the one where I fall apart
I’ve been on Prozac for three days.
Yesterday, I left work an hour after showing up, because I was panicking and feeling trapped. I kept feeling like I was about to lose my shit and cry myself into a puddle.
This morning, I woke up before my alarm. My husband said goodbye to me and kissed me as he left for work. And I lay in bed and panicked.
And panicked, and panicked, and panicked.
What if I leave the house and I fall apart? What if I try to go to work, and they bring me in to scold me about leaving yesterday? What if I go to work and I lose my shit completely and everyone realizes I’m completely crazy. I should call out. I can’t do this today. That’s legitimate, right? What if they think I’m faking? I’ll text him and tell him the truth. Does that make it worse? “I’m sorry, I can’t come in, because my therapist wants to change my medication and now I’m a blithering mess.”
I’ll text him and tell him I’m having trouble switching meds. And then I’ll take a Xanax. Maybe two. And then I won’t look at my phone for the rest of the day. I don’t want to see his responses. If I read my texts he’ll infiltrate my home and my home is supposed to be where I’m safe.
I feel like I’m outside of my own body. It’s been a very long time since I’ve felt like this. Everything is in slow motion. The only way I got through my day today was by either sitting in the shower, or laying in the fetal position with my sleep mask over my eyes. The blinds were drawn and the doors were closed. I was safe here. I couldn’t be judged or questioned if I ignored everything and everyone.
Simon doesn’t know what to do. He’s never seen me like this. Most of the people in my life right now haven’t seen me struggle like this. I feel very much alone. And worse, I feel like this isn’t real. That I’m somehow making myself feel like this as some kind of excuse.
The guilt is almost as painful as the emptiness.