Accepting Medication
Hello!
So, I was going to do a post on what I got up to during Mental Health week today, and I will, but lets be honest, when have plans ever actually gone to plan? Basically, I sat down in the student union with a dry croissant (@ Teviot, some butter would be nice?) ready to type up a cheery post on all the things I got up to last week and how much it helped la la la... BUT, I thought that would be a false representation of where I'm at right now so I've decided to talk about medication instead having now consumed the dry croissant.
Although I've had anxiety for most of my life, I'd never been on any medication for it until October 2017. I was given something called Propranolol (more commonly known as Beta-Blockers). What they do is essentially block excess adrenaline and work on balancing the chemicals in your body thus stopping the physical symptoms of anxiety. Before I went on them my body was producing an excessively high level of adrenaline causing a bit of a wild party inside me which resulted in me being sick a lot and losing rather a lot of weight (if you'd been watching my clothes get bigger on me, there's your answer. I'm not on a diet.), not so fun. The good thing about this type of medication is that it's temporary. You take it until your body has learnt to regulate itself so you're not relying on medication.
Sounds good, right? It is, but pride is my downfall so I found accepting the fact that I needed the medicine extremely difficult. And I still do.
I remember sitting in the doctor's room shaking with nerves as I told her what was wrong, terrified of what she was going to say. And then she said it. "Tablets". I found myself nodding in appropriate places and smiling at words I was barely registering. The words "weak" and "failure" were just swimming about in my head at a deafening volume. I felt like I had failed, like I wasn't coping. What I didn't realise as I grimly swallowed the approved dose (still vomiting that first week as we hadn't got the right dose yet) was that I was taking control. I was looking after myself. Gradually, the pills started to work and I found that I was able to eat again and could think a bit more clearly. I decided to think of them as eating aids, just like taking paracetamol for a headache. I started to get better and I gradually weaned myself off them. This takes us to last week. I triumphantly went to my GP check up, delightedly telling her that I was off the meds; I had won. I almost rolled my eyes when she asked if I still had some pills left, "you know, just in case." And right now, it feels like she could predict the future...
Oddly enough, I haven't actually mentioned on here that I am an advanced musician. For those who don't know me, I have a grade 8 in classical singing, musical theatre singing, and the cornet. I also have a diploma in musical theatre singing. At university, I'm currently a member of Edinburgh Studio Opera (working on Dido and Aeneas to be shown in February, do come and watch!), Edinburgh University Renaissance Singers, and Edinburgh University Music Society Chorus. On top of all that, I'm in the university trampolining team. So, I'm stupidly busy all the time. Right now, opera is really stressing me out. Working on a show, trying to remember music and words, singing as an alto when I'm naturally a soprano, trying my best not to annoy the committee... all whilst trying to do a degree at the same time. It's all getting far too much to deal with so inevitably, my anxiety is hanging over me somewhat. It also doesn't help that we've currently got workmen in the bathroom in my flat.
So, having confidently told everyone that I was doing fine last week and that I didn't need my meds anymore, you can imagine how I felt needing to take some on Monday morning. My mum had been up to stay this weekend and we were going to see my older sister and her three children on Monday afternoon as mum hadn't met the children yet (Kim isn't her biological daughter before you start assuming that she's a terrible parent). This meant that I was going to be late for the Monday evening opera rehearsal. Needless to say, when I told them on Sunday night, they weren't too impressed. Consequently, I woke up on Monday in a total panic, the familiar feeling of nausea had returned so I had to take a couple of tablets so I didn't throw up. I told myself it was a one off but I felt the same this morning and had to take a couple more. I'm not going to lie, it feels like a massive step back, even though a part of me knows that I'm not taking as many as before, and they're there to help me. I also know that I'm exhausted just now as it's the last week of the university semester before final assignments. I know deep down that the medication is not a weakness, but I would be lying if I said that I didn't secretly think it was.
What's ridiculous is the fact that I tell my friends that they aren't weak all the time. So why can't I do the same for myself?
I think this post marks a step in my journey. I'm certainly learning that I can't just skip through it like I do in so many other areas. So if you feel the same just now, it's ok. You're not alone.
Hopefully I'll manage to fully accept it one day but until then, it's just something I'm working on.
Lots of Love,
Sarah xxx
Today's track: Santana, Everlast: 'Put Your Lights On'
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