing tooth.

I guess that's why you shouldn't let an infection eat your face?

I did everything I could to fix that tooth. It was root canalled, root canalled again, it had gum surgery, it had a post in it, it had a bone graft.

When I felt that tooth crack, I made an appointment to get it checked out immediately.

I could not have done anything different.

I gave it all I had.

I can't fix this, guys. The infection ate away at the bone so much that the bone is gone forever.

In the words of a song that I love listening to:

I can't fix that.

But I can fix a drink.

I don't know what to do when car doors do not open.

Scene 1:

I discovered yesterday on my lunch break that my car door did not open.

I don't know what to do when car doors do not open.

I crawled out the passenger side door, called the guy who fixes my car, then went and traded my Dad's perfectly fine truck for a car that doesn't have a functioning driver's side door.

(Cars are kind of like teeth. When it goes wrong, I know to call someone smarter than me.)

--

Scene 2:

While being laughed at by the guy who fixes my car, my Dad asks me if I want to lock my doors on my car while it's sitting in the parking lot of the fixing place.

Well, I said, if someone tries to steal it, they're going to have a really hard time opening the door.

Fyi, apparently if the hinge that holds the door open breaks, and you open your car door on a day where the wind is blowing 50 miles per hour, you can actually damage your front fender.

You can damage your front fender so much that the damn door will not open.

--

Scene 3:

My mom: Oh my God did you wreck your car? What did you hit?

Me: The wind. I hit the wind.

--

Scene 3:

My dumbass dog woke up at 4:30 a.m. and did not go back to sleep.

I worked up some tomatoes. I made a big breakfast. I did dishes. I watched the news curled up with a blanket and a space heater...all before 8 a.m.

Dog at 4:30 a.m.: Hey I have to go outside.

Dog at 4:32 a.m.: Oh my God it’s cold let me back in.

Dog at 4:33 a.m.: Hey since you’re awake do you wanna party?

Can't.

There are days when my stomach/gut/colon/abdomen freak out about nothing.

Today is one of those days.

I will go to work, and I will run home if I don't feel good. And then, I will go back to work.

Wash, rinse, repeat.

I'm so tired of this. I'm tired of the pain. Literally, the pain makes me tired. I want to curl up in a ball, just outside of my bathroom, and lay there forever.

But I can't.

I really hope a surgeon offers to fix this next week.

Quality of life issues?  I passed that stage a solid six months ago.

In the city

I have an anxiety disorder.

Don't worry, though. I talked to my doctor about it a while ago and we came up with a solution that works, most of the time.

But that stupid anxiety pops up every now and then.

In Kansas, there's one city that gets my anxiety going. Like, really, really going. To add anxiety on top of anxiety, I can't take parking garages.

They're so sterile, and so closed in. I hate them and I try to avoid them when I can.

In dawned on me in Big City that driving around downtown looking for a parking spot is pretty much as fun as going to Big City to have a root canal.

(I'm not being dramatic. I've lot a lot of root canals in Big City.)

So, on Thursday, it took me at least 20 minutes to park. Please note, I spent more time trying to park than I did shopping.

Gah.

I finally found a parking spot, after figuring out that when parking garages say "Full," they only mean "Kinda sorta full, sometimes. Lol jk."

I finally parked without hitting anyone, and I started to walk towards the exit, all the while looking three stories down, and hoping that no one would jump out of the shadows and throw me to my death in the meantime.

(Shit happens in Big City. I have an active imagination, a slight fear of heights and a fear that I will someday become a headline, okay?)

There was a sign in the parking garage that said something like, 'You should take your ticket with you and pay in the parking garage.'

Say what, now? I've always paid as you left. It's different, now?

Okay, I thought. Fine. I walked back to the car, got my little parking pass ticket thing, then went about my happy little business.

The nightmare came a few hours later. I pulled out my ticket at the machine on the first floor, and got ready to pay it.

But I put the parking pass ticket thing in the wrong slot.

OH MY GOD THE HORROR.

There were people behind me. People, as in plural. I got the ticket in the right slot on the second time, and then I put my credit card in the machine to pay.

I put my credit card in the machine wrong.

By then, there were at least five people behind me.

Did I mention I have an anxiety problem? I can't handle this stress, you guys.

PANIC PANIC PANIC.

I can graduate from college, buy a house and keep three dogs alive...but I can't get out of a parking garage?

I managed to put the ticket and my card in the machine the correct way, and the machine still refused to work. Then, it gave me my credit card back, but the machine kept my parking pass ticket thing.

People were waiting and glaring at me.

Does God hate me right now?

I looked at the line behind me, apologized, and told the people who probably thought I didn't have a brain that I couldn't get the machine to work.

I walked back to my car a few stories up, and hoped that no one would follow me and write down my license plate and report to, I don't know, God, that I'm sometimes stupid over simple things like this.

I drove down to the street level, and found a line of cars had formed to pay at parking garage's exit.

My confidence, which had just been totally shattered, started looking up while waiting in line.

Every single car in front of me had to buzz for help. The guy who helped, whoever he is and wherever he was, opened the gate for everyone.

His voice was magical.

Does that mean my card did not get charged? I have no idea. Does that mean that everyone had the same problem I did? I have no idea.

I'm just really, really thankful that I'm chilling out in my house right now, a few hours later, instead of a concrete prison/parking garage in Big City.

For a moment, I thought about what it would be like if I was never able to leave the parking garage. What if I had to spend the night there? What if I had to spend a lot of time there?

WHAT IF?

Who paid for that parking garage, by the way? The city? How much money does the city make each year? Is said parking garage paid off? How much money does it make each year?

My mind roams around like that.

For what it's worth, I felt better as soon as Big City was in my rear view mirror.

Anxiety is stupid.

I am too, sometimes.

-----

I guess on a more positive note, I actually looked for and located my car in the correct parking garage this time.

I'm getting better at this adulting thing, kind of.

Not pretty.

The thing about life is that it's not always pretty.

The past few days, weeks, maybe even months, haven't been all that great. I've been sick a lot with various things. A week-long case of the flu last month wiped me out. I've been exhausted since then.

I wish I could explain it, but I can't. I'm just tired. 

Something about being sick gives me anxiety. It's stupid, I know, but I honestly can't help it.

Getting out of bed is hard some days. 

Yesterday, I got out of bed because I promised myself a cinnamon roll for breakfast. (My mom's cinnamon rolls are totally worth it.)

Today, I got out of bed because I had a really good hair day yesterday, and I was excited to try to have another good hair day today.

Tomorrow, I'm going to get out of bed because I just bought a brand new box of Lucky Charms. The marshmallows are always all at the top of the box, so those first few scoops of cereal are almost my favorite thing in the world.

Monday was a holiday. I wasted it worrying that I didn't do anything productive over the weekend.

Some people (normal people) are proud of the fact that they did nothing on a holiday weekend.

I get depressed about it.

It's frustrating to live your life when your brain doesn't always like you. 

So that's why I haven't been blogging. Maybe this month, or next month, will be better. Or maybe it won't, and I'll just spend my time eating cinnamon rolls and Lucky Charms with really badass looking hair. 

There are worse ways to spend your life.

Related: Kristen Bell: I’m Over Staying Silent About Depression

Wine to whine.

I've been told more than once that I have unrealistic expectations.

I know that. I know that I have an anxiety problem. I take medication for it.

The stupid thing, though, is that getting the medication and paying for it gives me anxiety. Yes, I know how stupid this is. I can't help it.

I take more than one prescription medication. I don't like the fact that I need them, but if they work, then fine. I'll take them.

One of the medications that works for my body is really expensive. Like, $170 a month expensive. I have a house payment, a student loan payment, and other bills.

I have no second income to rely on. I rely on myself.

Spending that much money a month for medicine is not an option for me. My doctor (er, nurse practitioner) knows this. When we switched my medication, she handed me a piece of paper.

She said something along the lines of, 'I know you just bought a house and I know you live alone. Use this at the pharmacy. It will help.'

The piece of paper says I'm supposed to pay no more than $30 a month if I have insurance.

When I went to pick up the medication today, the total was $167 and some change.

My heart sank to my butt.

Does this happen to other people besides me?

It took about 30 minutes chatting with the lady behind the counter to figure out what the problem was and how to fix it.

I wanted to crawl in a hole and die in the process.

Finding a medication that works for my body is not easy. I've gone through multiple tests at multiple doctors to figure out the problem. The last time I thought I had a problem, I had no problem at all, my body just got bored and decided to mess up for no medical reason.

I know I'm whining about things that I shouldn't be whining about, but sometimes you just need wine and to whine.

There should be a law that all healthcare providers have to adhere to. I'll call it The Monica. Or, as an alternative title: I HAVE ANXIETY AND I DON'T WANT TO TALK ABOUT IT.

Being an introvert with an anxiety problem is really, really hard sometimes.

Today, it was hard. Tomorrow, it might be better.

On bad days, my mind always goes back to a blog post that The Bloggess wrote in 2013, called 'Where I Am Right Now.'

Her problems are completely different than mine are at the moment. Hers are more serious, and make me realize that I'm whining for no reason. 

Anyway, this blog post has gotten me through some pretty tough days.

We've all been there. Shit happens.

My favorite parts of the blog: 

"But I had the same growth 10 years ago and got it biopsied and it wasn’t cancer then and eventually it just went away, so I suspect it’s a silent twin that’s just swimming around in my body and fucking shit up."

---

"And more upsetting is the fact that I still feel exactly as exhausted as I did before we started the treatment, so God knows if this will even work or if it’ll just be another bullet-point in my list-of-shit-that’s-wrong-with-me."

---

"I should be happy that things weren’t worse, and relieved that I have the resources to diagnose and maybe fix the problems, but today I’m just sick and tired of being sick and tired, and I can’t find a way to end this paragraph."

Somewhat related: My dog was the worst dog in obedience class last night. She's so happy, though, she has no idea she's in last place. She's totally okay with it. 

Definitely Related: 19 Small Awards Anyone With Anxiety Deserves To Receive

House update!

As of Friday, the final inspection hasn't been done yet on my house.

The loan hasn't gone through, either.

I emailed Mr. Bank Guy on Friday, asking him nicely if this is actually going to happen on time. Yes, he says, it will be done this week.

We're cutting it close here, people.

In the meantime, I'm trying to line up helpers and movers, a trailer, and I bought some furniture that's going to be delivered this weekend. 

I hope I have a house this weekend. My fingers are crossed...

My momma taught me better than that.

I used to think all of life's problems had an answer.

When you're little and you can't figure something out, you ask Mom. She can fix anything.

In grade school, middle school and high school, teachers gave you problems that always had an answer. If you didn't know, you asked, and they helped you figure it out.

In college, professors did the same thing. If they didn't know the answer, another student probably did.

It's a little different in my grown-up professional life.

I'm starting to realize -- no, I've known this for quite a while now -- that no one else has the answers to my problems.

I have to decide what to do. And for some of questions, I don't have an answer.

I don't understand why houses, relationships, promises and other things fall through. I don't understand why I can't just make one single plan for my life and have everything happen on time the way I want it to.

I don't have the answer for these things when they happen. And that's really frustrating sometimes.

I've been told more than once that my expectations aren't reasonable. That makes me giggle, because I honestly expect things to be 100 percent successful. And then when they fail, I get shocked and upset every single time.

I don't like failing. Failing, and not having answers, are both really frustrating things.

-----

I looked at houses in December, a day after my other one fell through.

I was heart broken. I cried so much I didn't think I could cry any more. At the time I thought, you know what? I'm not going to let this break me.

I'm going to kick some grass over that shit and move on.

I moved on to a much better house. If you can't tell, this house business means a lot to me.

I can't even describe how much it means to me. It bothers me when other people have what I want and don't treat it with respect.

House, I will do you right. I will fix you when you break.

I promise.

-----

On a happier note, I get the keys to my house next week. Due to my philosophy of hating spending money, I'm pretty sure my closet project is a go now.

Hooray! I'm looking forward to taking a hammer to the old closet and tearing the crap out of it.

House therapy!

Sighs.

I've been keeping a close eye on the comments from the article I posted about yesterday.

Most of the comments have the same theme: Why do you need medicine? Why can't you just get better on your own? Why don't you just do yoga? Or breathe differently? Or exercise? Or take walks to get fresh air?

These comments make me uneasy.

While I was never formally diagnosed with anxiety or depression, taking an anxiety medicine (the same one featured in the story, as it so happens) has helped me in a huge way.

You can't get over it on your own. It's not possible.

No one deserves to live in a prison they create for themselves in their own head.

I've had people say hurtful stuff to me for other health problems in the past.

Stuff like:

If you keep going back to doctors they're going to keep finding things wrong with you because they want to make money.

You don't want to get better.

You're doing this on purpose, aren't you?

These comments are ignorant. To some they might be harmful.

I'm old enough and wise enough now to ignore them. When I hear people talking in public, or online, about a specific problem I have, I don't get offended and go home crying.

I used to.

Like the author said, I take Sertraline because it makes me feel better.

That's it.

In 2015, we shouldn't be having the discussion of whether depression/anxiety medicine is worth it or not, and we definitely shouldn't be having that conversation with people who've never experienced depression and anxiety.

Sigh.

-----

On the subject of health, I had just about the grossest flu ever last week.

And I got it after I Lysoled everything in my casa after the rest of my family had it.

You don't realize how amazing drinking water is until you can't. I had a big glass of ice water beside my bed, and I remember laying there thinking, you know, when I can actually keep stuff down, I'm going to drink water like there's no tomorrow.

Some people want world peace. Some people want power, fame, a ton of money.

I just want ice water. I'm pretty easy to please, I think.

Anyway, I'm still rocking the crackers, water, and 7UP diet at the moment.

Solid food doesn't sound appetizing, still.

Another sigh.

NPR story

Worth a read:

The Medicated Woman: A Pill To Feel Better, Not Squelch Emotions

In particular:

"I owe it to Sertraline for quieting my brain just enough to hear my own voice"

And: "I take an anti-depressant every day to quell my anxiety simply because it feels better. I feel better."

I couldn't be more normal if I tried.

A few months ago, after going through a particularly stressful time, I went to a couple of doctor's appointments for minor things I'd been noticing.

We talked about blood pressure during these appointments. My blood pressure had been fine for about two years - maybe a year and a half - and during an appointment a few months ago we talked about me getting off blood pressure medicine.

It didn't seem to be an issue for me anymore.

But in December, it was high. Like, really high. I explained that I was going through some stressful stuff, and that I wanted to give it some time to see if it would go away on its own.

In January, I had another doctor's appointment. It was still high.

Blah. I knew I didn't feel good, but I didn't know why.

We talked about a solution. I mentioned anxiety. The doctor (well, technically nurse) asked me if I wanted to try taking anxiety medicine.

Meh, I don't know, I said. I'm open to anything that will help me, but I didn't particularly want to add one more medication to my list.

She explained the pros and cons. I thought about it.

She said something to me that made me finally make a decision: "You're too young to have a stroke."

Um, this is true. I kind of like my life and I need to live it for a while longer.

She called in a prescription and I was on my way out the door that morning.

I've talk to doctors in the past about possibly needing anxiety medicine. No one had ever really taken me seriously. One even told me all I had to do was breathe differently.

Maybe that works for some people, but not me. I need something a little stronger than pausing to take deep breaths.

So I started taking anxiety medicine. I was told it would take up to six weeks to take effect. I followed the instructions and told a few people, because the instructions said that people need to know you're on it in case your personality changes.

I was ashamed at first. The morning that I was prescribed it was not a good morning. God, I thought, what's wrong with you? You can't handle life without drugging yourself up first?

I have a job, a paid off car, a roof over my head (even though it's not my roof - I'm working on that), food to eat, a pretty cool little dog. Is my life really that bad that I need this?

One of my co-workers stopped my line of thinking that morning. Who cares if you need it, she said. It's nothing to be ashamed about, and if it helps, then so be it.

I started taking it that day. Call me crazy, but I noticed a difference right away.

That feeling of 1,000 bricks on my chest is gone. I sleep at night. Well, most nights, anyway. Pre-medicine I don't even remember the last time I slept through the night.

I wake up in the morning, roll out of bed, and go about my day. I don't lay there thinking about the 1,000 little things that could go wrong in life.

And when things do go wrong? Meh, I think, who cares. This won't matter a week from now, let alone a year from now.

Why am I writing about this now?

I read this recently:  The Top 9 Reasons I Hate Anxiety

Among the ones I can relate to:

Anxiety tricks you out of the “now” as you obsessively replay and regret the past and worry about the future.  Anxiety loves to wake you up at 3:00 in the morning, so you can nurse past grievances and worry about future catastrophes.
Anxiety feels dreadful. When anxiety has you in its clutches, you will want to move out of your body and inhabit some other space—anything to escape that awful feeling. Regrettably, there is no place to go. You can’t vacate the premises.

I always wondered if I need anxiety medicine, but I didn't think it would happen like this. I expected my doctor/nurse to stand on a rooftop and shout something like "CONGRATULATIONS, YOU HAVE PROBLEMS AND YOU'RE A LOSER."

That's not what happened, though. It was very nonchalant. Like, oh, you need this? Okay, let's try it.

And that's that.

By the way, my co-worker was correct. There's no shame in admitting you need help with something.

Another by the way: I stopped in to said doctor/nurse's office a few times after I started taking it. My blood pressure was normal. I couldn't be more normal if I tried.

So take that, body. I fixed you.

(Note: The irony in having anxiety about taking anxiety medicine is not lost on me. I told a few friends that. They laughed, which made me laugh. It was a stupid thing to worry about.)

(Another note: There are a few things that are off limits that I don't blog about, and health stuff is on that list. I think it's important to write about, though, to let people know that it's okay to get help if you need it. Seriously, all you need to do is ask. It took me a few years to learn that.)