Today I went back to my old diary to take a peek at things “back in the day.” I usually enjoy doing this, for it sends me into a whirlwind of emotions. But, I couldn’t bring myself to read through the pages & pages of this diary. It’s not a very old diary; based on a year of writing sporadically. But, this ended up being my toughest year (2007). Re-reading everything I went through, all the doubts & fears & anxieties, were not good for me; not today, at least. I wouldn’t mind just deleting it all together; matter of fact, I just might do that. I have never been one to regret the past, but being able to actually go back to it, word for word, is overwhelming & scary. It just stirs up emotions that I put to rest. I don’t like that. It leaves a “yuck” feeling in the pit of my stomach.
As wonderful as it is to see how far I’ve come, it’s amazing to me — in a gross way — to see how bad things got for me. In my confidence, in my ways of thinking, in the way I put things together, the way I would assume things. I was a completely different person then. It wasn’t until going on [& here is where I let out a very big sigh] antidepressants that I started feeling like that dead weight was starting to go far away. It is still very hard for me to admit to myself that I am being medicated all the time; this is actually something I wasn’t really ready to write about. At least until I figured out where I stood with it. But, unfortunately, my nosiness when it comes to my past writings has led me to take that wretched walk down memory lane. I was reminded of just how anxious I was. It seemed like I questioned everything, thus turning me into this timid little thing. Originally, I had named my diary “timid wallflower/vainglorious kitten” because I was terribly timid & introverted, while sometimes displaying very outgoing & daring traits every so often, startling me & the people around me. I felt like I was 2 people. Or… like I was completely covered in this gunk called Anxiety/Depression & the real me — the happy-go-lucky, the faithful, the kind & giving, the loving, the beautiful me — was trying desperately to fight it off, leaving me only a few moments where I could gasp for air. This is exactly how it was. I was fighting for air.
Upon making the decision to go on medication, I was completely, 100% against it. I felt like by taking medication I was going to turn into a “med junkie” thinking that popping pills would stall the problem, because it was much more difficult trying to make the effort to fix my problems which too more time & more courage. I endured many, many emotional breakdowns. Many panic/anxiety attacks (to this day, I can’t tell the difference between one or the other). I dealt with bouts of depression & sorrow, feeling like I was literally dying slowly & I couldn’t do anything about it. I felt doomed; as though all the bad things in the world were going to happen to me: death, food poisoning, car crashes, plane crashes, starvation, bankruptcy, mental instability to the extent that I would be put in an asylum; so on, so forth. Anything dreadful that could possibly ever happen to any human being, I imagined would happen to me… & soon. I even felt like I was creating my own personal backwards eating disorder in the midst of all this anxiety & being afraid. I lived my life vicariously through fear & loathing; really, I did. It was a horribly dark time for me. I never thought that things could ever get so bad & I couldn’t figure out where it was coming from. I have never had anything traumatic happen in my life (disregarding horrific heartbreaks & an inevitable divorce from my parents because those are both just part of life). It’s as though the walls starting closing in right as all these changes began happening in my life… & it just progressed from there. I felt like I was having an quarter life crisis.
I had a very scary breakdown once at my mother’s new apartment. I was in the safest place in the world (in my mother’s presence) with all of my family around me, Lover there as well, & shaking uncontrollably, as though a bomb were about to go off in the house that only I knew about & it was going to kill everyone inside; I was just waiting for the explosion. I was so nervous & scared of absolutely nothing that I couldn’t enjoy myself… I couldn’t eat, I couldn’t converse with my family. I felt very, very sick. I felt like I was dying. It was the biggest anxiety episode I’ve ever had; & the last one, at that. I ended up leaving my mother’s house early the next morning. I drove home, crying the whole way, feeling like such a mess & such a disappointment. I called my therapist, who I had been seeing for a few months before all of this medicine talk, & made an emergency session that night. Within the next few weeks, I was speaking to a psychiatrist about everything I had been going through over the last few years. He prescribed Prozac. I took that for 3 months, dealing with complications with the medication the whole time, thus leading me to switch to Zoloft which I have been taking ever since. & I have never felt so normal in my life.
Writing all of that was like an out of body experience. Those memories feel so very far away that I had trouble wrapping my own thoughts around that actually being me. I am so grateful that I had the wisdom (not to mention the courage) to make the decision to go on antidepressants. It was & is by far the greatest choice I have made in bettering myself. I do not regret it, but I am still having trouble coping with the general idea of being medicated. For my pride’s sake.
This entry was so hard for me to talk about; it left a very bad taste in my mouth. I just finished deleting my old diary, permanently deleting my past from sight. Hopefully that by acknowledging its existence here, as well as banishing the physical memories of what transpired, I can begin to fully look ahead to the future while enjoying these present moments.
Again, I let out another deep, long, much needed sigh… of relief.