Lemme stop there, for the concerned people who aren't well steeped in the "brain drug" lore. Meds help, but they also can hurt. Basically every brain medication has a small chance of actually causing the thing that you're trying to heal. Why? In lots of cases we're not sure--
It's super fun when you start to really look at areas of medicine that are not particularly well understood, like the brain. The more you learn, the more you realize that the most educated expert in this field still bears a striking resemblance to the call center IT person reading through a google search with you.
Good times.
Anyway, back to what I was saying--
--we're not sure, but we do know it's true. In my case, the 20 mg of citalopram I was taking daily had turned my life into a greyscale. I was never upset, but I was never happy. Even things that normally make me joyous had barely any effect on my mood at all, and I hated it. The level of disconnection I was experiencing was as bad, in it's own way, as full blown depression had been, and I decided something had to change.
So, once more, with feeling...
I've been backing off my depression meds recently, and it's been good, but fraught. Having the feels come back is wonderful, but, you know, not all the feels are good. Not to mention, I am way out of practice at handling my feels. So I'm trying to remember how to float among these waves, without struggling and going under.
When I was a teenager I was super volatile, emotionally speaking. I laughed easily, cried easily, got angry easily, and loved easily. Time, experience, and motherhood taught me to temper all of that, because the more you are confronted with situations where you cannot wear your heart on your sleeve, the more you are forced to learn to hide it. I don't honestly know how I feel about this life lesson. It is good that I can handle most of what my children throw at me without breaking down in tears (at least, in public) and it is good that I can check my anger and find its source before starting an unproductive fight.
But it's bad that I feel like I am always in a box. Always contained. Always letting just a tiny bit of myself out into the world, and always ready to yank it back in if that small piece of me turns out to be too much.
I am a hurricane trying to feel like a gentle breeze, and it does not feel good to me, no matter how much nicer it is for those around me.
*****
Now, ready for some even more uncomfortable honesty?
Lately, I have been confronting some things that I always knew were true about myself, but that I did not want to be true, and hoped I would grow out of. Now, at the half way point of my life, I am coming to terms with the fact that these things will not change; that they are fundamentally a part of who I am. That I can learn to manage them, and handle them, and contain them, but I cannot get rid of them. I will always be this way.
People who know me often describe me as strong, and capable, and unapologetic in who I am.
People who know me best are aware that, in fact, that is who I force myself to try to be. That at the center of myself, I am a bundle of insecurities that revolve around my desperate need for love, attention, and approval.
I am a needy, needy person, y'all. I need to be liked. I need to be noticed. I need to be appreciated.
And I kind of hate that about myself.
I dream of running away and becoming a hermit. Living alone with myself, so that I couldn't be concerned with anyone else's opinion of me. I'd only have access to my own opinion, and then maybe I'd be able to be who I wanted without worrying about other people's approval. And then maybe I'd learn that I won't wither and die if people aren't noticing me.
Of course, there's always the possibility that I would wither and die. We all like to think that when confronted with a situation that can destroy us or forge us into something stronger, that we'll totally emerge as a well tempered artifact, but I try to be honest with myself.
I might just shatter.
*****
So, here I am, a hurricane in a zephyr's clothing, my inner tempest getting stronger again, and I am so scared of what happens if I can't contain it. Not to me, at least, not directly. I have always loved a roller coaster. The lows make the highs more profound for me, and there is no escaping that basic aspect of my nature. Some people like to walk along steadily, but I prefer to soar and plummet.
That is who I am.
But, folks, who I am is a lot for everyone outside my own head. I mean, sometimes it's a lot for me, too, but I think I have some natural immunity to it. I walk in the eye of the storm. But for the people around me, getting buffeted by the winds of my moods...
It's just a lot.
So, what do I want more? The need to express my thoughts and feelings without malice, but also without inhibition, is a central part of who I am. But so is my need to be appreciated, and valued, and loved.
And I am honestly not sure I can have both.
--we're not sure, but we do know it's true. In my case, the 20 mg of citalopram I was taking daily had turned my life into a greyscale. I was never upset, but I was never happy. Even things that normally make me joyous had barely any effect on my mood at all, and I hated it. The level of disconnection I was experiencing was as bad, in it's own way, as full blown depression had been, and I decided something had to change.
So, once more, with feeling...
I've been backing off my depression meds recently, and it's been good, but fraught. Having the feels come back is wonderful, but, you know, not all the feels are good. Not to mention, I am way out of practice at handling my feels. So I'm trying to remember how to float among these waves, without struggling and going under.
When I was a teenager I was super volatile, emotionally speaking. I laughed easily, cried easily, got angry easily, and loved easily. Time, experience, and motherhood taught me to temper all of that, because the more you are confronted with situations where you cannot wear your heart on your sleeve, the more you are forced to learn to hide it. I don't honestly know how I feel about this life lesson. It is good that I can handle most of what my children throw at me without breaking down in tears (at least, in public) and it is good that I can check my anger and find its source before starting an unproductive fight.
But it's bad that I feel like I am always in a box. Always contained. Always letting just a tiny bit of myself out into the world, and always ready to yank it back in if that small piece of me turns out to be too much.
I am a hurricane trying to feel like a gentle breeze, and it does not feel good to me, no matter how much nicer it is for those around me.
*****
Now, ready for some even more uncomfortable honesty?
Lately, I have been confronting some things that I always knew were true about myself, but that I did not want to be true, and hoped I would grow out of. Now, at the half way point of my life, I am coming to terms with the fact that these things will not change; that they are fundamentally a part of who I am. That I can learn to manage them, and handle them, and contain them, but I cannot get rid of them. I will always be this way.
People who know me often describe me as strong, and capable, and unapologetic in who I am.
People who know me best are aware that, in fact, that is who I force myself to try to be. That at the center of myself, I am a bundle of insecurities that revolve around my desperate need for love, attention, and approval.
I am a needy, needy person, y'all. I need to be liked. I need to be noticed. I need to be appreciated.
And I kind of hate that about myself.
I dream of running away and becoming a hermit. Living alone with myself, so that I couldn't be concerned with anyone else's opinion of me. I'd only have access to my own opinion, and then maybe I'd be able to be who I wanted without worrying about other people's approval. And then maybe I'd learn that I won't wither and die if people aren't noticing me.
Of course, there's always the possibility that I would wither and die. We all like to think that when confronted with a situation that can destroy us or forge us into something stronger, that we'll totally emerge as a well tempered artifact, but I try to be honest with myself.
I might just shatter.
*****
So, here I am, a hurricane in a zephyr's clothing, my inner tempest getting stronger again, and I am so scared of what happens if I can't contain it. Not to me, at least, not directly. I have always loved a roller coaster. The lows make the highs more profound for me, and there is no escaping that basic aspect of my nature. Some people like to walk along steadily, but I prefer to soar and plummet.
 |
| Original Watercolor "Mizz Irma" by Gina Fote |
That is who I am.
But, folks, who I am is a lot for everyone outside my own head. I mean, sometimes it's a lot for me, too, but I think I have some natural immunity to it. I walk in the eye of the storm. But for the people around me, getting buffeted by the winds of my moods...
It's just a lot.
So, what do I want more? The need to express my thoughts and feelings without malice, but also without inhibition, is a central part of who I am. But so is my need to be appreciated, and valued, and loved.
And I am honestly not sure I can have both.
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