I probably shouldn't have stopped taking my meds cold turkey, but I did. That was about two weeks ago. I just want to know that I can handle life without them. Maybe I can't. I don't go back to the doc until next week so we'll see how I do without them until then. It takes a while for them to be completely out of my system, but either way, no matter why I'm feeling like I was last night, I'm going to fight.
All I did was cry and realize that I still have demons to fight. I thought it was all over with just a few bumps in the road here and there and last night, I realized that it's not going to be like that. I still have to fight, every day, for my sanity. Every day is a battle, big or small, that I've got to fight. I have to keep myself in check. I don't want to end up in the psych ward again. That was just horrible. That's my biggest fear right now. Landing back in that place. It's time I did a little self-treatment.
My name is Lindsay and I'm mentally unstable.
There. I said what has been haunting me these past few months. My worst fear for someone like me who is very much independent is learning that I'm not as independent as I thought. I have to rely on people and medication to help me survive. It's not always going to be pretty with rainbows and butterflies. It's going to be so hard that I'm going to want to quit. End it all.
I'm not going to get to that point, hopefully. I won't allow it. Even now, all I want to do is cry. Cry over my loss of self-control. Cry at how I've lost me forever. I'm no longer who I was those few years ago when all of this began. I'm a new person now and I'm going to have to learn how to live with that. I need to relearn who I am. However, I refuse to be completely dependent on anything or anyone. I'm going to try my best to preserve that part of myself.
You see, lately in therapy, my major concerns were that I'm losing myself; I compare myself to my siblings; and I'm terrified of failure. That's what I did last night. I realized I had already lost myself. There weren't any pieces left to salvage. I, just like it seems everyone in my family does as well, compared how different I am to my siblings. I feel like an outcast. It used to be a good thing, something I appreciated, but now? I'm not so sure. Lastly is that one word that drains me of blood.
In case you haven't noticed, I have very high standards for myself. Very high, top of the line, standards. Good isn't good enough. I want excellence. I want to be independent and make all A's. I want to excel at the things that are most important to me.
Last semester, my first of college, I made all B's. A solid 3.0 GPA. I wasn't as heartbroken as I thought I would be, but I was still disappointed. That right there proves to me that I'm no longer myself - or the old me. If I was the old me, I would have been bawling giant tears of massive disappointment. It felt wrong to be satisfied with those grades, yet I was.
Some people tell me that I've accomplished so much for my age, yet I don't see it that way. Sure, I've written a few books, but does that make me accomplished? I don't see the "big deal" everyone makes it out to be. It's something I love doing so I do it. Nothing more than that. Right?
Really long story, broken down in paragraphs, is coming to an end. Thank you for taking the time to read this. I hope the point was received as I hoped it would be. The moral of my story is that no matter what, my demons are going to be lurking around the corners and I've got to be ready to body slam any one of them at a moment's notice. I'm going to fight with everything I have. I refuse to crumble into a hot mess of self-loss, failure, anxiety, and comparisons.