I sent this to some friends yesterday:
Bright side, I guess: though I’m sitting in the tub crying in annoyance and frustration, in an hour I will feel better. Why? How am I so sure? I forgot to take my happy pill last night and just remembered after spending the morning trying and failing to not be annoyed and pissed at my husband. Look, I’m so thankful that I can take meds and be okay, but really, this is my life? Skip one pill and within half a day, the fog starts to roll in and with it, the pissiness and black moods and horrible angry dark clouds? I know it shouldn’t matter how I’ve found a solution to having a reasonably happy life, but suddenly this is seeming permanent. I can’t go twelve hours med-free without spiraling into that everything-sucks-no-joy place. Sigh.
Much like alcoholics consider themselves recovering indefinitely, it appears my old normal is just a single skipped swallow away from my new normal.
I struggled through the afternoon with a raging drug-withdrawal headache and the evening with an empty, exhausted mind, then went to bed early. This morning, hallelujah, I am back.
I am back!
This is me, after all, this person who finds joy in watching her son chase the cat, hilarity in her husband’s morning dance parties. I am this one, the one that can’t wait to play with Javi when he wakes up and has hope and positivity for the work day.
I am not the one that uses every bit of energy to not snap at everyone around her. That one is a function of something – hormone wackiness, chemical imbalances, DNA family history yadda yadda – but wherever she comes from, she is not me. She cloaks me in her darkness and ugly fog, smothers me with her energy-sapping negativity and hopelessness.
These meds I take, they help me get out from under her, see around her, get beyond her.