Little White Pill

I knew my mother’s offer of a treadmill was another thinly veiled attempt to let me know she thinks I am fat. It’s pathetic that there is no ability for her to offer me such a generous gift. Those niceties never really existed for me anyway. I suppose it was nice of her to give me a journal at 9 years old and a calorie counting book to help me track the number of calories I was eating per day. But the gift of a lifetime battle with an eating disorder was more than I thought I was receiving at that time. And now, I no longer looked forward to her gifts.

Unfortunately the timing of this gift offer coincided with a week of uncontrolled anxiety. And the more anxious I was becoming the more difficult it was to spend time with the man I love. I was embarrassed for him to see me like this. Leaving the house this morning I knew it was a question of minutes before the panic attack set in. Thank god he didn’t see me as I struggled to breath and my hands clenching ever so tightly. The mantras, the breathing, none of it working. I hate the shame I feel over my inability to take control over myself. I suppose I even blame myself for not controlling my nerves and letting them rule my body. And now I had a witness. Over a decade of secluding myself from others allowed me to escape the shame I felt having anxiety. Yes, I need to medicate. Who wants to admit that? The only way I can feel “normal” is by taking treatment. Realistically though, it works. It’s a relief to feel my heart begin a regular pace and my breathing no longer labored. And I don’t know how to be around him now as I work towards getting better… again.

I didn’t even know how to be better with the changes happening all around me. The Viking and I decided to take the plunge toward cohabitation. And now I had a real choice; I could choose to live with him or I could choose to live with my anxiety. At the moment I am leaning towards the anxiety because having him see me like this is too difficult for me to stomach. The fears of rejection, of him not accepting me, of him seeing me as difficult and ultimately of him abandoning me were too much to bear. Still I long for the partnership he offers and try to remind myself the concerns floating in my head were the result of my anxiety and not based in reality. I was too afraid to ask him for the truth since ultimately it would require a vulnerability I wasn’t comfortable with. I suppose for him to love me, to really love me meant he would have to know all of me. Even this… the stuff I didn’t even want to know or acknowledge about myself. The part of me I see as hopelessly broken if not for the little white pill. Yes, the little white pill. And with one quick drink of water I am soon on my way toward clarity once again.