An Experiment

It seems like such an insignificant thing sometimes, this pain in the ass anxiety disorder. I actually have days where it seems preposterous for me to take medication, because I feel fine. I might even skip a couple of days as a result, and, occasionally this turns into a couple of weeks and by that time I am usually very aware of why I am taking meds in the first place.

It is very difficult for me to explain how I feel when I am on my meds. The big myth about anti-anxiety and anti-depressant medication to people who don’t use them is that you will feel overwhelmingly happy on meds. This could not be further from the truth. If all goes well and you manage to not have much in the way of side effects, the most you will feel is blank. The anxiety is gone, maybe. The depression is stunted, perhaps, but there’s no swing in the opposite direction. There is a space left behind and the hard part is realizing you have to find something to fill it. This is how my experience has been anyway.

Back in September I was having such a fantastic time in my Filipino Martial Arts classes that I was able to cut back on my medication. The weekly exercise and training gave me a little more to lean on that was my own so I didn’t need such a potent dosage. I am at the minimum dose, currently, for my particular medication and this, naturally, caused me to hypothesize what it might be like to ween myself off permanently. I had already been given the OK from my doctor to try if I felt like I could do it, so I had no medical concerns. So sometime around the last weekend of January I stopped. I felt pretty good for the first week, actually though I could maybe follow through with this completely but by week 2 (this last week) I was in ugly shape.

The biggest difference between experiencing anxiety prior to receiving treatment for it and experiencing it when I know it’s like when it’s “turned off” is that I am more aware of what my real thoughts are and what my panic-based “noise thoughts” are. In my anxious state I am the most self-doubting person I know and, at least at first, I can observe my own self-doubt and know that it’s totally off. I see myself as a kind of self-loathing Mr. Hyde and probably no one else can see this in the beginning stages except me. Eventually my Mr. Hyde wears me down,  my ability to suspend judgement slips and I begin taking every word directed towards me very personally. I become suspicious of people’s motives. The inflection of another’s voice gets twisted in my head and interpreted as sardonic and patronizing regardless of the intent. I am a soft and fragile and very bruised ego walking around with chips where his shoulders should be. A pincushion which can’t stand the prodding. This is where I start striking back.. snapping and barking at people like a scared dog.

This experiment came to a climax in my Kali classes where I began feeling the preferred “game-playing” mentality of our sparring sessions becoming a very personal, heavy, experience. Every mistake felt like a disaster, and I was losing control of my thoughts and actions. For some people this might lead to getting frustrated and going too hard and possibly hurting someone. I thankfully didn’t reach that point, but I could feel myself becoming impatient and wondering if I was, after all, wasting my time and money in a pursuit that had just a week ago brought me joy (if you look up the symptoms of depression.. that’s usually a big one). The same thing began happening on my Friday class, although the physical activity of the training offers some relief, I began, once again, questioning my skill to the point of wondering if I have any future in this pursuit.

Needless to say, after an unnecessary spat with my pregnant wife, I reached the conclusion that this is not the person I want to be as a father or as a husband. I refilled my prescription and I am back on the wagon (or off the wagon, however that saying goes). Even though I know it is for the best, I am bitter at the prospect of depending on this medication to deal with my daily life. I often wonder which version is the real me. Does the medication help me be me, or am I am who I am and the medication alters that? I am always hesitant to take my pill when I have been off it for awhile, no matter how horrible I feel, and it is this question that causes that hesitation. I’d rather be honest than happy, I think. We’d all like to think we are ourselves when we are at our best but this is just not the truth.

But then I take the pill and, after that, who cares?