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...What is Normal?...
Saturday, Sept. 24, 2016

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Saturday, Sept. 24, 2016 - 5:14 p.m.

Feeling funny.

Not myself. Not unlike myself, either.

It's a strange sensation, but one I'm well accustomed to.

I made the "decision" to seek help for my mounting anxiety (and, I suppose my depression), which has left me in direct conflict with myself.

I know that there's "no shame" in "getting help" and that there's "no shame" in "taking medication" that directly crosses the blood-brain barrier and alters the chemical composition of my brain to a point where I will be able to "function" in "society."


Quote. Unquote.

I know that I could sit there and admit every transgression and possible cause of my anxiety to my doctor/ a therapist/ a psychiatrist and that they will offer methods to "cope" and "conquer" my anxiety.

But what is it that I really want? What is is that I really feel I'm lacking?

When I initially told my doctor (during our meet-and-greet) that I had anxiety and depression off and on my entire life, she didn't really seemed all that phased by it. Was it because I wasn't crying? Because I mentioned that I didn't want to take medication? Or had she just heard this claptrap from so many people, young and old, that she wasn't alarmed like I feel she should have been?

I know I seem to function pretty well in society, give or take a few things. I don't enjoy large groups of people, although I can handle certain situations better than others. I don't mind sitting in a large group of people at a concert. I suppose because there is a larger area of dispersed and structured seating that it doesn't really feel like there's that many people around me. Getting to and from the venue itself is a different matter, however. I don't like being touched by strangers, although I understand certain situations it can't be helped. I'm not going to go screaming for the hills, but I'll feel like doing it! I'll either manage to keep my shit together or have a panic attack. It depends on my frame of mind prior to or during the incident that really determines what will happen.

This is just an example, and doesn't actually address my main issues with anxiety which are overthinking and over-analyzing everything I've ever done/did/will/never do.

It's exhausting, it's traumatizing, and it takes over every aspect of my being.

I feel like if I didn't have something to worry about 24/7 I'd have a heart attack. I can relax, sure... after about three bowls of weed.

And I know, I've heard it from so many people, including Jane: "Weed just makes anxiety worse, it makes you paranoid - you overthink things on weed and worry more."

But for me, it's the opposite. When there are fifteen billion fucking things racing through my mind, and I want to - I NEED to sleep, I smoke weed.

And yeah, weed does make me think. Sometimes It makes me think about things I don't want to think about, which isn't necessarily bad. I was also more than likely already thinking about those things anyway. The difference for me, is that while I do tend to think more deeply about topics while smoking weed, I also tend to get more easily distracted/engrossed/interested in things that make me feel - dare I say it - GOOD.

I have depression. I've had it my entire life. I was convinced that after Hubs moved here, issues would somehow magically solve themselves and that all the hurt and pain I was holding onto all these years would melt away into a puddle of perfection: the ideal me...

Thin. Gorgeous. Put-together. Fun. Smart. Happy. Weird. Quirky. Lovely.

You know. That. Girl.

The girl I am. I can't see myself as a "woman" I guess. Women are put-together. I'm certainly not anything remotely close to that. It's not even that I desire to be called a "woman", anyway. It's a biological distinction that means very little in the grand scheme of things.

Anyway, getting off track.

Right now, I create nothing. I'm afraid that if I have to take meds to be "normal" that what I want to create will no longer be authentic. It's such a delicate balance, to walk this tightrope between over-medicating, over-correcting and just leaving my soul to rot in the dirt. I don't want to rely on a medication, but how can I say that when I use weed to sleep and feel some semblance of normalcy in my life?

Sometimes I feel like the world would be such a better place if everyone just smoked a little weed.

Then I get my head out of the fucking clouds and realize that's the stoner in me talking. I mean, I don't think any type of therapy is going to "change" me as a person. It's like the feeling I get when people ask me if I can be hypnotized.

I can't. I can't let go of that part of me that is me, and let someone else guide me. I'm too aware, if that makes sense. I guess that's why I really love a good magic trick. I enjoy being tricked. It makes me feel good when I get that childlike sense of wonder again, if only fleeting.

If someone can teach me how to turn off the "the world is just a steaming pile of shit" filter, I'm game. I'm just not sure it's possible. Also, hard to stay positive when you're bleeding like a stuck pig and got cramps from hell.

Also, Jane's son's birthday party is tomorrow, and I'm totally not going. I think I'm somewhat excused as I let the bomb drop the other day that I was having a lot of panic attacks, etc and I was going to talk to the doctor about it. She's been super supportive and everything, but also... super needy.

All her other friends have kids, which leaves me, as the unemployed, childfree friend, free every day that she needs "adult time", which roughly translates to me co-parenting for a few hours.

And I mean, despite not ever wanting kids, I'm chill with them, on occasion. That is to say, not every day. Not every other day. In fact, even a couple times a week is pushing it.

Once, twice a month is my comfort zone, but her being stressed out and with a colicky baby and whatnot, I'm trying to be a good friend.

Whatever the fuck that means.

I'm trying, though. That's the main thing. I told her the truth when it was ugly, and she was supportive.

Now I just have to get through the bullshit until my appointment on Tuesday. I've already started listing some stuff to talk about... not sure if it's too big of a list/not specific enough. I'm having anxiety over my anxiety appointment, which would be funny if it wasn't so stomach-churningly terrifying.

One of the points on my bullet list was lack of focus, which I'm sure comes across in my writing, so bear with me.

It can't very well get worse, can it?


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