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.