“I’m always missing someone or someplace or something, I’m always trying to get back to some imaginary somewhere.” – Elizabeth Wurtzel
Day nine of stopping Lexapro – the anxiety pill I’ve been on for seven months – and it is the worst. I count the days, hoping that today will be the day it gets better, that I won’t feel like shit.
Part of me just wants to stop everything, becomes concerned that the medications I’m on are the wrong ones, wants to rid myself of every self-imposed toxin. Part of me becomes concerned that if I stop everything, if I start from scratch, I might be worse off.
The panic attacks are back and I’m doing all I can to talk myself down from them. I know, of course, that this is just a side effect. I am an expert Googler, after all, and I read, read, read all the time: anxiety, depression and mood swings, electric shock sensations, fatigue, irritability, nausea, feeling dizzy, vomiting, nightmares, headache, and/or paresthesias (prickling, tingling sensation on the skin).
My head feels sunburned. I want to lay in ice. I want to sleep. I want to breathe normally. I want to stop feeling shitty from the thing that was supposed to stop making me feel shitty.
And I know – I KNOW, I could just go back on it and not feel so shitty. I just don’t want to. I’ve gained so much weight, the panicky stuff was coming back in fits and starts, I’m tired of doctors, consider me a 31-year-old baby.
I keep trying to remember a time when I wasn’t having problems. My Pilates instructor says that it’s because I’m in my 30s now… women just “come down” with stuff. Like, dudes may get a “touch of” the flu; women “come down” with life-altering shit. Don’t have enough to do? Here’s an auto-immune disorder for you!
And maybe the problem is that I’m focused so much on my past, or my future, and if I just juiced dandelions or some shit and drank that for a week I’d be fine.
Don’t ask me where I got the dandelions from, but I am now reminded of this girl that was in my women’s studies class who reminded us weekly that her family ate dandelions to survive. And weekly, we continued not to care. Or maybe it was just me.
Whatever. I’m a bitchy whinypants.
Oh! And then there’s my boyfriend, who’s like, “I must have done something because you didn’t feel this way before” and I was like, “uh yeah the fuck I did; I’m just more comfortable with continually complaining than I was three seconds into our relationship.”
I don’t know how we’re still together. I’m a terrible person.
Where’s that fucking spindly needle thing when you need it to just sleep for a while? This is not a reference to heroin; I think I was referencing sleeping beauty. And by the way, what draws a person to a spinning wheel, anyway? Wouldn’t the better object have been a stove? Like, don’t touch that stove! It’s HOT! Don’t DO IT! Donnnnnn’t!!! Noooooooo!!! ::Sleeping::
I found this picture while Googling “Sleeping Beauty Stove”. This woman does not look happy. But seriously, get another color stove other than white, and then you wouldn’t have to clean that bitch so much. And with rubber gloves, too? For shame. But I don’t believe it for a second, because her hair looks totes done.
Have a good day, friends. Be kind to yourselves.