Let me say I am not against "mood meds," aka psychotropics, SSRIs, and their ilk as a absolute statement. What bothers me is that there is vast evidence that too many doctors and such prescribe these as a quick fix -- or, in my most recent case, because it works for them.
The MoonMan and I attended some "couple therapy" sessions this summer, more out a preventative measure than anything. They were good and overall, we enjoyed them -- except for the label slapping and pill pushing.
As a diagnosis was needed in order to collect insurance, I got slapped with GAD: General Anxiety Disorder. (I was told my therapist considered adding an eating disorder Axis II on there, but as September marked 11 years free from bulimia, she couldn't get me on this one.) When informed of my diagnosis, I just nodded -- more out of fear that any protesting could get me slapped with a trailing "with paranoia" or something. But admittedly, I didn't and don't like that diagnosis business. Also admittedly, this GADbusiness was in part likely my own damn stupid fault for making the following statement: "I am in a constant state of anxiety." That statement was not true, but I have a tendency to blurt exaggerations in an effort to not hide anything.
Smooth move, ExLax.
Here's the criteria for GAD, according to the ol' DSM-IV:
A. At least 6 months of "excessive anxiety and worry" about a variety of events and situations. Generally, "excessive" can be interpreted as more than would be expected for a particular situation or event. Most people become anxious over certain things, but the intensity of the anxiety typically corresponds to the situation.
The problem with this, is that it's so damn subjective. What constitutes "excessive?" The second sentence, which makes a stab at defining "excessive" is equally problematic as how does one define what would be expected in a particular situation or event?
To me, "excessive" connotes this GADdiness would prevent one from accomplishing goals and generally living life the way one wishes. The only thing my alleged GAD ever prevented me from doing was driving on some of the crazier interstates around here -- and I've always hated interstates, even before the mythical GADbastard knocked on my door. (Well, okay, and riding, to a degree -- but only as feeling anxious around horses was so foreign and so blasphemous that I couldn't bear it -- not because I was too anxious to get in the saddle.)
But okay: I'm GADed on paper and faxed to my insurance company.
Whatever.
After it was determined I was a big, greasy GADface, next came the push for meds.
Big surprise there.
For about five sessions, the therapist pushed I get on something. She even disclosed that she herself took Lexapro to quell her anxiety. Eventually, I had to say, "Look: it's not like I'm sleeping with a knife under my pillow, for God's sake. Additionally, any anxiety I have is not really effecting the quality of my life. I have made huge strides in putting this anxiety crap behind me over the past five years. I prefer the long term, cognitive approach as opposed to meds. I am asking you, again, to respect this." (I should have added, "I mean -- EGADs!" but I'm not sure she would have got the joke.)
That worked.
She agreed.
Since experiencing what I like to call a "functional breakdown" after three very intense months of working a very intense job and attending a very intense class at the same time in late 2004, (there's another subjective and loaded word, "breakdown") it's true I've been left with a heightened sense of anxiety I didn't have previously. It's also true there were times these feelings became so torturous I did consider meds.
Five years later, I've learned so much about "anxiety" and myself, medless.
This summer, things ramped way up for me at work after I took on a number of new responsibilities. In the past, when things ramped way up, I did okay for 2-3 months, then got hit with the creepier, scarier aspects prolonged stress and anxiety can deliver: a sort of numb yet quietly panicked state. In the past when I got to this, I ran. Quit the job, took two weeks off, something like that.
Here's something, though: I had to learn what these "creepier" feeling were, however, in order to take the "scary" aspect away. Would meds have tough me that?
This summer I didn't run. Sitting at a meeting in July, I felt like my brain was going to fly out of my head. I felt like I literally could not take on one more task at work. It was pretty scary and I surely wanted to run. I wanted to take an emergency vacation, decline all recently-added responsibility and curl up in scared little heap.
When the meeting was over, a colleague instantly approached me for help -- more work! My brain still felt like it was on fire. I wanted to cry. Instead I said, "Let me just have a cigarette and we'll go over it." I did and we did and while I still felt shaky, I felt better.
Much, much, MUCH better than I would have felt had I listened to the Kim from 2004 and "gone home sick" for the rest day, only to lie around on the couch and obsess about how I felt.
The next day, I went to work, still somewhat shaky.
And the next.
Less than a week later, the shakiness was completely gone: so gone that I no longer fear that these types of feeling will ever return.
The key was walking through the motherfucking fire -- as opposed to running.
It's true, when anxiety gets so bad, sometimes it seems like it is impossible to zombie thru one's day: your brain feels so fuzzy and you spend so much energy pretending you're "normal" that it can be tough.
Still, my advice, every time: don't run. Walk through the motherfucking fire.
Right: 2004 - 2009 is five years, after all and would meds have pushed me to the walking-thru-fire point quicker? Who knows? The point is, besides having escaped any nasty side effects from drugs, I got here -- and with the big, old, confidence boosting side effect that I did it MYSELF, the hard way.
Go, ME!
