The anxiety abated, but again, only for a short while. It came back full-force during a trip to East Texas. Perhaps it was all the weird conversations. Perhaps it was being away from Izzy. Perhaps it was the stone-cold silence upon going to bed. Either way, it returned and has made itself a part of my regular routine. So much so, I finally decided to seek medical help (that story to come).
Anxiety is defined as "a psychological and physiological state characterized by cognitive, somatic, emotional and behavioral components. The components combine to create an unpleasant feeling that is typically associated with uneasiness, fear or worry." And in my case, disturbing thoughts and images that get stuck in some crazy-ass loop and refuse to go away without some hardcore meditation and rhythmic breathing. It always signals it's arrival by making me feel as if I'm going up on a fast elevator. And then come the loops...
So I went to see a doctor. I waited for an hour before being shown to my small room. I waited for another hour before I started to experience said anxiety. Small rooms for long periods of time can do that to an anxious person. So the doc. finally comes in and I'm explaining my symptoms while giving a very detailed medical history (essential to her notebook computer she was constantly writing in). I explain that I'm not a pill-popper. I'm not a druggie. I can deal with the anxiety, but it's just become so much work that I'd rather have a shortcut. She suggests several alternative therapies (tapping on certain pressure points being one of them) as well as a 12-step program. "Thanks," I say, "but I'm really short on time here. I'm leaving town, will be in a high anxiety situation and really need some help. I'll try all of that when I return" (knowing damn well that I won't be enrolling in any 12-step any time soon). After refusing anti-depressants and turning down some "experimental medications", she finally gives me a prescription for Xanax. Only 12 pills of the lowest dosage. And a demand to return in 30 days. Which of course, gave me anxiety. (Only 12 pills? Do I look like an addict? What if it doesn't work? What if it gets worse while I'm out of town?) As Chris mentioned, I could have done it in less time and for far cheaper in certain areas of town.
I can imagine the pills will be gone by the end of my 2 week trip to Baytown. A small apartment with 1 recovering mother, 1 passive-aggressive boyfriend, a small toddler, an outspoken aunt and 2 rambunctious kids is nothing if not anxiety soup. Add to that a family reunion where I haven't seen anyone in 9 years. Hello elevator ride.
In more encouraging news, I feel like I've finally sorted out what's causing the anxiety. Like my last years in Baytown, I am somewhere I do not necessarily want to be. I am handling situations I don't want to be handling. I'm spending a lot of time committing myself to others. My cup is running low, and has been for quite some time. Starting in July, I'll be working to mend that. But that is the surest relation to my anxiety now and my anxiety of 7 years ago. And really, it makes perfect sense. Our bodies have weird ways of managing stress and apparently mine is tired of managing it. My mind is rebelling. And it's time to put myself a priority. Orrrr, I can push it until I finally get own intervention and 28 days of rehab (oh the joy!)
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