My lil man is going through a THING right now, and i’ve been leanin on my lil bottle of wonders a little more that usual. So here’s a repost about that same little bottle…
[April 28, 2011]
So, every male in this house has some sort of sensory “issue”–and yes that includes the dog. Thus, i spend my day tiptoe-ing around them, trying not to be too loud, or too chewy, too babbly or too….too. And before you say–oh you poor thing–that sentence just made it sound worse than it is. Most days I clomp around the house in loud clothing, babbling on about nonsense, munching on celery and banging on pots and pans in the kitchen. They usually don’t have their issues all together, (and one of them i can actually REASON with) so I only have to tiptoe around one of them at a time. (as if i REALLY take into consideration what the dog feels. HAH!) But sometimes–oh SOMETIMES–I end up with a trifecta of sensory overload, where anyone without ovaries in the house is having a BAD FUCKING DAY, and they are letting me know about it.
THIS (and the state of Democratic politics, Somali pirates, the crisis of potable water and the fact that I am 40 years old and STILL don’t know what i want to be when i grow up) is why the doctor looked over her glasses at me, and told me in her Filipino accent that I have an anxiety disorder.
yay. for. ME.
But you know what else gives me anxiety? taking pills. You ever see that scene in “As Good As It Gets” when Jack Nicholson is talking about taking pills? that’s me–without the compliment to Helen Hunt and her fussy little look. I have TRIED to take pills regularly throughout my life. Let’s just say it’s a wonder I didn’t get pregnant in college, that Ben exited my womb with an intact spine and that my bones are still in working order. I TRY. I get the friggin pill containers. I fill them up. I look at them daily, and I just forget to take my pills.
G-d help me when I am an old woman (keep yer cracks to yerself) and I have to take pills daily in order to keep myself from dying.
Look, as much as routine is important to my kid–that’s how much it ISN’T important to me. It chafes. I can’t do it. Yes, I know, my world would be much nicer if I could just swallow that damn B-vitamin horse pill every day and watch my pee turn bright yellow, but I have some sort of internal demon that just won’t let me do it.
So when the doctor “suggested” I take some sort of pill to deal with my anxiety–after acknowledging that i have a VERY full plate (seriously–the dog can’t even sit his butt down on anything that isn’t carpeted), i looked at her like she was suggesting an exorcism. Me. take a pill. yeah.
But it turns out she isn’t quite the quack I’ve made her out to be in my head. She gave me a lovely prescription for Xanax, to “take as needed”
THANK. YOU. G-D.
Someone out there understands that I live life as it comes to me. Some days only need a moment in the sunshine to recharge. Others need a fifth of SOMETHING and my little pill bottle. (not that i actually condone the mixing of alcohol and anxiety pills, or anything else that might lead to me having to take more pills after my liver kicks it.) So now I can deal with it as I come to it, and not have to dive deeper into my own “issues” to take some stupid pill daily.
Now if something could just help me deal with the strange anxiety i feel when the carpet in the main room gets flipped back or “scrunched”, I’d be just about perfect. After a cocktail, of course.