If anyone that I know wins millions in the lottery, I promise to pay for all my drinks and food when we go out. I will never guilt you for being lucky enough to have the money. In fact, I can honestly say I'll be happy for you and hope you invest it wisely and remember to refrain from spoiling your children too much.
That said, if you find the charity to help me pay for psychological therapy, I wouldn't be so proud as to turn that down.
A couple days ago, I had to go to the dr for script refills. This is an anxiety producing scenario at the best of times and waiting 45 minutes past my appointment time made things worse, but I got through it.
After that I went to the pharmacy to fill the prescriptions where the pharmacist said she needed to go over my medications. She pulled out a list and began to go through them one by one, knowing nothing of my history, and inform me that I don't have my pain under control, or me depression under control, my anxiety under control, my cramping under control.
I got out of there by the skin of my teeth, a panic attack barely avoided. Last stop was a quick pop into the dollar store, to supplement the pantry with food I can actually afford. Upon putting in my PIN the transaction was rejected. I had forgotten to verify my balance. I quickly looked around and saw just one register open and 5 people in line behind me.
Panic mode engaged.
I fumbled with my cell phone to open the bank's app so I could transfer money. The app wouldn't open.
My breathing got more shallow.
I restarted the app, it still wouldn't work.
I broke out into a cold sweat.
I turned off the wifi on my phone, hoping the wireless data would work better and, thankfully, it did.
My hands were now shaking like a paint mixer.
I closed my eyes and took a feel breath before trying to transfer the money. It did.
I looked up and saw the line of people behind me, annoyed at having to wait, had grown to 8.
I sloppily took gold of the PIN pad and tried again. Thankfully, it went through and I could hurry from the store, just as a second register was opening.
Luckily, I had my Ativan with me and was able to get into the cool outside air, alone with my thoughts and a chance to slow my breathing.
That was two days ago. This morning I was still shaking so bad I dropped my morning cup of coffee, spilling sweetener and milk all over the kitchen. It's nearly nine o'clock at night and I'm still elevated.
I dont need a pharmacist to tell me I dont have my health, physical or mental, under control. What I need is a way to fix it or at least control it.
Because right now I am as out of control as a kite with a broken string, slave to both the gentle breezes and the irresistible gusts of life and I need to find a way to regain a grasp before things get out of reach.
I've just come out of my closet about my mental health. I knew that there were a lot of people feeling, thinking exactly like me. but every time I read something or I talk to someone I feel amazed every fucking time. Fucking pharmacist. seriously. I mean seriously! This made me remember the people who learn about my bpd. Especially the ones I date. "Now I am even more attracted to you" then a single set back happens and good luck to see them again. The constant, spontaneous reminders of your illness even though you never forget. I really dont know how to end this comment but they talk as if they are perfect but none are. and I love you inspite of your shakiness and anxiety and shame and all the bad things. I really mean it.
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