Really Real Mental Health Post

The pharmacy is back ordered on my main anxiety medication, Buspirone.  Luckily I knew before I ran out so last week I took half my normal dose but this last few days I’m totally out.  They have no idea when it’ll be back in stock.

And I’m fighting constant low grade anxiety now.

Everything I do is a little bit harder.

Batwoman and I will go to stretch at the gym and I’m worried about exactly where our mats are located because we might be in the way of someone else and they might walk past us.

Things that I was just saying were a non-issue a few weeks ago.

Better living through chemistry, except things like this happen, and needing medication to function properly means I depend on the manufacturer to make the drugs.

This is why I used to hoard medications.

Except I stopped hoarding them when the back stock of medications became tempting as an overdose technique.  I had months of this medication at one point.  It was a 3x a day medication and I regularly forgot the afternoon dose so I ended up with plenty extra.  I got rid of all of it.

And right now I’m thankful for the people I have in my life.

My anxiety is so bad it’s causing depression.  It’s causing me to want to walk away from the things that I know will work.

Instead I’ve got Wonder Woman who held me this morning at butt early AM while I broke down because I’m convinced that the gym is pointless because I’m not losing weight and my body isn’t changing and I don’t feel stronger and I’m losing all of my motivation.  And she just let me get it out and just held me while I got if off my chest and out into the air so it stopped eating me alive.

And then when I was ready to back out of going to the gym today Batwoman listened to me complain about how I’m not losing weight and my body isn’t changing and I don’t feel stronger and I’m losing my motivation and she reminded me that we made it through that last class even though we thought we were gonna die, and we didn’t die, and we came back the next day, so I am getting stronger, and I am changing, and it is working.  And then she asked if she needed to carry me to the gym kicking and screaming, because we both know that once I go and work it out I’ll feel better and the anxiety will maybe let up a bit.

But first I sat down to write, because I know that putting my fingers to the keys and processing this all through type is one of the ways I can help myself.

It’s not fair that I’m so dependent some manufacturer who doesn’t even know me.  It’s not fair that my stability is based on some tiny little rectangle pill.  And it’s not fair that without it I’m feeling constant nausea from this never ending feeling of impending doom.

But all I can do is rely on what’s available to me in these moments.  Those around me who love me, and doing what I know works even when I don’t want to.