I have chosen the worst time to talk to my doc about anxiety. During this “pill epidemic”.  The first thing she told me when I said i had anxiety was “We don’t prescribe Xanax,” bitch…..I don’t want Xanax (exactly) I want something to help me not have a heart attack when I go to the fucking grocery store.  I want to not break out in tears after being in a crowded area.  I’d like to have some control over my fucking over reactions to social situations. Damn.

In highschool, I used to steal my mom’s Zoloft.  She was prescribed 100mg, but would break them in half.  She would still fill her scrip at the appropriate time though.  So she had a plethora of pills floating in the cabinet.  So I would take a full one and go to school.  after months of doing this….something happened and I crashed hard.  I got it in my head that I was done with everything.  So one night I took about five shots of rum, half a bottle of benedryll (yeah) and about 8+ of the Zoloft.  It was my half assed attempt at sleeping forever.  I still say that,  “Sleeping forever” I wasn’t thinking death per say.  I just wanted a comfy coma.  But it failed because I hadn’t quite crashed by the time my mom got home.  Just a few words and she knew I was fucked up.  So she took me to the hospital.  I told no one what I took.  Not the doctors, not my mom, not the asshole psychiatrist they brought in to talk to me. My mom still thinks I’m allergic to Benedryll (that’s all I said I had).

I might tell her one day.  She’ll mention the “allergy” and I’ll just look at her and say, “No, actually I can take about ten and stay awake, it was the fucking Zoloft.” But I don’t want her feeling like a victim….because she would. So maybe I’ll let her know when we’re both drunk.  Tell her I love her and I’m sorry.

Bf knows.  I told him the truth.  I trust him.  He’s supportive and I love him.

But yeah, hopefully I can healthily get this anxiety under lock.  I’m in a much better place now, so I think WANTING to get better will be a big factor in this.