“The bell has been rung, and I’m ready to kick some emotional baggage to the curb.” – Me
It’s time to take the plunge; I’ve been weaning off my anxiety meds for long enough, and I’m ready to be done with it. Saturday morning I took my last 1/4 pill, and so far I’m still breathing. I’m breathing through the brain zaps; I’m breathing through the spacy fog; I’m breathing through insomnia; and I’m breathing through the emotional beating to my soul. I cried non-stop during my morning run today, but I wasn’t alone. My best friend held me and spoke these words: “look at what you’re willing to go through for yourself. You are a fighter, and you will get through this.” She said this while I soaked her shirt with tears and boogers. That’s the sign of a true friend.
Yesterday, day 1, was pretty physically exhausting. I felt like I either had come down with the flu, or was suffering a severe hangover. Neither were the case, but I still felt like shit. I tried to sleep it off, but it’s pretty hard to pass out with high voltage power surges attacking my brain. I ran this morning on empty. No food + no sleep = No energy. It took everything I had to put one foot in front of the other, but I did. By the end of the run, I was completely exhausted, and that’s when I was hit. One bit powerful punch to the gut. It left me gasping for air, and then I was hit again. All of my medicatedly suppressed emotions bubbled to the surface and gave me a good slap in the face. Renewed breath was given to subdued feelings, and they were ready for war.
“Well feelings, Im not ready for you yet, so back the f*ck off. Way to hit me when I’m physically incapacitated. Cheap shot…… cheap, cheap shot. You can try and hurt me but you won’t knock me down.”
I will handle the raging emotions when I’m ready. When I’m damn good and ready, For now, I’ve got my hands full with more pressing matters. My only goal for the next few weeks is to ride out my physical discomfort. I will be adding hours to my already extreme exercise routine because movement eases the symptoms. Eating is next to impossible, but I’m tracking my calories to make sure I’m getting enough. Secretly, I won’t be dissappointed if I drop a few pounds. I’m journaling my negative and sad throughts, so I can give them some attention when I’m strong enough. With any luck, most of them will dissipate once my discontinuation symptoms mellow out. I’ve been planning for this, and I have all the tools in place to get me through. I knew this was going to be difficult, but I underestimated just how much it was going to suck. It’s like remembering that tattoos hurt. You know the next time will hurt, but the pain doesn’t register until the needles pierce your sensitive skin; you bite down on your lip and think “OMG, does this ever f*ing hurt.”
My body hurts and I’m as senstive as a PMSing teenage girl, but it hasn’t got me down. It takes a hell of a lot more to bring this chick down. Instead of waving the white flag, I’m doing my war dance. I’m ready for this; I am ready to feel me again — the unsuppressed, unadulterated me (God help us all). My medications had their place, and they were a necessity for the 10 years I was on them. They kept my anxiety down while I rebuilt my self-confidence. They reduced my fear of stepping outside of my comfort zone, so I could learn that good things happen when I do. I’m not ashamed that I needed help; I feel strong for asking for it. I’m entering a new stage of my life with excitement and optimism. The taste of tears welling up at the back of my throat signify the beginning of something beautiful. I’m an emotional warrior ready to battle this little thing they call life. BRING IT ON!!!!
Don’t call it a comeback
I’ve been here for years
I’m rocking my peers
Puttin’ suckers in fear
Makin’ the tears rain down like a monsoon
Listen to the bass go boom….
I’m gonna knock you out
L.L. Cool J