Pills

I hadn’t gotten a haircut in four months. In the last couple weeks crafting and reading were ignored. I’ve been sleeping an average of 11 hours a night. My appetite was diminished. I had not energy. Work. That’s what I did. Forced human interactions that were obligatory and very diffucult happened occasionally. I even got so desperate that I invited people over for tea and coffee. Distractions. I wanted distractions. Things to keep me out of my own head. I spent myself. Spent myself to nothing just to get away from me. At the expense of self care. Of rest. Of feeling functional and human….I spent myself. Distracted myself. Stayed away from myself. 

But at night, the whispered came that told me to do terrible things to myself and told me lies about myself. Doubt and anxiety heightened. Panic attacks became more frequent. I couldn’t ignore it anymore. 

I called the doctor. 

Mind you I haven’t had a Primary Care Physician in 3 years. I didn’t realize that they would be able to get me in in only a couple days. Suddenly I felt anxious. I wasn’t ready. I wasn’t ready to go to the doctor. I wasn’t ready to have the conversation. I was nervous. What if they questioned too much? She was unfamiliar and new. What if she gave me trouble? What if she was pushy like the last one? What if she was dismissive? What if she sucked at listening? What if she didn’t help me? 

Still, I was ready. My actions had proven it. Or rather, my lack of actions. So I booked the appointment. I debated with myself about calling in. I had my anxiety attacks. I had my sleepless night. The days passed and the day came. 

I went to the appointment. 

The conversation was brief and awkward in her office. She recommended a pill and a dosage. To take it at night since it often made you sleepy. I was discouraged, but assured by her that I did the right thing. That coming back to trying meds was probably a good plan. We spoke of counseling. I told her I was too tired and busy now, but that after the meds were worked out and I got my energy back, that I would start seeing someone. She updated me on my vaccinations. Did a checkup. Sent me on my way. Fairly painless. Fairly. 

It’s painful to admit you need help. Even harder to ask for it. Still, I hope things get better.

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