It’s only been 5 months since I stopped taking medication for anxiety and depression. Only 5 months have gone by, and I can’t deal. Today I will go to my doctor and ask (possibly beg) to be put back on.
A series of events has brought me back here.
- Six weeks ago, the murder that was too close to home happened. I kept imagining myself there because I was supposed to go there that same day. This jump-started my anxiety.
- I started taking self-defense classes. These served to both inform and terrify me. I began imagining all the possible ways I could be harmed. I couldn’t stop the images from coming.
- I subsequently stopped running outdoors by myself, which sidelined me to the treadmill at the gym. Running there was so uninspiring that I rarely did it at all.
- Because of all of the above, I became irritable and short-tempered at work and in my personal life.
- Life circumstances took a downward turn, as they do from time to time. So I rounded the corner past anxiety and hit the brick wall of depresssion. Negative thoughts pervaded. Pessimism prevailed. The heaviness in my chest returned. My arms feel so heavy at times that I don’t feel I can lift them. I can’t focus on anything because I am so focused on myself.
- The ugliest parts of myself are left unchecked and allowed to show through.
This isn’t me.
Or is it?
I am conflicted about my decision to restart medication. I feel like a failure. I went back and read my post, No Refills, which I wrote when I took my last pill 5 months ago.
I made a promise to myself there. “I will ask for help.”