Blank pages are terrifying. I seem to have a very specific blog-related form of writer’s block, and it’s driving me nuts! I have all sorts of thoughts running through my head, and things that I want to write about, and then I hit a wall and start thinking of all the reasons that I shouldn’t write about them. They’re too boring. They’re too sad. Nobody wants to read random rants. On and on and on.
I know that my brain is usually tricking me with these thoughts, but they’re hard to shake. Mental health issues are a tricky beast. It makes me feel good to know that people in general are paying more attention to them, but it still doesn’t help me in the war to tame my own beast in my brain.
My doctor is talking about taking me off of my medication in about two months. He says that the medication was not meant to be a long-term solution to my anxiety and depression, and he seems to think that it’s now coming to be the time when I should have it under control. I feel awful about this, but I feel like I need a new doctor to talk to and figure things out – like maybe he isn’t taking me as seriously as I’d hoped. Even with the medication I’m functional at best, and I have so few “good” days that I’ve wondered if it’s enough. I have good moments, of course, but they seem to be fewer and further between these days. Despite the medication, I still have random bouts of “emptiness” – every single day.
I try to keep from burdening my friends with these thoughts. They all have things they’re going through, and I don’t want to trouble them. I feel like there’s not much I can say that will explain how I feel or why I feel that way, and I feel like I “should” be able to just pull myself out of whatever funk I’m in, and make it better. So instead, I put on a happy face and try to fight off thoughts about how I could lose all my friends, or how I annoy them, or other silly things like that.
I feel like I’m on a time limit for the bit of sanity I’ve hung onto for the last 6 months, and I’m honestly frightened. If he takes me off the medication, what happens then? Do I fall back into my black pit of despair and just deal with it for the last year of my education? How will I find a job and function in society if I can hardly get up and take a shower in the morning without wanting to break down in tears or curl up with a blanket and hide from the world?
Why can’t I get a handle on my thoughts?