When I started this journey with my psychiatrist, I was open to medication because I had been on a few different ones and while the one I was on was helping, I felt it wasn’t enough, like it needed something else. So my psychiatrist prescribed an additional medication that, over the course of a month and a half, has increased in dosage to meet the goal he set.
One of the side effects I was told to look out for is a rash.
I also have anxiety.
So this is fun.
Every time I itch, I think “this is it”. Every time I have to scratch anywhere, I inspect the area and swear up and down I see a rash, even though I don’t. Last night, my forearm was itching like I had brushed it up against something I wasn’t supposed to. I scratched and scratched and it finally stopped itching, but it was red, obviously. So there went my brain!
“This is it, this is the rash they warned you about. You’re gonna have to stop taking this medication. It was working for you, but like with everything else in your life, it hurt you and you’re gonna have to stop taking it. You can never be happy. You’re just meant to be a grumpy old bitch all the time.”
I had to tell my brain to shut up. Even this morning, I had to push those thoughts aside. This medication really is helping! I went from having outbursts of overwhelming rage every single day. to only 2 to 3 days a week, and it’s going down even more lately. I’m learning how to be in the moment and not in my head all the time, so therapy is working too!
We had a pipe leak 2 days ago, and although I did start to panic a little bit, I was able to gather my thoughts and find resources to help my husband repair it, and possible places for our family to stay just in case we needed it. We didn’t, thank God, but I was level headed enough to at least know how to react instead of running around like a chicken with its head cut off.
(About that last phrase, does anyone even know if a chicken runs around after its head is cut off? Who tested that!? Yikes.)
Anxiety is a mean little bully. It wants you to believe the worst is going to happen, even if it isn’t. It wants you to believe that nobody is trustworthy, that there is something bad lurking around every corner. It wants you to believe that, when everything is going great, something bad is about to happen to ruin that.
I hate anxiety, so much. I’m fighting that little voice and telling it to sit down and shut up because this path is working for me. Things are looking better, I’m happier, my kids are happier, my husband is happier. Hell, even our dogs are happier, I think. They don’t talk much.
So shut up, anxiety.
BPD: A Journey 