By now, y’all know that I deal with fighting depression on the daily. It’s overwhelmingly draining at times, but at least it is the demon that I have known for some time now. By this point in my life, I am more or less able to cope with these rock-bottom moments, mostly because I know that with the passing of time, I eventually get better. However, as of late, a new, formidable demon has come into play these last few months – Depression’s ugly bastard sister, Anxiety.
It’s hard to pinpoint when my bouts with anxiety started, or what the exact roots are. But they are undeniably there. Recently, some of the causes have been concern over my son and his still prevalent lack of speech, or a neighbor from Hell who thinks that it is acceptable to throw parties next door every Saturday night until the wee hours of the morning. Or professional or finance related preoccupations. Or sometimes, well, I just don’t know why, I just feel it. As I had previously written, it gets quite bad, to the point where I am literally gasping for profound breaths of air, to the point of feeling dizzy and sometimes even nauseous, unable to focus, practically incapacitated. This is no way to live, this is no way to be. It’s just not sustainable.
Life has its inevitable moments of trial and adversity, that’s a given, that’s normal. But I wish I were better able to cope with these. The fact that I can’t – that’s not normal.
Certain times like these call for certain measures. Of course, I’ve tried many of the “lighter” strategies to try to cope and offset my anxiety attacks – Journaling, taking a long, hot bath, certain stretching and yoga poses, you name it, but ultimately, honestly, to no avail. As of late, I have been dipping into my stash of prescribed Rivotril (a.k.a. – Clonazepam or Klonopin in other countries), now to the point where I need to ask my psychiatrist for a refill. There are times that I feel like I should resort to other means, even taking an occasional toke of Mary Jane seems reasonable by this point (hey, at least it is legal here in Argentina). However, I know myself, my history, and my family history as well, and addiction (yet another demon) is prevalent.
It’s just so frustrating at times. I want to shake my fist at the sky, to curse whatever obscure thing is causing my depression, my anxiety, and my subsequent pain and inability to enjoy life as I should.
But for now, I guess I have to try to be strong, not just for myself, but for my family, particularly for Seba, who I know needs his mommy to be well and to be whole.
Until later, I guess all I can do is just keep swimming, just keep swimming…
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