This blog is not FDA approved
First, thank you Le Clown, for having me here on your site today!
Over the last three months, I’ve been in therapy to deal with the aftermath of a lifetime of abuse. As my therapy progresses I find myself getting more and more anxious. I want to go less and less. Therapy is full of tears and pain. Discussing my past is akin to reliving those very moments that I locked away for the reason that they were entirely too painful to endure.
With each brick I rip out of my wall, more pain, anger, fear and sadness seep through. I’m beginning to feel very anxious. My heart races each time I approach the door to see my counselor. I break out in a sweat and figuratively armor myself to withstand whatever is going to be thrown my way. There are times, when I am alone, and I think through my past that I’ve broken down in tears so painful, so gut-wrenching, I felt as if I was being split in half. These were the kind of tears that make you feel like you’re going to explode or be shut off like a light.
I fear that as I continue down this path of change, growth and introspection that I am going to hit that one brick that as soon as I rip it out of my wall, that the full impact of 39 years of abuse is going to shatter the rest of it. No more dribs and drabs of pain and anger that may hurt but can be processed, but rather like a boiler with no steam release valve, I am going to explode.
Enter happy pills.
At my last session, my counselor advised me to get a prescription for anti-depressants. Her rationale is sound. The more my anxiety rises as we make progress, the more I’ll resist the harder, deeper analysis that is needed for me to fully heal.
I initially rejected the idea. I’ve always maintained the stance that I didn’t want false peace, I wanted to feel better because I sincerely felt better and not because happy pills messed with my brain chemistry. As an epileptic, I already take pills that stabilize my mood and my brain chemistry to prevent seizures, but these don’t go as far as anti-depressants do.
But … I am seriously scared as hell to go to counseling after the last session had me snotting all over myself and my counselor saying, “When my clients are about to hyperventilate it’s time to stop and take a break.”
So, to pill or not to pill? I haven’t decided yet. Where’s Hamlet when you need him?