Frills, Dough.

Since about a couple of months ago, I’ve been taking anti-depressants to combat my panic disorder. I’ve avoided taking it before because of the negative stigma behind such meds in which people taking it feel like they’re not themselves (among other unwanted side effects I won’t detail out). But nothing I did in replacement of meds was working. I was seeing a counselor, eating better, exercising, “practicing mindfulness,” but no life changes I made worked in alleviating my anxiety. After months of feeling like shit, I saw my regular doctor and she pretty much validated me in that what I’m feeling may not be due to external stimuli, but because of what’s going on internally; my brain isn’t producing enough serotonin, and sometimes there isn’t really a reason behind it other than it being a disease of the brain. With my ~reluctant~ consent, she prescribed Zoloft. The side effects at first were gnarly, the worst being not being able to sleep. The first week, I felt like I just consciously closed my eyes in bed for eight hours. I was tired and my body would not let me sleep. Even with melatonin, I felt tired but every time I would feel myself finally drift into sleep, my body jumps itself out of it. It was terrible, but after a week of dealing with that, I’ve never felt better and I’ve never felt more like myself since before having this panic disorder. It felt like something was finally working. For the first time that I cried at night, it was because, for once, I was happy. Before where I couldn’t even sit in a restaurant without feeling like I was going to pass out and die, I was able to attend two concerts this past month. If anything, I hope the takeaway from this is that--contrary to the negative stigma behind this kind of medicine--being dependent on medicine is 100% okay. 

I have a big-girl job with Google! I’m adamant that there is no external stimuli behind my brain not producing serotonin, but I have to mention that I was unemployed for seven months (side note: I was still experiencing panic out of nowhere one month into the job). I quit my old job as a cashier at a grocery store without having another job secure because I hated it there, but then I ended up feeling even more shitty for not making any money. Throughout those seven months, I sent out at least one hundred applications and copies of my resume. A fifth of those rejected me, the vast majority never got back to me, and out of all of those, only two set an interview with me. I miserably failed the first interview. The second one landed me a job with Google. That day, I felt like the stars just decided to align for me. I have my own awesome desk filled with decor according to my aesthetic: pink shit, cherry blossom shit, sailor moon shit, galactic shit, and the like. I have coworkers I can actually connect with that make coming to work fun. It’s just all so different from my old job that made me feel awful on a daily basis. This job is awesome. I’m not the religious type, but I feel blessed.

My friendships, my relationship with my parents, and my relationship with my boyfriend feel more solidified. The few friends that have stuck by me have showed so much compassion in these dark times and I love them for it. I communicate so much better with my parents. We were never the type of family to talk about our feelings, but my parents acknowledge my need to address my emotions because of my panic disorder and they’ve become so understanding. My boyfriend has been consistently amazing; He has always loved and supported me during every adversity I have faced, but through these most difficult times he has remained so, SO patient. I love him so much and I’ve never been more sure that this is the person I want to spend the rest of my life with.