Before writing this, I tell myself that I don’t know how I managed to survive without my anti-anxiety pills for a month. That’s not really true. I managed because I did whatever I can to survive. I will admit that there were unhealthy coping mechanisms – nothing too extreme – but I do consider them unhealthy. I’ve been sleeping the anxiety off, overeating (pizza budget was exceeded,) negative/dark thoughts…
But I did survive the anxiety attacks. It did come with costs, though. There were decisions and deeds that I shouldn’t have done. Actions that I regret doing, but I’m more than willing to bear the consequences. After all, I do have to take responsibility for them. That’s the right thing to do.
Despite having survived a month without my Alpazoram, I do maintain that I still need the pills. I could barely function when my anxiety was acting up. I couldn’t focus. I couldn’t make rational decisions. I could barely get out of the house. Every emotion that I felt weren’t to be trusted.
There were a lot of triggers the past month. The minor ones that I can work on immediately, I let snowball into something that would mentally and physically cripple me. I couldn’t deal. I’d just sprawl on my bed, sheets covering me, pillows burying my head. It was torture.
As with every battle, as with every bump on the road to my path to recovery from Clinical Depression and Generalized Anxiety Disorder, there were a lot of lessons that I learned. There were lots of things that I realized about myself.
I’m more resilient than ever. That’s the most important thing I learned about myself. As for the most important lesson? I’ve learned who’s really there for me when demons were inhabiting my mind.