Due to unusual circumstances, I've been off my medication for nearly two weeks. Since the vertigo is gone, I'm starting to believe that I've moved past the withdrawal symptoms, and I've become the real "me." I have a ridiculously bad memory when it comes to subtle details like this, but I don't really remember what it was like *before* the antianxiety medication. Therefore, sometimes I wonder if it's still doing anything for me.
I do remember that within an hour of taking my first dose three years ago, I was the happiest I have ever been in my life. For the first time ever, I was enjoying being out, driving around town alone. I actually went to the mall and enjoyed it. It was the strangest experience--wanting to go to the mall. Granted, all I got was a few Godiva truffles, but that's not the point. Several years before, I walked into Concord Mills the week before Christmas, as I had been dreading doing my shopping. Five minutes in (I hadn't even gotten to a store), I couldn't handle the people and turned around to leave. I remember being proud of myself in high school for actually going to a movie theater alone. I wasn't sure why I was proud of myself, but I was.
As I said, I've been off my meds now for nearly two weeks. Some of my coworkers can tell within a few days that I'm off my meds, which just seems strange to me, since *I* can't tell that quickly. I could, however, tell a difference this weekend (and a wee bit through last week). I had all day yesterday to go refill my prescription, but I couldn't make myself walk to my car and drive to the pharmacy. I just couldn't do it. It's the exact same sense of impending doom that made me leave the mall. I know there's nothing to be afraid of, but I just couldn't make myself stand up and go.
Strangely, though, I feel that being *on* the meds isn't much better. I suppose I just haven't found the right SSRI for me. Lexapro was nice, but its effectiveness wore off after time. Effexor (what I'm on now) is better with the anxiety, but it doesn't get me through an entire day... and it comes with a sometimes unbearable depression. Unfortunately, I switched medications about the time my wife left me, so I really have had no way of knowing if it's the fault of the medication. That is, until now, I guess.
In March, I hit what I considered to be "rock bottom." I think anyone would agree that staying at the office, playing video games until two or three in the morning, just to go home, get a few hours of sleep, and be back by about nine the next morning counts as "having a problem." So, I forced myself; I gave myself a reason to go home.
I got a bird. Dogs and cats are too easy. You don't have to do anything for them to like you. Birds, on the other hand, are not mammals, and they are prey animals. Therefore, it takes effort to get a parrot to open up to you or to people in general. I wanted an animal that made *me* feel special, and having a parrot that likes me does just that.
Ultimately, what I really want(ed) is another person, but that has been out of my reach for too long. Having a pet satisfies the minimalistic desires for a warm body and minimal communication, but it's also generally better than a human for attention (that is, if attention is what you want).
Anyway... while I couldn't bring myself to go refill my meds, I am going to go watch a movie. It's depressing to spend an entire weekend alone. It's depressing not to be able to call a friend to hang out. It's depressing to find myself crying at every reference to anything remotely emotional in some old TV show. It's depressing. So, I'm going to go sit in a likely empty movie theater alone for the next few hours, as at least then, I can escape from my own depressing reality and pretend that I'm in someone else's depressing reality, where at least they have love.
Damn, I need a hug. No, not just a hug... I feel like sobbing into the nape of someone's neck, drenching her hair, wishing things were different. It's not very macho or manly, but I've never claimed (nor have I ever wanted) to be.
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