Hello, Old Friend.

And by "Old Friend", I mean Anxiety.

So... Anxiety. Friend or foe? Anxiety lives in us for a good reason. It's like pain. It's there to tell us when there is danger ahead. It's there to alert us, keep us safe and alive. So what does one do when Anxiety stops being our friend, and starts being an enemy? Notice I capitalize the word "Anxiety". In this post, I will give it the grammatical recognition, because in my life these days, it is Anxiety with a capital fucking A.

My life is pretty good these days. Okay, in some aspects, my life is fucking great. I spent the evening with the man I love, who is absolutely amazing, at the wedding reception of one of my closest friends. It was an evening of love and happiness. Just to say a little bit more about recent events in my romantic life... I have met the one. The. One. I have hit the motherload of supportive, giving, caring, romantic, sexual compatibility. I need that to be clear for the rest of this post to really make sense, because I cannot express the gratitude and privilege I feel in my life.

I guess the point I'm getting at is that good old Anxiety is back, and rearing her ugly, bitchy head. I spent the day in bed with the covers pulled over my head. When I wasn't there, I was having very bad intestinal problems DUE to anxiety that I have had for days. Pyjama Smoker would life to thank her sponsors - Gravol and Immodium. I spent the evening at my close friends' wedding with a ginger ale clutched in one hand, two rice cakes happily digesting in my empty stomach (finally!), and living through some pretty intense social anxiety. I started dancing with my boyfriend and one minute in found myself starting to faint from lack of fricking nurtition. I knew then it was time to go home. Early.

Why? Because I am weaning off of one of my two medications. And weaning, my friends, sucks.

I made the choice based on my current lifestyle. I am staying on my daily SSRI's, and plan to do so for the long run. They keep me out of the danger zone of severe depression and agoraphobia. These pills are the core medication, and I'm not planning to futz with them. I am, however, taking myself of daily tranquilizers. They were a stop-gap upon which I have relied too long. Today and yesterday are proof that I have been physically addicted to them. They got me through the rough patches, but I should not be on them daily. I have been putting this off, but the time is now. Work has settled down, and I can live with the side effects of withdrawal comfortably as long as I go slowly. If I succeed, I will gain clarity during the days (I won't be a narcoleptic zombie) and I will be able to have orgasms easier. Too much information, I know. But it's the truth. I was one of those lucky women who could do it every time... and I miss that. And that has taken a bit of a toll on my ability to physically show my emotional reactions.

Less sleepy, less drowsy, more able to focus in the mornings, and possibly the ability to have orgasms the old fashioned way again. Is it worth it? Yeah, ask me tomorrow. Cause today was hell, and it was one of the most important days in my friend's life.

Today and this evening were a humbling reminder that if I live with true physiological depression and anxiety, it doesn't matter HOW well my life is going. They're always going to be there. This is not a natural (and understandably severe) reaction to loss and/or trauma. Those reactions are strong, and scary, and eventually they go away. With a lot of strength and support, mind you. This is my body sensing loss and trauma even when loss and trauma doesn't exist! Not only is there no fresh loss or trauma, there is happiness, love, and safety! Why won't my brain get that? Why does my brain tell me there is sadness and danger ahead, when in fact there is none?

I once had a psychiatrist explain it in an interesting way. A way I kind of like. She told me that clinically, the opposite of a highly anxious person is a person living with narcissism. Narcissism is a trait that occurs in (perfectly good people who live with a disability, let's not demonize here) people who do not care what other people think about them. People who are not particularly aware of their emotional surroundings. Whereas people who live with anxiety are on the other end of the spectrum and in fact have overly heightened awareness. Sensing hurt and danger where hurt and danger may not in fact live.

I am in love. I am safe. I have a wonderful man in my life, and wonderful friends, who protect me and help me feel loved and safe. My heart knows it. My brain even knows it. I am safe, I am safe, I AM SAFE. When will my body catch up, god DAMMIT?

Realizing there will never be a magic pill,

xo-Pyjama Smoker.