Anxiety - A Guest Post by Lady Bourbon

We're back with another amazing guest author post... 

Today's Guest post doesn't need an introduction... I've done that already here.

ANXIETY

A Guest Post by Lady Bourbon

It was a dark and stormy night...

Actually, no, it wasn't. It was beautiful, sunny, and unseasonably warm for October. It was only dark and stormy inside my head, but the whole world might as well have been covered in in darkness as far as I was concerned at the moment.

So, I'm standing there, in my kitchen, trying to find the will to walk out my door and go to the sarlaac pit I call work. I was staring out the window at the garage. I was alone. The kids were at school and Bourbon was at work. I thought, maaaaaaaybe I could just... quit.


Not my job... My life.


No more work. No more overbearing mom. No more fear that every tiny thing I do is being judged and picked apart. No more feeling like a failure. That sounded pretty damn nice. Then, my mind wandered... as my mind is wont to do. I thought about ways to achieve this state of restful bliss.


I considered that someone would have to find me later on, after the fact. I didn't want to be remembered as an inconsiderate asshole who left mess to clean up. I figured a nice, quiet, permanent nap would be the least messy, ideal way to take my leave. I'd take a fist full of my sleeping pills, crawl into my car, close the garage door, start the engine, and just... go to sleep. Bingo, bango, bongo. Done.

It was such a surreal feeling. There was this strange disconnect from myself and the rest of the world. The thought of ending everything was like a siren song, and, for a second, it was comforting. It was exciting. I found a way out! Then, the part of my brain that was still relatively sane reminded me that "Hey, asshole, you are literally planning your suicide. This is not normal. You need some fuckin' help."

   
Sane Brain was right, I needed fuckin' help. I kept repeating that over and over as I paced the kitchen mid panic attack. "I need some fuckin' help." And, Jesus Jones, did I ever. But first, unfortunately, I needed to go to fuckin' work.

I fully recognize my job as the source of my problem. So, before you ask, yes, I've been trying to get a new job for the last 2 years. No, I can't just take any job, because I need to make X amount of dólares so we can keep the bills paid.

I'm also the insurance carrier. So, being as how the US is only masquerading as a first world country when it comes to health care, that means if I quit this job without another lined up, and something happens to our family medically, we're fucked, and not in the sexy Dr. Bourbon-in-panties way.

Anyway, I somehow drug myself into the office and lasted about 2 hours before I had another panic attack. I went into my manager's office, in tears, shaking and stuttering. Scared her about shitless, as I'm actually the quiet, collected one at work. I told her I needed to leave and she agreed. I sat in my car in the parking lot on the phone with Bourbon, crying and shaking. He asked if I needed him to come home and I said yes. An hour later we were driving together through the country with the doors off the Jeep making a plan of action.  We called our family doctor and got me set up with a therapist. ... Then we went to the bar and got day-drunk and ate chips and salsa.   

Flash forward almost 5 months and I'm doing much better.

Therapy is an amazing outlet. I can't recommend it enough to people who are struggling with their own mental health. My therapist, doctor, and myself worked together to find the right kind of medications and other ways to work through this low point in my life. I also talked to my boss. I laid it on the table that I was in therapy for severe generalized anxiety and depression. I told her the office environment was the main cause, and she helped me set up FMLA for my therapy. For those curious, the office still sucks out my life force like the goddamned Dark Crystal, but I handle it a lot better these days.

At first, it sucked. It took weeks for the meds to work, and any change or progress was so gradual it was almost undetectable... like Drax in Infinity War. My progress was Drax eating goddamned potato chips. But, it was progress. And soon it became more noticeable. I think the first time I realized I was making progress was at work being chatty. I am never chatty at work. Then it all went up from there.

Anxiety is a pain in the ass... except your ass is your brain and your brain is basically turning on you. It can't make the chemicals it needs, so it gets all shitty about it and takes it out on you like a petty little fuck. That is my considered opinion.

What makes it worse, is people treat you either like a goddamned Faberge egg-- afraid you'll break at the slightest upset. Or, they'll try and put you out of your misery themselves with death by unsolicited advice. Like their cotton candy scented, verbal vomit will cause your brain to get its shit together and start producing all those missing chemicals. Gee, I've never even considered that people have it worse off than me. That does, in fact, lessen the personal gravity of my situation! I will keep on smiling, and try meditation, and yoga, and that all kale and almond farts diet that you swear by. By they way, can you recommend me some essential oils for my suicidal thoughts? I've heard good things about lavender. Yeah. No. Those kind of people can eat a dick. A big ol' sack of stinky, dirty, ding-dongs.

Every now and then, I'll have a bad day and something will happen and I'll get the little twinge of panic again. I have to spend the day telling myself that my anxiety is a liar and all these dark thoughts are just lies. Bourbon isn't mad at me... he never ever is. The kids are fine. Nothing is happening at work that isn't out of the ordinary, the patriarchy will not win, climate change...well climate change is never not scary to me.  But, still, reminding myself that these fears and thoughts are just my brain fucking with me usually gets me through the rest of the day until I can let Bourbon jump in with an assist.

But, and this is important, a bad day doesn't undo all the progress I've made. I don't go back to square one. I just pick up and keep on going. It pisses me off when people ask, on my bad days, "I thought you were better." Listen here, Brosephina, I will never be "better" you don't cure this shit. You manage it. I raise my kids, keep my house, go to work, socialize, and 6 million other things all while my brain is whispering incessant bullshit to me. Sorry if I forgot to smile for a minute and it made you uncomfortable. 

Take your medication. You're not taking an easy way out. You're not lazy. Don't let anyone tell you that you are. I take my meds in plain sight of everyone. Not for attention. But to create normalcy. People don't understand how medications work or why. They're not "happy pills". I hate that term. They don't make me happy. They don't change my mood. They quiet the world around me and make it so I can venture out into it without freaking out. They're the main thing keeping firmly rooted among the living. 

Okay, look, this is getting long and I don't want to bore you. Thing is, anxiety sucks. But it can be managed. The dark thoughts and feelings can be Babadooked down into the basement so they leave you alone. Don't be afraid to talk to people about it. Tell them you have anxiety, depression, anger. Who cares if it makes people uncomfortable. People need to be made uncomfortable. They need to hear from us. Talk to them about the science of your condition... maybe don't use my example on how anxiety works... I haven't had it peer reviewed. But explain what it actually is. Depression isn't just being sad. Anxiety isn't just being uptight. The more we talk about our issues and educate people the less we'll be seen as fucking weirdos who are just sad all the time. The only regret I have with my anxiety is that I didn't get help sooner. I could have saved myself months of panic attacks and misery.

Oh well. Live and learn.

Who wants to eat chips and salsa and get day drunk?