Sigh. (warning: vent, feel free to skip)
About a month ago I was diagnosed with Generalized Anxiety Disorder. I kept having chest pains, was feeling faint and it got so bad that I ended up in the ER thinking I was having a heart attack. Every test they did on me came back normal, no heart attack, no abnormal test results. So, my doctor prescribed Paxil, even though I told him I can’t take SSRIs because I have a bad reaction to them when I was given them for post partum depression 20 yrs ago. So, I had a bad reaction, surprise! And I flushed the pills. The stupid doctor tried to tell me that I was “decompensating” and needed to be in a psych ward. Interestingly enough, when I stopped taking the meds I felt better, imagine that. Seriously, just kill me now. Could it be perhaps, that telling me I don’t know my own body and medical history might make the anxiety, oh, I don’t know, worse? (insert scream here)

I made the mistake of telling friends about this. First, there was an outcry about the meds. Only from the people who apparently have been on them for years. And look, I get that some people benefit from medication. I have family members for whom SSRIs have been a lifesaver, quite literally. But, the last thing I freaking need is to be told that I should continue to stay on meds that are ripping my stomach and intestines to shreds, making my anxiety worse and incapacitating me to the point I can’t get out of bed, let alone drive or function. Telling me I have to tough that out for a month or more and “put on my big girl panties” is probably going to piss me off, just sayin’. My son was home from school during part of this and it scared the shit out of him, which was a key reason I flushed those freaking pills. The idea that there was no way for me to get better without the pills freaks me out way more than the anxiety does. And again, I get that some people do really well on these medications, but I don’t.

Then there is this fucking obsession people seem to have with “positive thinking” and “attraction theory” (ala that freaking book The Gift) that makes me want to positively hit someone with a shovel. If one more person tells me that I just need to Try Harder to be Happy I am going to happily put a foot in their ass. Try Harder? Are you fucking kidding me? I have spent 20 years being a full time mom/autism advocate/occupational therapist/speech therapist/tutor/guidance councilor/this is by no means a complete list and doesn’t include all the other things I do in a day, and you’re telling me to try harder to be positive every fucking minute my eyes are open? REALLY? Like I have ever had the option to just throw the covers over my head and quit? I swear to god, this bullshit idea that you’re never allowed to have a hard time or ever talk about it when you do and you have to plaster a fake smile on your face and pretend to be happy when you aren’t is such bullshit I want to scream. And Facebook makes this worse. If I see one more post about shitting all over people who are suffering and cutting them out of your life so your life can be more pretty I am going to go postal on someone. Thus proving their point I suppose, but what in the ever loving fuck is wrong with people?

I know some people are addicted to feeling sorry for themselves and never have anything positive to add. I am not one of those people. But is it really wrong to want to talk to your friends when you’re struggling? Does it ever really occur to people that the last thing an anxious and depressed person needs to hear is that they have to put on their big girl panties and try harder when that’s all they’ve ever done? I’m starting to think that the best thing I could do is be BFFs with my dog and tell everyone else to kiss my ass.

(end of vent, you may now return to your regularly scheduled programming)