June 12, 2014


I returned this morning from a two day hiatus.  It wasn't exciting or glamorous.  I basically camped out on my mom's couch for two days.  It's good to be home.  Why did I leave?

Two days ago, with a racing heart and shaking hands, I was struggling to breathe normally when I called my doctor.  I did my best not to scream at the voice on the other end of the line, I made an appointment to discuss treatment for anxiety and depression.  It doesn't make sense to me how the two go hand in hand.  It seems to me that they are opposites, but there are many things that I don't know or understand so I'm not going to stress over it.  I hadn't stepped foot in my doctor's office in over a year.  I have taken no medication.  It was time.

As a mother, I know there are many things that I do wrong.  I am always honest with my kids, though, and I know that is something I do right.  I don't sugar coat things.  They know that grown ups have struggles, that we don't have all the answers, that we're not perfect or invincible.  This was no different.  I called them all into the living room and explained that I have been having problems, I am going to see my doctor and after I'm going to visit grandma for a couple days.  Worried, they all asked if I was sick.  I told them that I was but not in a way that you can see.  They see it, though.  They know that I haven't been right.  As I went on to explain anxiety and how sickness can't always be seen, I could see the recognition on their faces.  I know that it clicked.  I could read the relief as they realized that the way I've been acting is my problem, my sickness, not something that they've done wrong.

For a year, I've been on a vitamin/herbal regimen.  I hate the idea of taking prescription drugs.  The vitamins worked.  Not as well as I would like, but they kept my head above water.  For whatever reason, I stopped taking them about a month ago.  I've been drowning for about two weeks.  I find myself walking around in circles, unable to focus on or accomplish anything.  I can't breath and my chest is tight.  I want to yell a lot.  I can't relax and it's unbearable.  I've felt it.  I know my family has felt it.  Anxiety is much easier to deal with and hide when your children are babies and toddlers.  They don't understand it and easily forget the change in your moods.  Now that my children are older, I have to worry more about how my anxiety is affecting them.  I can't put them through this.  I can't let them pay for my problems.  I've been on this roller coaster my whole life.  I've taken so many medications since I was about 20.  It's time for me to accept that this is me and fix it, even if it means taking medication for long periods of time.  My eyes are open, I can see that this isn't going to go away on it's own.

Here I am.  I'm home.  The kids wanted to know if I am all better.  No, kids, but I'm rested.  I have a prescription and hope that someday soon, I'll be at my best.

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