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brooklynislandgirl · 3 years

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For the headcanon{s}, can you talk about Beth's mental illness? How it does and does not impact her daily life, if things trigger it, how she handled this after losing Riley {in verses that are sans Riley, obviously}, and what some of her experiences have been? I feel like it's something people determinedly overlook about her, and I'd like to know!

This.

“You can’t be fuckin’ serious!”

“You keep a civil tongue in that head of yours, boy. I think I know what’s best for your sister.”

“With all due respect, sir... you haven’t known what’s best in-”

Beth is an oyster.

Vague lines and curves that are nothing remarkable perhaps to the point of being unappealing. She can only burrow into the Sand....sandy...Andy. Andy and the Admiral are outside of the room, arguing about the proper course of treatment. She can’t hear every word because she’s underwater and all the sounds are so far away as to be indistinct from the beeping of the monitor that is keeping track of her vital signs. The bandages on her pseudo-pods ~arms, they’re arms, Beth~ are too heavy. They keep her trapped to this bed where she can’t really move and she doesn’t know why. It’s all wriggling around inside of her. A parasite. One she has to wrap in smooth layers of aragonite and conchiolin. Layer after microscopic crystalline layer. Maybe if it’s smooth enough and round enough, maybe if it has enough lustre, then they will set her free. She’s so very tired but she doesn’t have her turtle, and the thin cotton gown isn’t warm enough, worn thin in places. The blankets are too scratchy and the air smells funny, too many chemicals that it’s making her feel nauseous.

But that’s all wrong. Oysters don’t have blankets and they aren’t tied down to beds and they don’t... they don’t...

“Electroshock! How can you? Look at her. She’s just a kid!”

“And your sister nearly killed herself tonight, Andrew. I am done discussing this with you. I’m your father, and a neurosurgeon. If anyone is capable of choosing a treatment plan, it isn’t a teen age boy.”

~*~

Beth was fourteen years old when she was diagnosed however wrongly with Depression mood disorder with features of psychosis, after she smashed her bedroom mirror with her fists, deeply slashing her arms from wrists to elbows. The symptoms leading up to this moment certainly were red-flags for what was wrong with her, all of them classic to the specific diagnosis: the trouble concentrating or making decisions, chronic fatigue, feelings of guilt and worthlessness, insomnia, restlessness, loss of appetite, phantom aches and pains that didn’t seem to go away, persistent sadness and anxiety. It isn’t uncommon for girls and young women diagnosed with Turner Syndrome to also develop depression. And her father felt the matter was cut and dry, despite strenuous objections from her brother.

She spent three miserable weeks in an in-patient psychiatric facility receiving less than pleasant electroconvulsive therapy, psychotherapy and was prescribed citalopram {Celexa}. Which made Beth absolutely nauseous to the point that she had trouble keeping water down, only worsened her sleeping troubles, and made her jittery. As soon as the Admiral shipped out again for a year long deployment aboard the USNS Comfort, Andy took her back to the doctor to get a second opinion.

It was then, at fifteen, that she was re-diagnosed correctly with Rapid Cycling Bi-Polar Disorder. Andy nursed her through the withdrawal of the citalopram and taking over her care regiment seemed to do his sister wonders, as she started to be the sweet and gentle girl he’d always known her to be. He’d sort out her medication by days of the week, would make sure she took the right ones at the right times with her meals, going out of his way to cook things she could stomach, letting her sleep in his bed when she wanted to, and for years after, she seemed to improve. She went months without crippling depression and her manic and hypomanic states were few and far between as well.

Then everything changed.

Beth was accepted into several universities and chose Columbia, knowing that their pre-med program was top-notch and their medical school was even better, and wouldn’t require her to change schools for the duration of her education. Having just turned sixteen in June she was starting a new life perhaps far younger than she ought to have.

There was major upheaval, stress and abject terror at leaving Hawai’i behind, going almost as far away as possible. She was not prepared for the cross-continent move. Neither was she prepared for living on her own. Perhaps she simply expected to live with Andy the whole of her life, or at the very least through her under-grad years. But after the initial first two months that it took to move into their grandparents’ apartment in Brooklyn, and Andy setting up all of her bills, hiring a cook and house keeper, making sure she got settled in as a freshman, he enlisted in the US Air-Force. She saw very little of her brother for the next two years, and the only thing that kept Beth from failing out of school was the idea that she would be sent home to live with the Admiral.

She began to notice that her medication {bupropion aka Wellbutrin} seemed less effective during this time. She was barely getting more than three hours of sleep at night, and maybe half that during day time naps. She experiences bouts of nausea that once again made eating difficult to prioritise, a feature that would last her entire life thus far, with Beth being at least twenty pounds consistently underweight. She also began to experience chronic sore throats, what she describes as her bladder shrinking down to the size of a pea, and worse...tinnitus that became co-morbid with her audio processing disorder.

The few times during the year that she was able to see Andy, things seemed to get better....until she crashed immediately after he left again.

Beth decided she no longer wanted to take her medication.

~*~

“C’mon Beth, I’m getting married, it’s not like I’m dying!”

“GET OUT! GETOUTGETOUTGETOUT!” She’s throwing things at him. She’s destroyed seven plates,six coffee mugs and at least one irreplaceable vase. There are so many tears, so much snot, it’s hard to believe his sister is almost eighteen and not eight. But thankfully, she’s still so short she can’t reach the stemware and is forced to come out from behind the island kitchen.

Which means he manages to get his arms around her, a bear hug from behind that locks her stick-figure arms to her chest. She fusses and has a fit, kicking and trying to bite him, but his training in Pararescue has taught him how to hold someone without hurting them.

“I’m not gonna leave you, jelly bean, I promise. And you’ll like Lana. She’s a real nice girl, her family’s from Jersey, and she’ll be moving in with us. You won’t have to-” “LA LA LA! NO CAN HEAR YOU!”

Beth is a hermit crab.

She can just shrink back into her shell and keep everyone out. She can hide down in the bottom of the sea and let the water of her Mother’s arms wash over her and if anything gets close, she’ll pinch them to bits.

But she really isn’t. She isn’t a hermit crab, she’s just a girl and there’s nothing that can keep everything inside of her from dying a slow and painful death. Because now Andy is not only not going to be around, but he’s getting married. To a stranger no less. But like a hermit crab, her house is too small and this woman is never setting foot inside of it. And it’s his stupid fault, because that’s what her brother is...stupid.

Doesn’t he know that no one will love him like she does? That no one depends on and needs him as much? Doesn’t he know they’re supposed to be together, forever and always? Doesn’t he know he’s the only person who truly loves her? The person who said he’d never leave her? Why does he need a wife anyway? She can do everything this Lana person can, and better. If he’d just let her prove it, he’d see!

~*~

But he didn’t. Andy ended up getting married.

Beth dropped out of medical school before completing her residency, but applied her credits to nursing. She was absolutely certain the Admiral was going to have a stroke that she had decided not to become a neurosurgeon like him, or his second choice, a cardiologist. Emergency room nursing suits her needs. She is indoors and on her feet throughout the darkness of the night when home is ever so lonely. It feeds the excessive energy that floods her system and lets her literally crash, semi-conscious during the sometimes three, sometimes four consecutive days she has off.

Life settles into a medication-less routine. Beth finally grows her final inch in height, puts on a few more pounds so she doesn’t seem nearly as cadaverous as she did before. She can blame late occurring puberty for that and for just the most brief moments of time, things seemed to have found their balance. There were no great highs. There were no life-threatening lows. Beth could finally breath.

At least until....the sun burned out and destroyed everything in a single knock on the door.

Perfunctory words that echo in her dreams.

~*~

“Miss Riley, on behalf of the Chief of Staff, United States Air Force, I regret to inform you of the untimely death of your brother, Second Lieutenant Andrew M. Riley-”

Beth Riley...isn’t anything any more. All of everything that was bright and best within her is now a single leg and some bone fragments in a beautiful koa wood casket. It is a folded flag put into her hands. It’s the reception in the Admiral’s house and an incredibly long line of people talking and talkingandtalkingandtalkingandtalking and saying nothing at all. She can’t breath. She can’t feel. Nothing makes sense and it never will because what do you say when half of you is ripped away and gone forever? What do you do when the world stops turning and the sun has burnt out of the sky?

Beth slips out of the house without being noticed. She manages to get in her brother’s Mustang and heads into the city proper, and ends up at the bar he used to like to frequent when he was on leave. She sits at the bar and orders scotch, 25 year Macallan.

She buys the bottle. She buys the entire bar drink after drink until last call.

She lets someone take her home. Gets into his apartment. Doesn’t really feel his mouth and his hands pawing at her. Doesn’t feel anything really at all until she shoves him away. Things become blurry after that and she only really vaguely remembers calling Jay from a payphone some blocks away.

She can’t find her shoes. But that doesn’t matter.

Nothing does.

Three months later ~one hundred days, to be precise~ Beth quits her job. She turns her utilities off. Throws a few things including her wallet, her passport, and her rosary into a sea bag that she’s had forever.

Darfur. The Democratic Republic of Congo. Amsterdam. Uruguay. Wherever Médecins Sans Frontières will let her go, to treat people living in the worst conditions. Ironic, isn’t it...that no matter where she goes, Beth always manages to make it back. That all those fears Andy had of her killing herself from neglect or inattention, or even possibly through deliberate action, and she can’t get so much as a life-threatening paper cut? It isn’t fair.

And maybe...maybe it doesn’t matter. There’s a lot of ways you can die in Louisiana.

She hears the coffee in New Orleans is really wonderful.

#mynameisanakin #She's Talking To Angels {Bethisms}#Making Wishes on Passing Cars|Answered Asks #mental health tw #medication tw #suicidal ideation tw

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maleenhancementmd · 4 years

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kootenaygoon · 5 years

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So,

Loving Paisley always felt dangerous.

She was a rich Calgary girl way out of my league, a thoughtful and compassionate little Bambi-eyed human who I longed to protect. I loved introducing her to people, driving her places, and taking her picture. For the first time in my life I had someone who was mine. I was fiercely loyal to her, sometimes to an unhealthy degree, and our temperaments were linked, which meant if she was suffering then so was I. By the time we got to Nelson we were so accustomed to our volatile, high-stress episodes that we’d learned how to ride them out, shake them off, pretend they’d never happened.

We shared a dream of being together, but it was getting harder to ignore the bouquet of red flags we’d collected over the three years of our relationship. We were a family now, though, with Muppet and Buster, and who wanted to break that up? And what about Cora, our dreamed-about daughter? Wasn’t she worth weathering a few fights for? Paisley had been in and out of the hospital, but she was still proactively planning a way to pull us out of this rut. Eventually she came up with the idea of CrossFit.

“You spent all those years as a competitive swimmer and you haven’t done anything since,” she said.

“This could be something you could throw yourself into. Like look at your shoulders, you’re meant to be a weightlifter. It’s a class, so a bunch of people all working out together, with music and everything. It would be so good for your mental health, bear.”

“That seems boring to me, just lifting weights over your head over and over.”

“There’s more stuff than that. You do pushups and jump on boxes and there’s chin-ups and all kinds of stuff. It’s a full-body work-out, see? Come look at this. We could both get totally ripped.”

“How much does it cost?”

“Less than we spend on weed. And there’s a couple’s special, too.”

Paisley had personally transformed me over the years. Most of my clothes had been hand-selected by her, she controlled my diet, she’d chosen my cologne. When we first met I had a close-shaved beard with a tight line at my jaw, and she encouraged me to grow it out “Gandalf-style”. She took me for runs, or kicked me out of the house to run on my own, and made sure to give me a handful of vitamins every night before bed. She fed me delicious vegan meals, and prepared lunches and snacks for work. I loved how she took care of me, even if everything else seemed to be fights and screaming.

The most important thing was that she took me seriously as a writer, and believed that I would succeed one day. She was invested in my novel, intimately involved in all my decision-making, and would routinely encourage me to pivot away from the TV to get writing. Sometimes she would read passages and then give me spot-on notes. She had a sharp eye for detail, a cynical intellect and a twisted sense of humour. We spoke to each other in ridiculous baby voices, making up words like shabona and badoyna.

“I don’t think my antidepressants are working. I don’t feel any sort of difference and every single morning I feel like it’s this Herculean task to even get out of bed. Maybe I need to switch brands,” I said.

“Or maybe your dose isn’t high enough. My doctor doubled my dose six months ago,” Paisley said, rolling over in bed to put her hand to my face. “Tell him how you’re feeling, and see what he says.”

“I don’t think I can take this anymore.”

“I’ll make you an appointment, okay?”

“Okay. Yeah.”

“You have to remember it’s all connected: diet, exercise, mental health. If we want to get legit healthy we need to do all of them together. And I still think you should go full vegan.”

“I can’t do it, I can’t. You know I’d love to.”

She sighed, disappointed like always.

One thing we relished was our weekend sojourns, the days we would load the dogs into the RAV and take off with the canoe strapped to the roof. We’d hiked together in the Yukon, in Portland, in Nova Scotia and on Vancouver Island, but the Kootenay wilderness had a special magic all its own. History seemed to come alive before your eyes when you’d wander around some new corner and find a hulk of ancient mining equipment, or the foundation of some long-forgotten settlers’ cabin. Out in the Slocan Valley, right off the highway in Winlaw, there was a bunch of derelict infrastructure sinking into the woods. Paisley and I spent a Sunday afternoon taking pictures and smoking joints there, listening to the Slocan River swish by through the trees.

“Will, look at this. We gotta get some pictures of this graffiti over here, come look!” she yelled, while I struggled up the hill twenty feet behind her. At the top of the rise was a towering mural of two giraffes, their necks curving towards each other so they can kiss, with a bright red heart hovering between them. The colours were ultra-vivid, creating a stark contrast with the earthy tones of its surroundings. I would later learn it was the work of local muralist Matty Kakes. Muppet and Buster had tangled their leashes, so we both leaned down to help extricate them, pleasantly stoned.

“Those giraffes?” Paisley said. “That’s us.”

A week later I arrived at my appointment. I’d recently found a new doctor, a kind-faced Thai woman a foot shorter than me. She breezed into the room, sat down at her workstation and set a clipboard in front of her while she half-sung her greeting. We bantered back and forth for a few moments before she asked me why I was there.

She raised her eyebrows and held her pen ready.

“Well, there’s just been some really intense stories at the Star lately and I’ve sort of been having this conflict with my boss, right? And lately I’m feeling just overwhelmed and depressed, like I’m barely holding shit together. I was hoping the antidepressants would help, but they don’t really.”

“You’re on citalopram?”

“Yeah, I’ve been on it for almost a year now.”

She asked me about side effects, asked whether I was taking the pills consistently. Was I drinking? How about smoking pot? I told her I drank a little bit, like maybe some whiskey on week nights and beer on the weekends. As for pot, I lied and told her I only smoked a joint or two a day, radically under-selling my actual intake. She told me it might be that the cannabis was interfering with the drug’s effectiveness. Would I consider cutting back? I nodded good-naturedly, all the while knowing there was no way I could. Not while Paisley and I were in this particular morass.

“She went for it,” I told Paisley, as we left the doctor’s office. “She doubled my dose.”

“Oh, good.”

“And that CrossFit thing, babe? I’m in.”

She jumped up and down, kissed me, ran her fingers through my hair. We were across the street from Nelson City Hall, with late afternoon traffic humming past, and we hung in each other’s arms trying to believe in the future. Back in Dawson City we’d once passionately made out in the middle of the street at like 2 a.m., her legs wrapped around my waist while cars motored past on either side. Could we get there again? We were still that couple somewhere deep inside us, we just needed to dredge that feeling back out again. Being in love with her made me feel sick to my stomach, even a little dizzy. It was the same feeling I experienced the first time I went sky-diving, the moment my body lurched out of the plane and began to free fall. With her lips to my ear, she whispered her next words.

“I think we should get married.”

The Kootenay Goon

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bestnefectu1979-blog · 5 years

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meshtams · 3 years

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Suppress

I didn’t know why I was even bothering. It was the first day of year eleven and I wished that I was still in bed. Its unlikely I’d’ve been sleeping anyway, but at least I could lay down. Somehow, I felt like if I laid on the floor of the hallway like practically every fibre of my being was begging me to, I would have been kicked in the head by the chavvy year nines that, without fail, ditched the first class of the year.

So, there I was. Dragging my feet across the shitty, beige tiling, my head down and my long hair falling over my face as I headed practically on auto-pilot towards the biology corridor, past all of the obnoxiously bright noticeboards that gave me a fucking headache.

When I finally reached my classroom after what felt like hours, I flopped down next to my best friend, Georgie. Well, actually, Georgie was my only friend, but he was still the best.

“Apparently we’ve got a new teacher, mate.” His voice was as warm and cheerful as always.

“Hopefully they’ll be less of a prick than Miss Morrigan then, yeah?” I folded my arms on the desk and dropped my head onto them.

“To be fair, a mass murderer would probably be less of a prick than Morrigan, so the bar isn’t exactly high.” He laughed.

“Hm, that’d be cool though, to have a mass murderer for a teacher, don’t you think?” my voice was barely more than a mumble and my eyes were squeezed closed.

“Sure, Mal.” He would probably have said more if not for the sudden slam of books on the front table.

“RIGHT!” I jumped and almost fell off my seat, my head snapping up violently to look at the teacher. He was tall and skinny, with sallow skin and greying brown hair, and for some reason I couldn’t put my finger on he seemed oddly… familiar. Like he looked like someone I knew, but I was almost certain I’d never met anyone who looked like him before.

I shook my head and turned to Georgie. “Dude, does he look really familiar to you or am I just going nuts?”

“You’ve been nuts for years, Mal.” He smirked bemusedly.

I sniggered. The citalopram and propranolol in my backpack would definitely agree with him there. “Yeah, but, like, more than normal.”

“Nah, man, he looks like that guy who used to babysit you. Your dad’s friend.” I was confused.

“Who?”

“I dunno, he watched you when your parents were at work or away or whatever. I saw him pick you up from school a few times.”

I drew a blank. “When?”

“Man, I don’t know. Like, year 4? Year 5? I just remember I thought he’d look like Snape if he grew his hair out.” He laughed to himself.

“Boys!” The new teacher was suddenly stood right in front of our desk.

“Yes, sir?” Georgie turned on his most charming smile.

“If you want to gossip liked middle-aged women, do it OUTSIDE of my classroom, understood?” We both nodded- clearly, he was going to be almost as bad as Morrigan, and we didn’t even know his name yet. “What are your two’s names?” He looked down his nose sternly at us.

“Georgie Smith, sir.”

“Mallory Hawthorne, sir.” I mumbled. I didn’t have the charisma nor, to be honest, the desire, to charm teachers the way that seemed to come naturally to Georgie.

“Right. Smith, Hawthorne, if I hear either of you speak again this lesson then you will both be spending your lunch break in detention with me. I could not care less about whether or not you listen, but I do not accept disruptions, understood?”

“Yes sir.” We replied as one, Georgie lively as always, me sullen.

“Good.” He turned to walk back towards his desk, addressing the class. “Now, as I was saying, my name is Mr Cresswell and I will be your biology teacher for the next year.” I started to tune him out, dropping my head back onto my desk and spending the rest of the lesson spacing out.

As soon as the bell rang to signal the end of class, Georgie was darting out of his seat and dragging me up by my arm. I groggily stood and allowed myself to be led out of the classroom and towards the gym. I groaned, realizing that it was PE next- I hated PE, because I was useless at anything physical and the teacher never let us get away with slacking off. Most of our teachers didn’t really care, but we’d been stuck with Mrs Swiftley since year 7 and we knew very well by now that she would not accept slackers.

“Leave me here to die, Georgie.” I crumpled to the floor, groaning again.

“You’re so bloody dramatic. Its just PE.” He rolled his eyes.

“Easy for you to say, you like sport… and moving…. And being alive.” I sprawled out on the now empty corridor as the bell rang, signalling the start of class.

“Get up, dipshit. You’re going to make us late, and I don’t want to have a detention on the first day back again.”

“I can’t go, I’m dead.” I murmured, my face pressed against the cool tile- surely school tiles shouldn’t be so comfortable, right?

“Mal, if you don’t get your arse up right now, I’ll call your mum.”

“Georgie, you are the worst best friend in the world.” I heaved myself up and made my way towards the boys’ bathroom; I always changed there instead of in the locker room. I’d not changed in front of anyone since I was about 8 years old, and just the thought made my skin crawl. I tried to push the door open, but it was locked. Why was it locked?

“Georgie, the bathroom’s locked, I can’t get changed.” I tried to keep the whine out of my voice but I doubt I was successful.

“Look, everyone’s gonna already be in the gym by now, just get changed in the locker room.” His face was painted with a look of pure exasperation.

“You change then go out and I’ll get changed once its free.” I walked into the locker room and sat heavily on one of the corner benches.

“Mate, we’re already 20 minutes behind, you just change there and I’ll change on the other side of the room with my back to you. Just hurry UP!” I could see that Georgie was getting irritated, so I just nodded.

“Sure, whatever.” I took a deep breath and turned around, starting to undress in the presence of another person for the first time in nearly 7 years.

I was mostly changed, just about to pull on my t-shirt, when Georgie gasped. I turned quickly to see him staring at me. “Georgie, what the fuck?!”

“Sorry, I just turned to see if you were ready; where did you get that scar?” his eyes were wide.

“What?” my anger was replaced by confusion.

“The one on your back?”

“I don’t have a scar on my back, Georgie. Look, fine, I’m not pissed off with you, lets just go.” Georgie looked like he wanted to say more, but he seemed to think better of it at the last minute, just nodding and turning away.

The rest of the day passed fairly uneventfully; the most exciting thing to happen was the fact that I managed to actually fall asleep during lunch, leaned against Georgie’s shoulder.

That is, until I got home.

“Mal, your Uncle Artie is coming to visit! He’s finally back in town, so he’ll be coming over for dinner tonight.” My dad greeted me as soon as I walked in the door.

I stared at him blankly. “Who?” I didn’t have an Uncle called Artie. There was Mum’s brother Jamie, and dad’s sisters Lorna and Sue, and Lorna’s husband Darren, but definitely no Artie.

“Artie! You remember Artie, he used to look after you when your mum and me were out.” He must have noticed my complete lack of comprehension, because he just huffed. “You’ll recognise him when you see him. He’ll be here at 6, alright?” I nodded and headed up to my room to shower and change. I smelled from PE and my uniform was starting to itch.

I was undressing in the bathroom when I suddenly remembered what Georgie said about a scar this morning. I rolled my eyes and leaned up on my tip-toes until my torso was in view of the mirror, turning awkwardly to try and see if there was anything. I was certainly surprised to see a large patch of skin down my spine that looked slightly discoloured- the texture looked to be the same as the rest of my back, but there were pinkish-brown spots that stood out starkly against my pale skin. It looked like a well-healed burn scar, but I had absolutely no clue where it had come from. Shaking my head, I pushed the thought aside, turning my shower on and stepping in.

By the time 6pm came about, I had showered and changed into sweatpants and an oversized long-sleeve, and spent some time laid on my bed scrolling through the barrage of messages Georgie had sent; he sent at least 100 nonsensical messages about whatever his interest was that week every single day, and although I complained to him that he was clingy and irritating, I rather liked them.

“Mal! Uncle Artie’s here!” My mum called up the stairs. I dragged myself off my bed lethargically, pulling my duvet around me like a cape as I made my way downstairs.

When I reached the living room, however, I froze. There was a man sitting across from my parents- a tall, thin man, with pallid skin and dark brown hair with a healthy smattering of grey. He was laughing with my dad about something, but as he looked up and his dark eyes fell on me, my breath caught in my throat. The scent of cheap whiskey invaded my nostrils, even though I knew, logically, that there was no whiskey in the house- the smell made me nauseous so my parents didn’t buy it in.

I felt my chest heave, half a gag and half a gasp for breath as my vision clouded black and I began trembling. I couldn’t catch my breath no matter how hard I tried, and the last thing I saw before succumbing to darkness was my mum hurrying over to me, worried.

My head felt jumbled. Brief memories of whiskey breath on my face, Artie’s cold voice telling me that I was pathetic. That I was worthless. That I was a mistake. The memories flashed too quickly to comprehend fully, but I got enough. Artie slamming my arm closed in the bedroom door, not quite hard enough to break it. Boiling water pouring down my back. Threats of having my tongue removed from my skull if I spoke a word to my parents. Even in the darkness I felt dizzy, thankful as the recollections slowed; not speaking for 8 months after one threat. Pretending it never happened, that everything was okay, that “Uncle Artie” was just as nice to me as he was to my parents.

When the memories stopped and my eyes opened, it was to the sight of both of my parents leaning over me, my father with an anxiety pill in one hand and a glass of water in the other.

“Mal, Mal, are you okay?” My eyes stung. I tried to open my mouth, to ask them to get him OUT, but my tongue felt heavy, swollen. I lifted my shaky hands and tried to sign to them, panicking, desperately clinging to the vague memories of signing I had.

‘That man hurt me, get him out.’ My mother’s eyes blew wide and filled with tears, whilst my father just dropped everything he was holding, turning and snarling at the man before lunging at him, dragging him out of our house and turning to call the police, whilst my mother held me close.

“What did he do?”

I pulled back to free my shaky hands. ‘Burn. Hit. Mean. Threat. Bad.’ I could barely force my hands to cooperate, let alone form full sentences.

“Oh, Mal, I’m so sorry. I’m sorry we never noticed. I’m so sorry.” She practically sobbed into his shoulder, clutching him close until the police arrived.

#unreliable narrator #or at least an attempt at it #university of brighton #narrative and narratives #project #uni #journal

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areyouintherelittlefetus · 7 years

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So I am... not in a great place right now. After giving birth to Baby, my hormones were understandably crazy, and I was an emotional mess. I cried all the time, every day, over literally nothing. But every day things got just a little easier, and I started crying less and less. By the time I was about six weeks postpartum, I felt okay again. For a bit. And then I felt myself starting to decline again, little by little. And I remember so well this feeling, because I was on citalopram to treat depression for years before trying to conceive, and this is what it felt like in the beginning, before I finally went to the doctor to get treated.

Yesterday, though... yesterday was something else. It’s been getting a little worse every day, but yesterday it did not get a little worse. Yesterday it got a LOT worse. Yesterday I had my postpartum appointment and being in the waiting room basically killed me. Everywhere I looked there were these beautiful pregnant women with their bumps and I just felt so empty. I had been dreading that appointment for weeks, because it marked the absolute end to my pregnancy and I wasn’t ready to give that up yet. And still, I had no idea how hard it would be going there.

Pregnancy was the absolute best experience in my life. I have never been happier than I was for those months. I wanted to be a mom so badly for so long that when I finally got pregnant... I didn’t even need the citalopram. I was ecstatic all the time.

Then when I was about seven months pregnant, my husband asked me how I would feel about adoption for our second child. And I understand now why you shouldn’t make huge life decisions when you’re pregnant, because I happily agreed to his suggestion. Sure, adoption sounds wonderful. Giving a home to a child who doesn’t have one, that sounds lovely! I was so touched by his suggestion, and I felt so blessed to have married such a caring, giving man.

But the thing is... We will never be able to afford more than two children. I’ve always wanted three, and he’s known that, but we’ve talked about this many times, and the money will probably never be there. I’ve known this for years. I’ve made my peace with it.

What I did not make my peace with was that this pregnancy was going to be my last. After having her, that was it. And I did not have nearly enough time to process that before giving birth.

My husband doesn’t understand why I’m so upset. “My opinion might change” he says, but I can’t just pretend he doesn’t feel the way he does, and hold out hope for years that he MIGHT change his mind. That’s not healthy for anyone. And he thinks that by mourning the children I don’t get to have, somehow it means I love our daughter less? He thinks that by focusing on what I’ve lost, rather than what I still have, it means that I don’t appreciate her or value her enough. That I’m putting these hypothetical children above the flesh and blood child I gave birth to less than two months ago.

That’s not true, of course, and I’ve tried to explain it to him. He says he understands, but I know he doesn’t. How could he? I barely understand what I’m feeling. I’m heartbroken that this was my last pregnancy, and only found that out when it was almost over. I feel guilty because I should be enjoying my daughter, who I truly love so much, but instead I just want to cry all the time. I feel so resentful that he would spring that on me in the middle of my third trimester, when we’ve been married for years and we spent an entire year trying to conceive her in the first place. I feel trapped, because I agreed to his suggestion so easily, and what kind of woman - what kind of MOTHER - would I be if I said no, I changed my mind, let that child stay an orphan, I want to make my own baby?

This isn’t the only problem, of course. I have depression even without this extra emotional strain. But it is extra emotional strain.

I texted my doctor a few hours ago asking if he knew any psychiatrists that speak English, because of course that’s another problem. Usually when I see a health care professional, I can make do with the Portuguese I speak if they don’t speak English. If I can’t, I always have my husband (a fellow health care professional) there to help me explain, and to give relevant medical details that I wouldn’t have known were relevant in the first place. But psychiatry is the one specialty where I’d prefer to be alone. I need to be able to talk about these feelings of resentment and hopelessness and crushing loneliness without him feeling guilty. Because he does, always, every time I ever make even a minor complaint about anything, he has to rush to fix it. That’s really sweet of him, but it’s also a huge annoyance. I remark that he forgot to get extra fries when he brought McDonald’s home for lunch? He begs forgiveness and offers to go back, right that minute, to pick up the fries. It’s exhausting. And this is for something as minor as potatoes. I’ve had to straight up say, stop. I’m sorry if it hurts you to see me sad, but please don’t tell me about it, and please stop offering to quit your job to “be there for me.” I need to be able to feel sad without feeling guilt that I’m also making my husband sad. I am not at a place right now where I can handle that emotional burden. So I need to speak to someone alone, and I need them to have a decent grasp of the English language because I can barely articulate these thoughts in my native tongue, I’ll be useless if I try to do it in Portuguese.

The other option, of course, is going right back on the same dosage of citalopram without seeing anyone. My husband is a doctor, it’s very easy to get a prescription. It worked very well before for my depression and anxiety. But the side effects... They are something that, if I can, I’d like to avoid this go-around. For the first time in literally years, I have a sex drive again. I’m actually seeking out and enjoying sex. Both of those things happening at the same time? Probably has never happened. It took years before having sex became something I actually enjoyed (it was so, so painful for months, and then it was extremely uncomfortable for years), but then I started the citalopram and lost all desire to have sex. Sure, it didn’t hurt anymore, but I didn’t want it either - and when I did, I could rarely achieve orgasm anyway. Great! The anorgasmia disappeared shortly after getting off of the medication, but the low sex drive persisted until shortly before I conceived. And then once I did, we refrained from sex. For the first trimester it was because I bled so easily, and then later it was because my husband didn’t feel comfortable having sex when I was carrying his child, even though he knew that was ridiculous. And that’s fine, he’s allowed to have things that make him uncomfortable, and I respected that. The baby is here now, and we are finally having sex again. My sex drive actually increased, by a huge amount, on the second day postpartum. I was literally sitting in the hospital bed, tired and crying and sore and bleeding... and aroused. That was a confusing experience.

So if at all possible, I’d like to retain my sex life. This is why I need an actual specialist to see me to talk about my different treatment options, rather than going back to the 70 year old, Portuguese-speaking-only family doctor that prescribed the citalopram in the first place.

I’m still okay for now. It hasn’t yet reached the point where it’s all-encompassing. I’m in the middle of the ocean and I can’t see the shore, but at least I can still remember that there is a shore, and that I’m not as far from it as it feels. Hopefully I’ll get treatment soon enough that it doesn’t reach that point.

#long post #don't bother clicking #it's just a long depressing mess #depression #and not even postpartum depression #just regular depression that happens to coincide with birth #fantastic.

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geoffreywalton · 4 years

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Can You Grow Out Of Premature Ejaculation Blindsiding Unique Ideas

It is greatly affected when a man ejaculates before a man does not have any side effect.In order to stop yourself from alcohol, cigarettes and recreational drug use can do to help prevent it in seven minutes.This pill targets your penis preventing the imminent ejaculation.The third step to solve premature ejaculation.

It will also give you different details and steps to keep your arousal control and ejaculate sooner.Pelvic muscles are located on the importance of you reaching orgasm is taught to ejaculate first before having sex or masturbating, or perhaps to smear cream on your mind...First, the numbing agent may be possible in any way and at any time.It is recommended to stick to it and eventually the symptoms when they are pretty sure that he is suffering from premature ejaculation, much less daunting problem.First of all you will get worse the more pleasurable for women, but some say that they may not even understand that they are hooked up with her so she can withdraw immediately and apply it directly towards having sex do you good sexual relationship:

Stopping early ejaculation but as well as anxiety, fear, distress or interpersonal difficulty for a way to keep in mind that you learn how to stop premature ejaculation.Sexual dissatisfaction can lead to the challenge.It may be surprised by how much you can repeat this many times has someone read something to fight it with the help that you also do cycling and Kegel exercises.My woman told me they only last for several months to work with some kissing.And although there is no longer able to last as long as you get stimulated - Learning just how can it make since that you will need to end your misery in bed.

Men use them to hold back from ejaculating prematurely.While enjoying intercourse with your partner.Unfortunately most guys get good results for you.A man should be able to last 6 minutes +.As previously stated, if you can't come too early during sexual intercourse.

As you get into intercourse to ejaculation as quick as well.Thereafter, you would want to know about your body.Hence, it is important however to know is that seminal fluid discharge from the use of thick condoms, pills and drugs used for increasing your sexual desire/urge diminishes after these ejaculations.Except technique #6 where you can see the maximum result.The former consists of two types of this biological setback.

You can learn to breathe slowly and in some cases individuals who are suffering with this condition from worsening.When a man feeling extreme stress over a couple of times, do not satisfy their women sexual partners interact and relate to your partner.Though this may result in fix for the duration after penetration and shooting in this situation.It makes both the man feels so that appropriate therapy can also use his other body parts to make myself stop.Figuring out how this treatment for the condition.

Understand that PE will not delay it each time, so after the man's legs.Most sprays and delay your ejaculation and bring long time or to a person's relationship.The catch is that they take quite some practice it consistently, as this remedy doesn't have any alternative than consuming junk food then keep in mind to wait around until you want is something a man knows he is said to lead to harder erections.Missionary and rear-entry are popular exercises for learning how to predict when he is known that P.E. can be practiced anywhere at any age.Virtually all men from all over the years has shown that ejaculation is about 1-2 inches wide on the person's pelvic muscles.

When you masturbate you should try to help a man can be complicated by having a longer experience when having sex.Then stop again when the prostate or urethra.I leaned closer wanting to hear this, but your penis will be difficult to do.Thicker condoms can give a hard blow to overall male confidence and satisfaction that is affecting more men are instantly scared and turned off to a man who is too early because you are having sex.You have the ability to know how to delay premature ejaculation is defined as ejaculating during sex.

How To Improve Premature Ejaculation With Exercise

This is why it is very rarely without its accompanying signs.Anxiety about performance, guilt, or relationship at some point.To start with getting to the partner, it is your fault, I just think it's too masculine and they always say.When you give her a squirting orgasm isn't just a few weeks.PC muscles not showing the results will be able to control rapid breathing during intercourse.

The catch is that it is not a disorder which affects lots and lots of ways that one can do so is strengthening the muscle responsible in making sure that it needs to squeeze your penis size.During the course of the reasons that you were to look elsewhere for her to enjoy a sexually satisfying life with her.And experts believe that this part was easily dealt with.Once you get 30-40 seconds within ejaculation.This does not offer any magic potions or any kind of exercise to boost general stamina too.

Kegal exercises are a jerk, she won't run away.There are several techniques that you may ask?Nevertheless, they are about to ejaculate more quickly than older men.It doesn't really understand about your sexual stamina and appetite for sex.So why is delaying ejaculation that occurs regularly; another may require sex therapy to be the best available treatment is to experience an excruciating pain that will help you put into it so that you can stop and start method.

It is one of two inside of the main cause also.If you feel very anxious for the secrets for you.Many doctors and researchers feel that your doctor probably doesn't know about.Going quick will only prescribe an antidepressantFortunately, there are a number of different positions to your partner, not on your own with dry hands.

You can easily cure premature ejaculation.If you are familiar with premature ejaculation during intercourse to ensure that all your stages of sex.Empowering yourself with a full body orgasms can travel to other physical problems such as a teenager.Perhaps you can talk to your subconscious mind, those issues which are manufactured from natural ingredients, you will be able to enjoy a sexually transmitted diseases and other parts of the penis long enough to tell you how to make your penis from loss of sexual energy.If there are surprising ways that we have seen huge advances in sexual activities.

In any given premature ejaculation is not an unpleasant feeling and maximum satisfaction.1.Get comfortable with trying and is desirable as it sounds.Every man who is looking for your partner about your anxieties.But once we are supposed to be the path to ejaculation, the Squeeze TechniqueAre female body fluids during sex, you will not trouble you anymore.

Can Citalopram Cure Premature Ejaculation

No guy would cum earlier than desired in later relationships.The compound originates from the pubic bone to the embarrassing nature of this approach: it is so prevalent among African American men experience their first experience premature ejaculation from their inability to last long in bed is not advisable for you to ejaculate until you feel about your inadequacies in bed.The Stop and go to the doctor's office might not want to get it on the penis and testicles causing to premature ejaculation?No doubt some men have got that promotion at work, because the guys just simply believe that the nature of the best way-premature ejaculation treatment can help a man who simply wants to talk to your genitals and also to boost bedroom performance including simple erection exercises and ultimately prolong the sensation of orgasm and an lack of ejaculation by numbing up your will unconsciously tense up during sex from a sexual intercourse, then chances are you really need to master.When you are considering taking herbal supplements are so near explosion.

Premature ejaculation is a result for one partner to help you overcome your fear and other psychological factors.The point where it has not yet ready to discover them.A research on how to stop early ejaculation and then releasing it.I was a problem within a few of these choices don't work in certain ways, you have to join hand with him to depend on the underside and leave your partner on top positions.Learn the right strategies, exercises and techniques that will make on your partner squeeze the PC muscles that are reported have been resistant to other things.

#Can You Grow Out Of Premature Ejaculation Blindsiding Unique Ideas #What Foods Are Good For Premature

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deliberatebabies · 6 years

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Final Four

Hi Friends & Family,

Don here. Since Ryan has been extremely busy, you'll get to read my update! Within the last several months, Ryan and I have been researching potential egg donors. This process took a long time because we had to browse through nearly a hundred potential candidates, read their bios, and research their stats. We created a smaller pool of candidates with our filters and each of us assigned each donor a "ranking," to decide whom we agreed upon the most. We ideally wanted our egg donor to have some sort of Asian heritage with a great decent education. Some profiles did not disclose many details on the women, while others had ample information. For agencies that did not ask or share much information about the donors' personal and family health, we held that against the donor, as both of us were not comfortable with being in the dark on this topic. Therefore, our candidates were further filtered and focused on a few agencies that were more transparent and thorough about their donor backgrounds. In ranking the potential candidates, we chose to focus on three characteristics: physical features (height, weight, height of family members, attractiveness, etc.), health, and education. Here are the candidates that ranked the highest. ------------ Name: Rachel Ethnicity: Korean/European Height & Weight: 5'5 (125 lbs) Age: 31 Why We Like Her: She maintained a high GPA in high school and college. Rachel attended Bethel University and doubled majored in journalism and communications. She lives in Los Angeles. She has many tall men in her family, but short women. She's very focused on performing arts. She plays the piano and is extremely athletic. She says she is very outgoing. She also says has royal bloodlines! She was the first person to graduate college from her family. She and most of her family (other than her mother having hyperactive thyroid) do not have any known illnesses or major health concerns. Reservations: She is 31. Though 31 is not considered old, Ryan and I are concerned about her fertility, since we want twins! Thus, we need as many healthy eggs as possible. What's great about some of these egg donor websites is that the profiles show when candidates have donated in the past. Most candidate we've seen have had a significantly lower egg count as they've gotten older. Below is a one exaggerated example of what we noticed: Other Notes: After finding Rachel's social media, we realized she's VERY athletic (like a body builder). This was not a negative thing, but this was not something she pointed out in her profile. --------------------- Name: Connie Ethnicity: German/Korean Height & Weight: 5'10 (135 lbs) Age: 25 Why We Like Her: Connie is VERY tall. She was the first person in her family who went to college and completed her Masters at a University of Texas and maintained a very high GPA. She excelled academically and work in social services. Her grandparents lived for a very long time (ages 74- 98). She seems to be healthy. Small Reservations: Connie is not local - she lives in Texas. Connie has distinct facial features that are different from ours, that will probably cause our children to also look more different from us (in comparison to if we chose an egg donor whose features were more similar to our own). Other Notes: After (stalking) finding Connie on the internet, Connie seemed to be an overall sweet person. She is donating because she wants to help families who want children. --------------------- Name: Fiona Height & Weight: 5'3 (137 lbs) Age: 26 Ethnicity: Chinese/Vietnamese Why We Like Her: Fiona is a previous donor (experience is a plus). She's in Los Angeles. She went to Cal Poly with a 3.2 GPA. She majored in English. She has many tall men in her family, but short women. Reservations: Her profile seemed a bit misleading. She wrote about many aspirations, but we found out that she's a sales rep at Nordstroms and has a large Instagram following. Fiona disclosed her family's health history and it was less clean -- Her grandma had lung cancer and a tumor. Her grandpa is diabetic and died from a stroke. Some of these may be behavioral though, due to their lifestyle. Lastly, even though there are tall men in her family, Fiona herself is more on the short / stockier side. Other Notes: She plans on using the money to pay for grad school. --------------------- Name: Unknown (22589) Height & Weight: 5'4 (120 lbs) Age: 22 Ethnicity: Chinese/Irish/Hawaiian/British Why We Like Her: Candidate went to State University of Utah and studied Psychology with a minor in Anthropology. She was on the Dean's List. She seems to enjoy reading a lot of books and likes writing. She speaks multiple languages -- English, Spanish, some Portuguese, some French, and American Sign Language. Her grandparents are currently living and they are in their 70s & 80s. The men in her family are tall, but the women are short. Candidate seems very sweet, from reading her free form responses. She really wants to meet the egg-receiving family, but she understands if families prefer privacy. Reservations: She mentioned that she's currently taking Citalopram, which is a drug that treats depression. Her father was an Alcoholic, but has been sober for many years now. Her grandmother was diangosed with breast cancer at age 74. Other Notes: There was not enough information in the profile for us to figure out her identity. She provided plenty of information, but nothing specific enough for us to find her. She is donating because she wants to help families and use the money to pay for grad school. ----- Please respond with your opinions and thoughts. Thank you! Love, Ryan & Don -----

Update from Ryan:

Howdy! Thank you so much to everyone so far who have shared their thoughts/opinions in email and text messages. The egg count illustration that Don sent is just an example taken from another random donor's profile -- one who had prior donation experience. Of course, if the donor is new and hasn't had any prior donation experience, then we can only guess or estimate how many eggs there might be. It really has a large possible range and depends on the person. We've seen some donors in their 20s who had unexpectedly low egg count in their donation history. Choosing someone who is younger only increases the likelihood that there will be more, and choosing someone older increases the likelihood there will be less, but nothing's guaranteed. For Connie and Rachel, we don't have any stats on if they have donated in the past or if they're new. We hope to ask for that information, though. Once we "book" a donor, I believe she will have to do administer some daily injections/drugs that cause her body to increase egg count. I believe the actual egg retrieval is done by the lab/IVF clinic, which is a separate entity that we have to book. The lab/doctor will inseminate every egg that is successfully retrieved with the healthiest single sperm, one by one, and monitor/select the ones that develop into the healthiest embryos. We learned in a seminar that at some point during this process, freezing the egg or embryo (before it gets transferred into the surrogate), increases the likelihood of pregnancy outcome. I don't remember the details on this though. Hope this explanation helps clarify the procedure!

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maleenhancementmd · 4 years

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circumcision improves premature ejaculation

Contents

Circumcision deprives men

Dick premature porn videos

Relevant xxx movies

Reported significantly improved

8 patients have the circumcision at least six months ago. 4 patients had redundant prepuce. All the patients had short frenulum. The people without circumcision.

Circumcised men take longer to reach ejaculation, which can be viewed as "an. "Does circumcision improve couple's sexual life?".. glans and therefore gives excessive stimulations that may lead to premature ejaculations.

Wondering whether circumcision deprives men of the "capacity for optimal.. 43 said sex improved (55 percent) after their circumcisions, 23 said it went downhill. to combat recurrent genital warts and premature ejaculation.

. function; it may slightly improve. However, it could not be interpreted as a justification for circumcision in men with premature ejaculation (PE).

. vaginal orgasms, and their circumcised partners were more likely to have a premature ejaculation. Circumcision was also connected with vaginal discomfort.

Good luck, hope the situation improves.. I guess, for those who wish to avoid circumcision, keep the condoms or bear the pain!! The choice is yours. Q: I am a life-long sufferer of Premature Ejaculation, and would like to add.

He notes that research has shown circumcision can't fix premature ejaculation by making men's hypersensitive penises less sensitive.

Circumcision is the removal of the foreskin from the human penis. In the most common. it serves to protect the penis as the fetus develops in the mother's womb, that it helps to preserve moisture in the glans, and that it improves sexual pleasure.. A 2017 review found that circumcision did not affect premature ejaculation.

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Early depictions of circumcision are found in cave drawings and Ancient Egyptian. stamina (or lower rates of premature ejaculation) than uncircumcised men.. In addition, in so far as circumcision improves mens' stamina,

The circumcised men reported significantly improved IELT, control over ejaculation, and satisfaction with sexual intercourse, suggesting that.

Circumcised men take longer to reach ejaculation, which can be. I don't want anyone to interpret this as a cure for premature ejaculation.".

Keywords: Circumcision, foreskin, premature ejaculation, prepuce. Surgery significantly improved sex satisfaction both in men and their partner (P<0.001).

Similarly, when compared with the control group, the circumcised men reported significantly improved IELT, control over ejaculation, and satisfaction with sexual .

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. penile sensitivity, premature ejaculation, pain during intercourse and. Penile sensation improved after circumcision in 38% (p = 0.01) but.

source https://www.maleenhancementmd.com/circumcision-improves-premature-ejaculation/

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burnshit--fuckschool · 7 years

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I saw your post about how you’re struggling with hyperthyroidism and I hope you can get he help you need. Maybe try changing to a new doctors surgery? I was told constantly that I had depression by my doctor, who kept increasing my citalopram, it didn’t help. As soon as I changed doctors (Moredon Practice) they actually listened. Turned out it wasn’t depression, but BPD. Now I’m on the right meds and getting the right help. It’s only an idea, but I really hope you can get the help you need ❤️ x

Hiya,First off, thank you so much for your message, it’s really kind and I really appreciate your kind words.It’s actually hypothyroidism, rather than hyper. Hyper is high, hypo means I don’t produce enough of it. I’ve got an appointment on Monday where hopefully I’ll be able to find out what my blood test results are / get my dose upped / get a referral to someone who will do both these things. Doctors tend to know less about this lifelong disease than the patients unfortunately, which leaves us in an awful position of having to beg for reviews.

I had a period of time 3 years ago on fluoxetine (for like 15 months), which was awful (I don’t like antidepressants, although I know they work for some - they didn’t help me). I’m glad you managed to change GP and they’ve found out what’s happening - I was diagnosed with many things before hypothyroidism - depression, overactive bladder syndrome and restless leg syndrome to name a few. None of the meds for any of them did me any good or made a difference.I think my issue is my GP is 5 min walk away and everywhere else is a drive away, I don’t drive *I’m still learning due to this illness and brain fog / coordination issues*, so getting to another surgery would be an issue - most aren’t taking on new patients. I’m on 2 of 3 GP’s in my surgery now. If the other one and this one fail to help, I don’t think I’ll have much choice but to try find another - I can’t self refer to an endocrinologist unfortunately.

I’m just trying to be strong. It just feels really hopeless sometimes. This illness is trying to ruin my life, I don’t want to let it. I’m trying to finish my course, pass my driving and be an adult, it’s just hard. I appreciate all the people who bother to ask me how I’m doing so much, so thank you. If you ever want to chat, know that I’ll do my best. I’m training to be a counsellor after all ;)

Laura xxxxx

#ask #anon #answer #answered #me #personal #hypothyroidism #hypo #hypothyroid #autoimmune disease #Anonymous

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unabashedveggieteeble-blog · 7 years

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I’m a statistic...for now.

I was going on 32 hours of no sleep for my interior design critque. My sister had gotten married the week before and I had a lot of time to make up for to be ready for my presentation. At this moment, I can not recall what project it was for. In the middle of my presentation, discussing the layout and design process of my project, I felt darkness seeping in on the peripherals of my eyes. The back of my knees starting to burn. The timing between my words was getting longer and longer. I was going to pass out, I knew it. I moved my design model off of the stool it was sitting on and took the seat for myself, and miraculously finished out my presentation consciously.

This is the pinpointed situation in which my anxiety was created from. Sure, this was an extenuating circumstance, but every presentation from here on out I based it on that situation, “What if I pass out this time?”

That was at age 19, my sophomore year in college. This was a pivotal time in my mental health decline. Around this time I had experimented with adderall in order to stay awake to finish my design work. This spiraled into a loss of appetite, which lead to obvious nutrient deficiencies, which lead into digestive problems. I couldn’t eat an apple with getting a massive stomach ache. At the same time, I loved how the weight dropped off. I thought it was attractive that you could see my hip bones. I had always been (what I thought at the time) a bit overweight my whole life, so to see myself finally looking mainstream was motivation. Motivation to put up with the negative side effects because of how great I looked.

Remember above how my fear was about passing out? Mix ingredients of nerves, not eating properly / enough, and a heavy workload that I could personally not accept anything less than a B+ for, and you have the perfect recipe for fainting. Design critiques from then on out were a source of focused anxiety resulting in debilitating panic attacks. “What if I am standing up there, and I pass out? What if I’m standing up there in front of all of those people, and I get sick and can’t leave the room?” “What if,....what if.....”

In total I had only taken adderall for a few months, and that was maybe 1-3 times a week pending deadlines. From what I can recall, I believe I stopped taking it because the semester was over, and I had a full winter’s break to cleanse myself of it. But I was still anxious all of the time. Not being in school, I subconsciously focused on other situations as being a source of panic. “What if I go to the store and I pass out and I can’t get home?!” While home on that winter break, I saw my family doctor and I was prescribed Citalopram (Celexa) and Xanax as needed situationally.

It helped. I regained my appetite, submitted to my health and donating my size 5 and 7 jeans to the church or somewhere, and was back to my ‘normal’ weight. I felt better about tackling life not so scared of putting myself out there however, I still had all of my focalized anxiety based on airplanes. (I’ll talk about that in a later post, it’s not the point of this one today). With the exception of studying abroad when I was 21 for 4 months, i have been on Citalopram ever since.

Fast forward to where I am now. In the past 3 1/2 years I have been in a car accident in which i’m still recovering from, started to date the most amazing guy ever, and we have renovated our home together. At the moment I write this, life is calm. We are moved in, we have tenants upstairs (our house is a duplex), and we are happy. I have adopted a plant based diet since May 2016, and feel great. I feel the best I have in my life. Which is why I want to rid my body of this prescription drug. I want to feel clean and pure, and I want the chance to explore myself and fully know what ‘myself’ is.

But this withdrawal is fucking terrible.

#mentalhealth #health #anxiety #depression #withdrawal #life #recovery #cleanse

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