Sinking

This trip to a beautiful rental house in the desert to celebrate my sister’s belated birthday was exactly three years ago.

The pandemic pushed back the dirty 30 festivities.

I look happy and carefree, don’t I?

I was happy mostly, but not carefree.

My long-festering anxiety decided to hit a feverish peak during this lovely weekend.

Try as I might, I couldn’t calm my brain.

I remember staring at the water pouring fancifully from the uber modern stainless steel faucet in the stark white bathroom, confused why my soul was outside my body.

There was a tightness in my chest I couldn’t shake, no matter how much I told myself everything in this moment was fine. Was good in fact.

On the drive home through the dirt, shrubs and palm trees, I was tortured with visions of opening the car passenger door and jumping out. I didn’t want to hurt myself. Still, the thoughts pestered me.

This is anxiety.

It doesn’t care that you are celebrating your sister and it’s not about you.

It is not deterred by scenic surroundings or the buzz of a lemon berry martini.

After this trip, I asked my doctor about medication for the anxiety that had plagued me on and off since that really bad summer after 6th grade.

Medicine for anxiety has been life-changing for me. Much like my son’s ADHD meds are his lifeline.

I feel like I have a floaty underneath me in the pool now, instead of trying to doggy paddle.

I hope that rather than getting by or struggling through anymore, you seek help and medication if it makes your life easier.

Even if you “should be” happy. Even if you’re mostly happy. Even if it’s your sister’s birthday party and there’s so much to celebrate.