It is 6:33 am and already I'm having a xanax kind of day. You know one of those days when you're filled with anxiety and can't identify the cause. That terrible feeling that some ominous thing is nipping at your heels and because you don't know that it is, you can't escape it.
I'm usually not one to worry about things. I learned a long time ago, when I was a single mom with five children and a lot of financial problems that worrying does no good at all. It only produces a lot of sleepless nights. I'm use to taking action when faced with a problem so this being filled with anxiety is new and unsettling. It is especially unsettling because it has been coming and going for the past month in the most intense way.
Being obsessive compulsive I tend to over analyze things; and this is no exception. I also find that putting things into picture/story form helps me to understand it a little easier. (I was always better with story problems in school than abstract thinking.) So this drawing is my visual interruption of what is happening with my run-away, up tight emotions.
No matter how fast or long I run, this "thing" continues to chase me. There is no "rabbit hole" or safe place I can take refuge in. If I stop running or slow down, I will be overtaken and devoured. My heart is beating rapidly, I am short of breath, my legs are growing weak but I can't stop. I must keep running - propelled by fear and anxiety.
I could take a little beige, oblong pill and make it all go away - hopefully permanently - but I hate to give in to a chemical for relief. But do I want this to continue? For me, it's a hard decision. When Christian died a little over a year ago, my doctor gave me the xanax prescription and I've only taken two pills since it was filled.
Crunching up my face, squinting my eyes into little slits, tapping my pursed lips with my index and middle fingers, and finally scratching my head, I come to a decision. I think pill number three might be okay.
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