“Some people are just anxious.”
“Some people are just anxious.” This is a sentence I’ve been told numerous times by both my mental health med doctor and my therapist. They state it as a generalized fact and as a (potential) realization I may have to come to with my current iteration of mental health and mental health medications.
I hate it when they say this. I know it may be true.
But I’m not there yet. First, because my mental health doctor still has an option that doesn’t stray too far from my current med mix that could boost my confidence and reduce my anxiety … anxiety that is still part of my daily existence.
So what about those “Better?” and “Better? (part 2)” posts from the recent past? Well, I am better. Not better as in a finality, but better in comparison to where I was before. That’s what makes life so hopeful as well as unsettling at the same time.
For the past 13 months — after when my old meds stopped working last year and my mental health doctor and I started finding and tweaking the med mix that would bring me closer to where I am today — I have been getting better. At first the changes were dramatic. But I’d have to say that the past 9 months have been more like baby steps closer to some new normal.
Anyhow, why am a writing today? Well, it’s not because I’m feeling “better.” I am writing because I am feeling scared. It’s a type of scary I feel for some part of nearly every day. Often the scary just passes because there’s no “this is happening” for it to latch on to, and I can reorient my brain to recognize that. But then there are the scary days when I have something in the near future to latch on to as an “I will fail and fail big time” moment.
And then there are the worst scared moments: being scared in public and having to perform as a “normal” human being. If I navigate these situations successfully, it’s by taking an augmentation chill pill beforehand or by having the option of being silent for most of the time while in the presence of others.
But if “the scary” is not a time I am able to get ahead of, or if silence is not an option … sometimes … sometimes I turn into a blubbering, downward-spiraling mess. Which is soon followed by a public apology. Which is then followed by me feeling weak and like a complete and total failure. Which is then followed by me wanting to crawl into a hole or find my bed as quickly as possible.
And so I hold out two hopes. The first is that the med tweak option that my mental health doctor shares will help make everything alright … or at least better. The second is that I can become a better master at some cognitive behavioral therapy which thus far eludes me.
“Some people are just anxious.” Well, that is how my brain is hard-wired. I just hope that meds or learned behavior can bring me someplace better than where I am today.