“If you want to conquer the anxiety of life, live in the moment, live in the breath.”
― Amit Ray
The irony doesn't escape me. I started going to sports medicine clinics, thinking it's asthma (because honestly, what else could it be?) and to no avail. This stole a year of my life. It stole the entire 14 hour plane ride to Ireland. It stole a lot of smiles, a lot of laughs, a lot of me.
Everyone was telling me it was in my head. "It's mental, Jess. Just breathe. You can do it."
<<Sidebar: True or not, DO NOT tell someone who is suffering, no matter what they are suffering from, that it is in their head. Don't dig your own grave.>>
My family, my friends, doctors. I finally find a doctor who, after asking me over 100 questions (with no exaggeration), diagnoses me with moderate to severe anxiety. What??
Hang on.
WHAT?
Jess does not have anxiety. and it's certainly not severe. Mr. Doctor, you are an idiot. Fast forward 30 days on the lovely drug called Zoloft and I can breathe again. Mr. Doctor, you are not an idiot. You sir just saved my life.
So what? Who cares. Everyone has some sort of issue, everyone is on some type of medication. What's one more drug?
Let me tell you. This drug, while it has been sunshine for me on some of the worst days, has also shown me just how easy it is to lose site of who you really are, especially when you take it for more than 5 years.
My prescription recently ran out. I acted like a goddamn lunatic. Crying over the most ridiculous things, happy or sad. All I had to do was think about how much I love Matt and tears would stream down my face. In fact, I actually had a temper tantrum last Thursday. Embarrassing, yes. But here's what I've found: the more I talk about this, the easier it is for me to get past those crazy emotions. So yes, on Thursday I was crying, yelling - I punched a wall. I stomped as hard as I could on the floor. Why? Well, my printer wasn't working. This is an appropriate reaction to the situation, no?
Alright, so at the risk of ruining a lot of good things I have going for me, I got my Rx refilled. But I sat it on the coffee table and just stared at it. I don't want to be on this drug. I don't want this drug to make me something I'm not... but yet, my behavior proves I need it.
It's been almost 7 days and I haven't popped one of those tiny white tablets into my mouth. Of those 7 days, 3 have been bad. 1. Temper Tantrum. 2. Gutschmidt posted pictures of dogs on FB- crybaby. 3. Irritable as all get out. Don't you even think about saying hi to me- I just may bitch slap you.
So I shouldn't be doing this- you should never quit a drug cold-turkey and especially not Zoloft but here I am. I want to share this journey. I want people to understand a little bit better. I want those who have dealt with the same thing to realize that this isn't a prison sentence. Who knows, I might have to get myself back on the drug. I realize that sometimes drugs are a must (though I don't know how much I believe- they didn't exist many many years ago) and if this drug is what I need, then I'll take it. But the backwards side effects it's created is without a doubt worse than the original problem.
Can't Breathe --> Take Zoloft --> Breathing Fixed --> Quit Zoloft --> Emotions are out of WHACK.
So on my not-so-sane days, I share my feelings out loud. Kim has been an awesome receptacle of my craziness lately. But what I realize is that when I do voice my emotions, share why I'm upset, it automatically puts them into perspective and the crazy feelings dissipate.
Here's to moving forward in a backwards fucked up sort of life.
A literary genius. “Well, I always know what I want. And when you know what you want--you go toward it. Sometimes you go very fast, and sometimes only an inch a year. Perhaps you feel happier when you go fast. I don't know. I've forgotten the difference long ago, because it really doesn't matter, so long as you move.”
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