To Taper or Not To Taper
Oh, ho, this is a fun blog post. Not really. It is a continuation of what I started writing about in The Choice is Always Yours before I went off on a slight tangent of getting angry. Was it a tangent? Not really, because that is a part of tapering off the medication. Oh, the fun times of tapering medication.
Here is the continuing saga, the realness of what I and so many others are dealing with every day. The antsy, hyper-critical shit is coming out again. I think “it” (my brain, amygdala, wherever that stuff comes from) was too drugged up to say anything. But now, oh, that internal monologue of what a piece of shit I am.
That my blog is stupid, I am stupid for thinking that anyone cares about me, my thoughts, and my healing process except for me. And even then, that me, that internal specter, is the one telling me that I shouldn’t try too hard to be better, to be different because I am setting myself up for failure. After all, I am a shitty human being. I am worthless. Why try?
I have not missed that internal monologuer at all. I would be happy never to hear that again. But alas, I have to work through that too. Tapering my medication means that I am exposing layers that were silenced—too medicated to be able to hate myself. And actually, that is not where I want to be at all.
To Be Better
I want to be better. I want to be different. I know I can be just that because meds silenced that part of the last year I was on a higher dose of sertraline. Ah, the glorious silence of my worst critic – me. It was amazing. And I still struggled with that piece of me, but I could handle it.
I forgot how intense that inner critic is. How hard it is not to listen. Because it’s me, I have no choice to listen. And to change what that inner critic is saying, I have to listen. To understand and to change that inner critic. That is what I need to do.
I will rephrase that; it’s what I want to do. Needing isn’t strong enough; I want to change that inner monologue. I have listened to that part of myself for far too long. And I am so tired. I worked so hard to prove my worth to myself that I almost lost myself forever. So, yeah, inner critic, I hear you, but I will not let you influence me and my decisions anymore.
As for my blog, who cares if no one else cares about it, it’s important to me, and that is good enough. Is it? Replies that snide voice. I am convinced that there is a shift occurring around mental health and adult survivors of childhood abuse and trauma. And that my blog is a part of that. And of course, my inner critic is like, and you are so full of shit. You are using that as an excuse not to have a real job, make money and contribute to your lifestyle.
Quit leeching off your husband, you turd. Do something with yourself! And then, in my mother’s voice, ‘don’t rely on any man for anything. They will fuck you over every time.’ That latter one is why I dream almost every night that my husband leaves me and I have nothing. But you know, I have NO anxiety that I am not contributing financially. You know what, my husband doesn’t care. He sees worth in what I am doing. Why can’t I? Why, indeed.
And so, it goes on and on. I AM FASCINATED BY MY INNER MONOLOGUES when I am not mired in self-hatred and criticism. These things that I used to not be aware of on a conscious level insidiously motivated me in all wrong ways. To do something that deep down wasn’t what I wanted to do.
But I listened and followed along because I thought it was what I wanted. Working for a large corporation, yes I do! Work for a small start-up? That sounds like so much fun; sign me up! And then into other entirely different areas, but I liked it because I had the freedom and flexibility to be an adult. Still, even those instances were all about other people. They were all about clients and ensuring that they liked you enough to work with you. That was a connection so that they would trust you and hope that they would refer their friends and family.
I am a highly sensitive introvert. I develop relationships on a deep level. That made real estate hard because I went into every client relationship one hundred percent. I had nothing left. But I didn’t know that. I kept chasing that acceptance, chasing what society tells us we should do, go after the almighty dollar.
I never took a break to think about any of the things I am thinking about now. I never healed from the wounds of growing up in an abusive home. I chose to run and to numb myself with alcohol. My parents subjected me to abuse that would poison most people and turn them into what they fear most, their parents.
Right now, I am choosing a different path. I used to think, ‘oh, I will stop drinking tomorrow’, or ‘I will go into therapy later.’ There is no time like right now. Am I scared? Yes, because I don’t want to be the person I was before. I can’t let fear determine my next step.