I asked my psychiatrist for an anxiety med after a lifetime of feeling like something was clawing at the inside of my chest, desperate to get out - Alien style.
I’d avoided it for years because of nightmare benzodiazepine stories, but my ability to show up was getting muddied—and I couldn’t afford to let that happen.
The past few years have been unbearable, no matter what strategies I threw at it. This anxiety is a four-layer sheet cake. The layers of racing thoughts, sensory sensitivity, chronic pain, and trauma with an extended lease.
It’s more than any nervous system should have to carry for this long. So I chose care over pride, relief over white-knuckling.
Today was the first day with the med and the difference was noticeable. I felt deep relief from a weight I couldn't lift off my chest on my own.
Sometimes the bravest thing you can do for yourself is stop fighting alone and let something help.
Thanks for being you,
- Brian
P.S. Comments about addiction (I’m not taking a benzo), big pharma, or the miracle supplement or technique you swear by would miss the point entirely—so kindly keep those to yourself.