The Beauty of Modern Medication

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When I was first diagnosed with GAD, I was absolutely reluctant to get treatment. I did my research – and by that I mean – I googled it, and I knew there were option two options.

Option 1: Talk about my sexual abuse and PTSD, in order to find ways to cope.

OR

Option 2: Get on pills.

Honestly y’all, neither seemed like a viable option. However, you know what was – tree. It was so much easier and socially acceptable to be a stoner than it was to admit that I needed treatment.

Fast forward into the future, and I decided to get treatment. Oddly enough, talking about it with a social worker didn’t help. So, I went with Option 2. I am maybe 4 months in, maybe longer or shorter, and I feel great.

It does suck to have to pop pills everyday, but that’s a small price to pay for all that I’ve gained. To not have random panic attacks, days of not wanting to do anything, days of being overwhelmed while doing absolutely nothing. So many days lost feeling like shit. I told my partner that I didn’t feel like myself for almost 6 months. 6 months of me walking into the world, and interacting with people acting like I was okay. 6 months of me feeling like I was silently drowning in thoughts.

Nonetheless, those are days I can’t get back, BUT being on treatment, I feel like myself. I feel like this is a good thing, even if it took modern medication to get me here.

Overwhelmed

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One word sums up exactly how I’ve been feeling – overwhelmed. I feel like I’ve been getting attacked from all sides: friends, family and my partner. I know I’m not perfect, and I know I don’t do everything right. However, there is only so much one person can take.

I don’t see you enough. I see you too much. You don’t give me the benefit of the doubt. You don’t add anything to my life. There’s always something with you.

I have every form of criticism on repeat in my head like a mantra. Since my grandfather passed, things have been hard. Maybe I haven’t given attention to those who wanted it. Maybe I’ve been leaning on my partner more than I should. But I can’t deal with it anymore. Enough is enough, and I’m done.

I’m in a hole. It seems like the more I try to dig myself out, the worse it gets. So I’m going to stop digging and let it be.

There was a time in my life where I didn’t care what people said, I was very content being on my own and that’s the place I want to get back too.

Dear family, friends and partner next year will be different. Next year I will keep to myself. Next year no one will hear from me. At least this way I can’t pester no one or disappoint anyone. This way no one will have to deal with me.

I choose to be a lone.

Am I a Writer?

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Am I a writer? This is THE question that has been circling my head for quite some time. What makes someone a writer? Who is responsible for labeling someone with such high esteem?  Finally, the answer came to me – I do. I realized that no one has the power to give you a label unless you allow it. No one has the power to tell you what you are and what you aren’t.

I am a writer. Even without officially publishing anything, or even sharing anything with the world. I am what I say I am. I have given myself the power and responsibility to identify myself with a label I deserve. Why do I deserve it? Because I am passionate about writing. I’ve been writing poetry, short stories, and novels that I’ve been too scared to publish because I was always asking the dreaded question: what if?  Today is the day I stop asking questions I’ll never be able to answer and do – what I believe I was born to do – write.

Today is the day I open myself up to criticism, compliments, and comments. Today is the day I start my blog.