The big crash

I knew this would happen when I took the xanax last night, but the panic attack was so severe that I knew I needed it. Despite really appreciating the mellow, nothing's going to bother me feeling that anti-anxiety meds bring, I always feel just tremendously sad the following day. It doesn't help that I've had to go several days without my anti-depressants. No matter how many days in advance I let my doctor's office know that I'm about run out of a prescription, there's always a lag in getting it filled because of bureaucratic delays.

The sun is brilliant this morning. There's this sparkling frost on everything. My home is warm, and an adorable kitten is snuggling and purring on my chest. I ought to appreciate this, but instead, blah. One day without prozac is no big deal. Neither is two days. On the third day, I can tell that I'm starting to worry. On the fourth, anxiety kicks in. On the fifth, I feel like my life is totally pathetic and I'm a sham for thinking otherwise on the good days. That was yesterday.

Between fluxing levels of serotonin and estrogen this week, my life has held a risk comparable to jumping out of an airplane without the adrenaline and endorphin payoff. My prescription finally came in late yesterday afternoon, and I gobbled my pill down last night, unfortunately after I'd already hit the ground. While I was swallowing, I was also thinking what a weak person I was for needing it in the first place. This morning, I'm still deep into the funk and dreading the effort of building myself back up again. It's not easy, and this is a time for prayer, for exercise and feet planted, back braced, white knuckle determination. I know I'm poised on the slippery slope. A one time crash I can handle, the long, debilitating slide I can't and won't.

anxiety, depression, anti-depressants, insurance