I was prescribed medicine for my anxiety today. Hopefully I don’t die.
You would think after eight months of putting off my counselor’s advice to talk to a psychiatrist about medication and being terrified of the idea, I would feel a little more emotion now that I have the bottle of pills on my desk.
But I feel very nonchalant about it. At the point where most people would be experiencing the climax of emotion, I’m unusually chill. And it’s not chill in a relieved kind of way. I feel so neutral about it; I don’t even care.
The psychiatrist says it takes a couple weeks to be able to notice any actual difference, so we’ll see how it goes.
I was kind of surprised at how easy it was to get it. This was my first time seeing this psychiatrist and she gives me medication. Maybe because I’ve been seeing a counselor regularly and stuff, but I just think about how I could have just bull-shitted my way through this session and gotten any medicine I wanted.
One thing I actually do feel relived about doesn’t even have to do with the medication itself, but what taking the medicine means. Alcohol I guess interferes with it. I’m not sure how serious that is, but I’m just going to pretend I shouldn’t have any alcohol. I’m really scared of becoming an alcoholic. Maybe that’s unfounded anxiety. But when I’m all freaking out about life, feeling depressed and chaotic out of nowhere, sometimes I wish I was old enough to buy alcohol so I could drink until I feel calm and not have to feel anything. That sort of seems like a red flag warning that I have a decent chance of becoming an alcoholic. And seeing as I turned 21 this week and there’s a liquor store down the street, I was getting a little nervous. So at least now I can use the excuse of my medicine.
We live in an incredibly stimulating time… our biology just hasn’t caught up. Or at least that’s what I tell myself when I take my anxiety medicine. More of us out there than you might even imagine.