Everybody Has A Chapter They Don't Read Out Loud
Everybody has a chapter they don’t read out loud. This is mine. In snapshots only …
… because the last year is a bit of a blur, and because some of it is hard to relive and because some of it is too scary to share.
I’m sitting at my desk. I feel like I can’t breathe. Like I’m certain something very bad is going to happen. Like I’m trapped in an elevator, like I’m waiting in the doctor’s office to undergo a painful procedure, like I’m stuck in a tiny room with huge tarantulas.
Except there is no broken elevator, no scary surgery, no giant spiders.
What is happening to me.
One Ativan isn’t enough. A second barely helps. Is it safe to take three?
What is happening to me.
It’s Sunday night. My apartment is a disaster. Dirty dishes are piled up in the sink. There are clothes everywhere. Products are scattered all over my bathroom sink. I have no food for the week. Everything in my fridge is old, expired.
I’ve been in bed all weekend. I haven’t seen anyone.What is happening to me.
I’m not ready for the week. I can’t do it.
What is happening to me.
I get home from work. All my clothes feel uncomfortable. Too tight, too rigid. I’m not hungry, but low blood sugar triggers my anxiety so I eat something quickly. I put on my most comfortable clothes and I start walking. Along Harbord, to Ossington, across Queen, through the park. Everyone my age looks normal and happy, tanning and drinking with friends.
What is happening to me.
Three hours. I’m finally tired enough that I think I might be able to sleep tonight. I get home and collapse into my bed.
What is happening to me.
I meet a guy. We go on a date. He’s exactly what I want. We drink, he kisses me and undresses me. I hand him a condom. He doesn’t put it on. I don’t bring it up. We have sex.
What is happening to me.
He ghosts on plans we made for a Monday night. My period is over a week late and I’m convinced I have an STI. I make an appointment. I get tested. I take a pregnancy test. Everything is ok. I drink a bottle of wine. I wake up. Everything is not ok. I am not ok. He doesn’t care.
What is happening to me.
For the first time in my life, I understand why someone would end his or her life. I understand what it feels like to be trapped in your own body and mind. I’m not suicidal but I am very, very scared.
I make a second appointment with my family doctor online. I open the drop down menu on the website and I click mental health. I go to my appointment. My doctor takes me through a series of tests. She tells me my anxiety scores as severe and my depression scores as moderate. She diagnoses me with Generalized Anxiety Disorder. She prescribes me an SSRI.
I’ve tried everything else. I walk down to the pharmacy and drop off my prescription. I walk to Aroma while I wait for the pharmacist to fill it. The barista tells me he wants to name his daughter Victoria and chats with me while I wait for my tea. I’m so moved by his kindness I almost start to cry. Instead, I smile and thank him as he hands me my tea and I walk back to the pharmacy to pick-up my prescription and head home. I wait a few days. On the night before my 28th birthday I take my first dose. I fall asleep and wake up alone. It’s one of the lowest points of my life.
I think that the drugs will change me, that they will alter me, numb me and turn me into someone I don’t recognize. Instead, they help me find myself again.
My brain is no longer foggy with anxiety and my heart is no longer numb with depression.
I start to put myself first and that’s when I find her again.
I find her on her mat.
I find her with her family.
I find her with her friends.
I find her at concerts.
I find her on her bike.
I find her with her sketchpad.
I find her typing, feeling, sharing her words again.
She feels ok, for the first time, in a long time, she feels ok.