I have a problem. It seems to be getting bigger and I can't seem to get a handle on it. Now that I am more "educated" what with my new studies in coaching and psychology, emotional intelligence, leadership development and all that, I was under the mistaken notion that with all this information and new expertise, I would somehow be better equipped to "fix" myself, not to mention my clients.
Wrong.
At least as far as myself is concerned.
I am the hardest and most demanding client. The paying ones are easier - I seem to be relatively successful at meeting expectations there, luckily.
So, enough build up - here's my problem. Back around April 2004 my life was in a freefall. Looking back today that was when the shit really hit the fan, the complete fallout would take another 3 years but reflecting on that period, my goose was already cooked.
No one could solve my mess but I was offered an insidious helper - drugs. Now this is not what you are all probably thinking (oh my god! a hidden addict). No, this is more socially acceptable than that, and ubiquitous too I might add.
I'm talking anti-anxiety meds and as it happens they are the same little buggers that they give you when you are depressed. Funny about that.........
I was told that this was a good idea because once they took effect I would be able to relearn how it feels to not be anxious and that way, once off the meds (in a few short months.......or years) I could steer myself away from anxiety on my own because I would know the way.
Sounds logical, and besides at that point I was desperate, so I took them.
It was awful at first, I plummeted so low that making a peanut butter and jelly sandwich for my daughter's lunch bag took a herculean effort (you mean I have to butter the bread AND put it in a zip-lock! It was a daunting task).
The doctor insisted I wait my body out and give it time to adjust. I did and so did it.
Fast forward over lots of hills, valleys, more valleys....and I thought it was just me doing all that traveling.
Wrong again.
January 2009 arrived and I decided that enough was finally and definitely enough - though there had been several aborted attempts before, this was the year of living sans les medicaments.
I did it "right". Tapering slowly and all that - allowing my body and my mind to readjust and find its own equilibrium.
Begs the question - is there such a thing as equilibrium?; knowing what I now know and having slogged my way through so much sh--, I can't tell anymore.
Well anyway, somewhere between May and June I took my last pill.
Gingerly I dipped my mental toe in the water to see if I was indeed all right, that I could cope on my own.
At first all signs were good - phew............I thought.
But then it was as if someone from above said, Hey not so fast buddy! You are not as well equipped as you thought, pas de tout, as the french relish wagging their fingers and saying.
That brings me to today, and the tears that well up at unexpected moments, the insistent yuck feeling pulling me down, the impatience with what used to be just fine.
That's my problem today, and now unfortunately there are no more little helpers, I don't want their help anyway.
All's I have is me.
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