The depression seems to be staying less, but the anxiety plays games. I spent the later part of the work week sick, and am now starting to get out again. Yay for anxiety. I'll get the wrong birthday present for the party this afternoon (I already got it, but I didn't spend the perfect amount of money on it). I'll be late. I'll have too much time at home. I wont be able to eat. I need to eat or I wont feel better. If I eat, the stomach flu will come back. I'm gonna die. Why? I'm not sure. Not because of the stomach flu - I survived that.
Okay, sometimes it seems to help just to write out my chain of (somewhat contradictory) concerns.
Now I can write my blog post more peacefully.
maybe I'll write it wrong. I'll say too much. I wont say what I want to say. I spent too much money at the book store getting myself a DVD. I'm gonna die. I... need to return the movies I rented. I need to get home in time to get ready for the birthday party. Maybe if someone sees me today they will be offended that I canceled our trip this morning because of being sick (okay, the trip just seemed like TOO much, so hopefully we can go next week or something).
Now, what do I have to write? Medication. Perhaps we can blame my lack of depression (or of as moderate-severe) to the medication. Perhaps we can say that the medication helped me get through a sermon and actually think the pastor did a good job instead of thinking he was sneaky person getting ready to destroy a church. I know; my fears are so kind. Perhaps the medication helps me see the world (and the pastor) a little more accurately. Sweat. But it doesn't instantly remove the anxiety or make me want to get up every morning. I'm trying to understand that I'm improving but still struggling. It's such a confusing concept.
Oh, well, my gift WAS the perfect gift - just not the perfect price. Okay, well a pretty good gift. I guess that makes it grey, neither black nor white. Good; grey is where I'm trying to live. Bad, that might make me anxious.
Okay, sometimes it seems to help just to write out my chain of (somewhat contradictory) concerns.
Now I can write my blog post more peacefully.
maybe I'll write it wrong. I'll say too much. I wont say what I want to say. I spent too much money at the book store getting myself a DVD. I'm gonna die. I... need to return the movies I rented. I need to get home in time to get ready for the birthday party. Maybe if someone sees me today they will be offended that I canceled our trip this morning because of being sick (okay, the trip just seemed like TOO much, so hopefully we can go next week or something).
Now, what do I have to write? Medication. Perhaps we can blame my lack of depression (or of as moderate-severe) to the medication. Perhaps we can say that the medication helped me get through a sermon and actually think the pastor did a good job instead of thinking he was sneaky person getting ready to destroy a church. I know; my fears are so kind. Perhaps the medication helps me see the world (and the pastor) a little more accurately. Sweat. But it doesn't instantly remove the anxiety or make me want to get up every morning. I'm trying to understand that I'm improving but still struggling. It's such a confusing concept.
Oh, well, my gift WAS the perfect gift - just not the perfect price. Okay, well a pretty good gift. I guess that makes it grey, neither black nor white. Good; grey is where I'm trying to live. Bad, that might make me anxious.
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