I hate personifying depression and anxiety. Calling it a wolf, or the ‘black dog of depression’. My mum calls it the ‘monkey on her back’. I hate doing it, but it does help.
It offers a degree of detachment. It somehow helps you to confront it, and if not stare it down then at least find a level of understanding. This is not defeatest-type thinking, it’s recognising your irrational feelings do not represent you. It’s allowing your poorly balanced brain chemistry to do its thing without berating yourself for it.
It’s starving the wolf.
This post and the one preceeding have been three months in the making. It originally began with the phrase, “I’m okay at the moment” and while that is not untrue, I’ve been better.
I took myself off my medication very gradually and managed to minimise the withdrawal. Three weeks after I ceased the meds completely, I had my first anxiety pang. It didn’t linger.
Some weeks later, I had a significant anxiety attack. It was triggered by a stressful event at work and has returned in waves ever since. It’s taken near two months for them to abate.
And while it has abated, it’s beginning to linger.
This is me right now.
And I’m fighting it.