About 70% of my anxiety is the sheer terror that I will feel depressed again. 20% is about running out of Ativan. Only about 10% is ACTUAL random triggers and shit. And I fucking HATE it when someone’s all, “Well, what do you have to be depressed about?” Dude, get away from me.
Anyway, last year was for all intents and purposes, I had a good year. Except for that quick few weeks after DCcon. I hit a low that took me by fucking surprise. I was all, “YAY IM SO HAPPY OMG I LOVE EVERYONE SO MUCH THIS IS GREAT” to “hey wouldn’t it be cool if i just kinda quit. everything. in life.” in a week. But I knew that wasn’t right. I knew that the high from the con should have lasted WAY longer than that. And I probably could have saved myself some hurtin if I’d bumped up my shrink appt to earlier, but as it was, I knew it was coming up soon so I just waited. I was mostly just hoping that I would “Miraculously Get Better”™.
But now, every time she mentions bringing my meds back down a skowtch, I am gripped with panic. I don’t wanna do that again. PLUS I know that my current dose isn’t what its gonna be 3, 5, 10 years from now. It’ll go up because inevitably, I’m gonna feel that way again. It’s gonna happen. Science. And I didn’t experience physical pain or anything. A few crying spells here and there, but mostly I was just afraid of what I knew I could do to myself.
And I know, in the clarity of NOT being sick, that I don’t wanna hurt myself. I’m good, I’m cool, don’t worry about me. But I was a few days away from starting to side eye all the shit in my room. I was maybe two weeks from seriously considering giving it all a good look. And there was no way I was gonna last 6+ months without any help. And that grips me with complete, mind numbing, hide under my covers terror.
Today, I’m fine. I’ve been doing well since beginning of August, right around when GISHWHES was in full swing. I’ve broken up with a guy, dealt with a shitton of stress, sick babies and fuckwits at work, and I’m still good. The biggest thing to take out of this is that I know my own brain. I know my signs, and I know when to ask for help. Fuck, even before my doctor’s appointment, I posted on FB that I was feeling myself falling into crisis and was keeping myself accountable by asking others to watch out for me.
Don’t try to win that battle by yourself. Always get help. If you hate the way you feel, why would you doom yourself to feel it day in and day out instead of asking for help?
Always keep fighting because you are not alone.