It has been almost six months since I started therapy and started taking Zoloft. For the most part, I see tremendous progress, and I no longer feel anxiety even though I still have the thoughts looming over.
Today’s session left me in a huge panic, though. I have this never ending streak of therapists, teachers, (hell, even my own mother) and peers that always doubts me and expects the worse of every decision I make. Today was definitely no exception.
When I told my therapist what has been happening, she had this look on her face I couldn’t quite shake out. It was the “Are you sure about that, honey?” face. I fucking hate that face. To make it worse, she questions my decision to move back in December due to my lack of money and work experience. Yeah, thanks, lady, not like I was worried about that before. The session was then overshadowed by her talking, and I barely spoke a few words. I left the session completely miserable, and to make it worse, I had to go finish my eight-hour shift of cleaning up a damn pool.
When I’m distraught like that, I turn to my best friend. Except, it was poor timing on my part because I forgot she, too was feeling what I feel. We both panicked, and when one of us is not reassured, it becomes complete utter chaos.
Of course, as we talk through our problems and throw in a rant or five, we end up easing ourselves naturally. What I realized was that: we did not just go through so much shit to get this far. I am angry because life is not fair. I.G. and I were always the “special cases,” and often became outcasts one way or another. I did not just spend nine hundred dollars on classes to graduate and sure as hell I.G. did not just slave over countless busy work for nothing.
I am beyond tired of looking for approval from others. I do it unconsciously, but I know I’m stubborn enough to grow past it.
I have I.G., that’s all I’ve had and that’s all I’ve ever needed. Though we’re under 5’5, we’re bigger than the crippling realities people throw at the castle of dreams we build.
Reality check is a pain in the ass. Whatever I need to swallow, I’m well ready.
Wait, shit, I mean that in the context that I am taking medication..
…
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dysfunctionalwithasideofanxiety 