Forecasts
It’s frigid outside
just like it feels you are to me at times
I seek heat from you
the warmth of your words
and your body
though you often leave me
chilled to the bone
unsure if you will ever
bring me your fire again
It’s frigid outside
just like it feels you are to me at times
I seek heat from you
the warmth of your words
and your body
though you often leave me
chilled to the bone
unsure if you will ever
bring me your fire again
My mind is a crowded city street at rush hour
chaos
cursing
honking
a gridlock of thoughts
caught in a traffic circle
going around
and around
and around
My mind searches for peace
dreams of vistas
where snow falls deep enough
to blot out all sound
a burning white spot in my brain
to erase the anxiety
which never seems to take a vacation day
A few days ago I cried uncle to the anxiety (with an undercoating of PTSD), which has plagued me for quite some time, and made an appointment to see my doctor. I had recently talked to a few people about their struggles with anxiety, and the meds they take to help deal with it. I don’t like medications, because I seem to be ultra-sensitive to some of them, plus most of them can exacerbate the exact thing we’re trying to get rid of, and that just makes no damn sense whatsoever.
My doctor knows I don’t like to take pills, and often has to convince me to try them, so when we sat down to talk on Monday, and I broke down in tears over my inability to deal with this fucking anxiety, he suggested Lexapro, an SSRI-anti-depressant, which is also supposed to have anti-anxiety properties.
I suggested Ativan, which he isn’t particularly fond of, but I had to admit to him that a friend had given me one to try during an anxiety attack, and it helped calm me down within 20-30 minutes. And seriously, if you have anxiety, you know what blissful relief a reprieve from torturous cyclical thinking can be.
Needless to say, we compromised: he would give me the Ativan for “as needed” situations, and I would try the Lexapro for a long term solution.
Now mind you, the last time I took an anti-depressant, it was something called Pristiq, which I had to stop taking because of the ridiculous cost of it, and I almost slit my wrists when I was trying to wean myself off of it. I literally locked myself in my bathroom, and called my mom to come over and talk me off the fucking ledge, because of that shit. That’s when I said, “NO MORE!”. Didn’t matter what came up, I would plow through depression without a pill, because I was never going to subject myself to worse depression from an anti-depressant.
Fast forward to 5 years later and two doses of Lexapro got me looking like the town meth whore with some damn teeth grinding and jaw clenching and my inability to keep my damn tongue still in my mouth.
What. The. Fuck. *Google Lexapro and teeth grinding*
Sure enough, the meth mouth shuffle is one of the side effects of Lexapro. So doc, I tried, but I’m not doing this shit. I’m not going to keep walking around doing this, grinding my teeth down to stumps and giving myself migraines, in the hopes that the side effects will wear off. If this is what happens after two doses, I don’t want to see what happens after a third, or a fourth.
At least I still have the Ativan to calm my brain, even if it doesn’t help stop looking like the town meth whore.
I’ve decided I can’t do it anymore. As much as I hate taking any sort of prescription medication, I will go to my doctor next Monday morning, and prostrate myself at his feet and beg him to give me something to help my anxiety. My psyche, and my body, feel ravaged by the effects of anxiety. I worry I will never be able to have a successful relationship again, or I will irreparably damage the relationships I currently have, if I don’t do something.
Here’s hoping he hears my cry for help.
I want
a safe place to lay my head
your shoulder
your chest
the crook of your arm
I want
you to calm my mind with
your touch
your kiss
the sound of your heartbeat
Guess it’s time for me to don hose, heels, a dress, and pearls, and go on a manhunt for a guy who will marry me and keep me in the style I’m accustomed to.
I better practice my smile, and holding my tongue, because I’m sure my new husband will have no desire to hear “drivel” and “clap-trap” escape my lips.
He’ll say things to me like, “A woman’s place is in the bedroom and not in the boardroom”.
He will expect me to perfect a bundt cake, and have his martini and slippers waiting for him when he walks through the door in the evening from a hard day at the office.
At night, he’ll kiss me chastely on the cheek before we retire to our separate twin beds, me still in full makeup and wearing lipstick, where I will proceed to cry myself to sleep because I know he’s screwing his secretary, and because I’m so unfulfilled.
FUCK. THAT. SHIT.
The rumble of the thunder reminds me
that I used to be fierce
I felt the fire in my belly
and I was strong and unafraid
How long has it been now
since I was that person
I can’t recall
She still resides within me
and rears her head
now and then
only to disappear again
when the anxiety returns
You open the door
and the bones fall to the floor
clattering and clicking against each other
the thigh bones
the shin bones
So many skeletons
you’re immersed up to your knee bones
Your eyes search me with a quizzical look
I respond in my best Aunt Agnes voice
“Oh my! What a mess!”
(I’ve made of my life)
I know any minute I shall hear the crush
of brittle bone
beneath the heels of your boots
as your long gait leads you
down the hallway
and out the door of my heart
But you lift your foot
and begin to pulverize
years of bad decisions and pain and disappointment
and you take my hand
and I join in
doing a shuffle ball change
so I can hear the satisfying crunch
beneath my tap shoes
Then you ask for a broom
and a dust pan
and sweep up the shards of my life
and lead me to the garden
where you sprinkle them around the base of the roses
And today it seems nothing will satisfy
but you
I pace
cross my legs and swing my foot
run my fingers through my hair
habitually dart my tongue back and forth over my bottom teeth
all of me
is seeking the sensation of you
my mind
cannot be silent
it searches for
the feel of your fingertips on my skin
the taste of you on my lips
the soothing tones of your voice
I want to
fall into you
and get lost for a few hours
bodies perspiring in tangled sheets
and the sound of your heartbeat in my ear
Fiction, and other made-up stories
Still histrionic, still a bookwhore; just faking competence because of my kid.
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