I Got Meds on Fantasy Island

It’s mental health week during mental health month, so let’s talk about it. We all know someone who has a mental health issue. If you’re new here, that one person can be me. Let’s go back in time, shall we?

I never noticed my anxiety as being anxiety for most of my life as a kid. I just recall being really fearful of being in trouble. I never wanted to let my Granny down, disappoint her for whatever reason or give her a reason to worry about me. I kept to myself and stayed on top of my schoolwork.

My grades were amazing, hey, but what no one saw was my obsessive worry about missing a deadline. If a teacher handed out a project and it was due at the end of the six weeks, this girl would have it done the same week it was assigned – boom!

Here’s the deal – Everyone saw me as super proactive, which I am, because I have high functioning anxiety. “If you have something that you need done, give it to Angela, she can handle it.” Do you know how many times I have heard this in my life? Yes, I’m proactive, but damn, what people don’t see is that too much of “doing things” often leads to serious burnout.

This go, go, go, hit the burnout wall, repeat has reared it’s ugly head too many times. And if you’re like me, you know it’s only a matter of time before the cycle repeats itself. I don’t know about you, but at 44, I’ve had enough of this cycle of insanity.

My mental health has gotten so bad, I cannot even drive on the highway anymore. Doing so, leads me to having a massive panic attack and I just can’t do it. My poor husband has been driving me around for a few years now because of my fear of losing control when I’m behind the wheel. At first, we thought it was just an optical-neuro disconnection and paid out the ass for glasses for me. I tried to drive last weekend with him in the passenger’s seat and wanted to crawl out of my skin. My breath was rapid, my heart was racing, I started feeling dizzy, sweaty and completely terrified. I just couldn’t do it. I pulled over, sat in a parking lot and ugly cried. The words “burden” were thrown around by me a few times, because that is how I feel – like a God damn burden. My husband has to be available to “Drive Ms Daisy” because this Daisy gets straight up crazy on highways.

I knew right then and there, after calming down and really talking about it, that something has to change. I had to change and I needed help.

Today, I opted to go back on medication for anxiety, and I have mixed emotions about this. I imagine Ricardo Montalban saying, “Let’s all welcome Angela back to the Fluoxetine Club and and let’s also give her a warm welcome for also joining Club Buspirone, too.” Hell yeah, Mr. Rourke. Thanks for the imaginary trip to Fantasy Island.

On one hand, I am looking forward to silencing the “noise” and the “inner critic” who aren’t helpful. I really hate worrying about things and, spoiler alert, it’s always a trip up over a little thing. On the other, I enjoy feeling emotions fully and wholeheartedly. I don’t want my wholehearted condolence of “I’m sorry” coming across as robotic to someone when they share with me that their dog died. That is definitely not my intent. I just need a little peace in my head, and this is the only way I know how to obtain it.

I don’t regret my decision and noticed a huge slowdown of racing thoughts already. Ready or not, I’m doing this so I can give my best to everyone who shows up for me and I promise you’ll get the best out of me when I can quiet the monsters inside my head and replace it with a zombie, instead.

But, here’s the most important thing – don’t suffer in silence. Talk about this stuff. Find a support system and don’t be ashamed of mental health. It’s real and it effects everyone in some shape or form. We will always bet better, together.

If you or someone you know needs help, please go to mentalhealth.gov for more information.