Husband’s a CPA.
For those of you who are Bowling for Soup fans you would have noticed that the title of this blog comes from the song 1985. Thought I’d try lightening it up a bit before I get real heavy and deep!
I wasn’t going to post a blog today but I’m struggling. Really struggling. And I am on my own and got no one I can immediately turn to right now, so hi! You’re the lucky one, you get me turning to you. You get to hear me go on and on, moaning about things, how lucky are you?! (I give you permission to walk away now to save you haha).
Fluoxetine. You’re meant to be helping me. You’re meant to be my one tablet a day that sends off those happy hormones known as serotonin into my brain. You’re meant to make me more balanced. More stable. More able to handle life. It seems you’re doing the opposite. You’re not helping. It feels you’re hindering me more than helping. There’s points that I do find myself thanking you and thanking the fact that for just a few times here and there you have made the anxiety less. But you have made my depression even more apparent. You’ve made me realise underneath the anxiety, I am empty. I am sad. And these past two days have been hard. Harder than I could have imagined. I scared myself today. The thoughts running through my head. The things I was saying to myself. They became more powerful than normal. I had to get out the house. I couldn’t take another minute of sitting on the bathroom floor in tears. I wish I knew why these tears keep burning my cheeks. I wish I knew why you weren’t working. Why the hormone serotonin wasn’t overpowering the negativity in my brain.
I have been very much on my own these past few days. I feel everyone is fed up of my emotions now. No one wants to hear it anymore. The girls at work were awkward with me. Distant even. They seemed so uneasy around me. Was I really that obviously low? Was I that hard to be around? I tried. I tried my best to make conversation, but even I could hear the quiver in my voice as I spoke. I was stuttering my words. Fidgeting. Uneasy. They must have picked up on this. Must not have known how to ‘deal’ with me.
I keep crying in front of my mum. Begging for the anxiety and nausea to go away. For this uncertainty and emptiness to be cured. But no matter how much I cry in front of her the response is always cold. Telling me the tablets aren’t working. Awkwardly sat there next to me trying to watch television. She doesn’t understand. I’m sat there next to her. Crying. Breaking. Internally screaming for a hug and nothing. She can’t give her own daughter a hug.
I hate being this way. This isn’t me. This isn’t who I am, yet it is consuming me. It’s taking me over more and more. Why aren’t you working Prozac? Why? I’ve read the reviews people have given you on medical sites and they rave about you. You worked wonders on them. Most of them felt a bit better after a week or so. I know everyone is different and I have only been on them for about a month. I know I might not have the right dosage. I am just counting down to my follow-up appointment on Wednesday. But the days are hard. They’re like an endless abyss. They all roll into one. Each one feels like a thousand years. The seconds I’m on my own pass slowly. The thoughts in my head are the only things in fast motion. They race and race. It’s like they can’t stop.
I’m craving a hug. A hug in the arms of someone I feel safe with. Someone who just opening their arms to me, makes me feel as though I am strong enough to get through this. Someone who believes in me. Loves me. Cares for me. Right now that’s all I want. That’s my only cure.
Not Quite Made Girl