I’ve written about my anxiety disorders before. I wrote Living with anxiety to explain a little bit about each of the three anxiety disorders I am currently diagnosed with. I wrote Social Guilt to express how one little moment can penetrate me. I wrote Why social media is better than Prozac to explain . . . well, why social media is better than Prozac. And I wrote The automatic negative thoughts of social anxiety to share an amazing video from JaneyfromKorea.
Last night I wrote Some melodramatic ramblings . . . or rather, re-wrote some melodramatic ramblings while listening to some music. The purpose was to release those dark thoughts that creep into me, the ones I work so vigorously to control.
I first started taking medication over 10 years ago. I hate taking medication. I hate being dependant on a little pill every morning. I also build up tolerance to medications rather quickly, and I don’t want to just keep taking more and more of those little pills. Then there are the side effects – some I can live with, some are damn near torturous. And all of that leads to me stopping my meds every so many years. I need to try to function without. And it always works . . . for a time. Sometimes I can last a couple of years, sometimes only several months.
I stopped taking my meds 9 months ago and now my time is up. I know that. I know that because the conversations in my head just keep getting louder.
See, I remember conversations . . . word for word. The big, momentous ones and the seemingly insignificant ones.
I remember driving home from the orthodontist with my father when I was 16. We talked about a classmate of mine who was pregnant. He said, “It’s a mistake for any teenager to get pregnant.” I said, “Dad, you and my mom were 18 and 17 when I was born.” He said, “Like I said, it’s a mistake for any teenager to get pregnant.”
I remember when my boyfriend and I first started seeing each other . . . when we were in “friend” stage and he texted me from New York to tell me that it was weird because he thought he missed me. We were never supposed to be serious.
I remember telling friends in elementary school (and middle school . . . and high school) how excited I was that my dad was picking me up for the weekend. I remember the agony of explaining on Monday that he never showed up. I remember my best friend telling me she was tired of hearing about my alcoholic father.
I remember the conversations with strangers at bus stops, acquaintances at various functions, co-workers, friends, enemies . . . I remember the tones in their voices, the expressions their faces, and every word they said. And every word I said. And I analyze them over and over and over again.
Did that sound stupid? Do they think I’m stupid? Are they laughing at me behind my back? They probably can’t wait to get away from me. Why can’t I just shut up? Oh my god, that was such a ridiculous thing to say! Why did I say that? Oh, he definitely thinks I’m dumb now. What did she mean when she said that? They’re only pretending to like me. They probably pity me. I don’t want them to pity me. I didn’t tell them that to make them pity me. It just is what it is. Why does everyone have to say they’re sorry? I hate sorries. Why do I always say I’m sorry? Why can’t I shut up? Some thoughts should just stay in my head. But then they’ll think I’m weird. I am weird. Not the fun weird I want to be. The awkward, socially inept weird. SHUT UP DAYLE!
“I live my life between uncomfortable silence and uncomfortable noise.” – Probably the truest thing I have ever written.
My boyfriend thinks I over share. I do over share. I’ve always over shared. I’m grateful for the blogging world where it’s acceptable to over share. People have told me on a few occasions that they admire how much I share. It’s not admirable. It’s just a more tolerable way for me to deal with my lack of impulse control.
Medication doesn’t extinguish those conversations in my head. It doesn’t eliminate the constant analyzing. But it does quiet them, makes them endurable. And that’s what I need right now.