Well, here you have it.
The part of me who has out-of-character thoughts because—well, I like to fantasize. I apologize if y’all’er (I love that particular southernism) expecting a steamy fantasy post of an exotic man, or woman of your dreams. This will not be one of them.
No, I don’t fantasize about that kind of stuff. A fantasy to me, is having a month of someone planning all our meals, going to the grocery store, cooking, and cleaning up afterward.
I have fantasies of every yarn fiber, in all colors. Of cowgirl boots, sunny days void of biting insects, photographing a perfect moment in time, and Seattle Seahawks anything.
However, today I fantasize about living in the place Xanax takes me to.
The place of no inner shaking, shortness of breath, outer shaking which makes meal preparation with sharp knives a death defying act, body zaps, sweaty palms, chest pain, rapid heart beating, nausea, a place where conversation isn’t a major skill, and I’m not plotting ways to escape my mind.
I work hard to wait out anxiety. Hoping I can take enough deep breaths, focus on – uh -anything else. Believing that I’m stronger than anxiety, and I’m not going to let it get the best of me.
Right up until the point I think I’m going to die. Xanax is my last resort….
…..and I like it.
It gives me the peace I’m striving to create for myself. To conquer the huge anxiety snowball I created by not seeking therapy many moons ago.
It’s not the drug I love, it’s where I’m transported. A place of normalcy.
….and I’m gradually moving toward wishing I could become a Xanax addict.
….but the thought of being an addict makes me anxious. The fear of what’s going on inside my body is the exact fear I’m trying to conquer—to be healthy physically, and mentally. Preferably without medications, but knowing I will most likely live out my life taking anti-depressants and/or mood stabilizers.
I will hoard the few calming pills allowed by my insurance company for the next episode that whips my butt, and hope that one day, all the coping techniques I’ve learned will conquer that ridiculous anxiety.
I have to conquer and persevere, because Patient Husband appears as if he is being depleted of his patience with me.