A Letter to My Anxiety Medication

Hello, old friend.

It’s been a while, I know. Three years to be exact.

I didn’t think I needed you anymore. Life was going OK. I was handling it all just fine. The pressures of work and everyday life were not getting to me. I even moved across the country and had my life turned upside down . . . and I still was doing just fine.

But my situation has changed as of late. You see, there’s something outside the walls of my house that could harm my children. It’s something I can’t see, something I can’t easily avoid, and the fear of it taking my children has crippled me.

It makes me anxious whenever I’m around others. Simple things like getting the mail or taking a walk near neighbors can make my heart race and my face starts getting hot.

Life overall is different from the last time we met, friend. It’s no longer the pressures of work, but it’s the children who get me anxious since they are now my full-time job. All of the screaming and crying, all day long. It makes my chest tight and makes me snap at them which results in more tears (from both sides if I’m being honest).

I don’t sleep much these days either. My mind races when I try to sleep. I can’t even make it through my nightly prayers without being sidetracked multiple times and constantly apologizing to God as He’s listening to my rambling thoughts of worry. I’m afraid to shut my eyes for fear of what could happen in the night, every little noise spooks me like a little child. Friend, I just want to fall asleep right as my head hits the pillow and stay asleep for a good eight hours. (I would settle for six hours if I’m being honest.)

I’ve looked to God for help and prayed that He put my anxious heart to rest. I’ve read my Bible and all that He says about fear and anxiety, but He knows I don’t ask for help. He knows I’m stubborn and that I want to do everything on my own, so He’s steering me to you. He’s telling me to reach out, seek the help, and don’t go at it alone. He’s saying you don’t need to struggle anymore because you’re too prideful to get help.

So, here I am, friend. I’m asking you to help me again. I don’t want to snap at my children and be angry at them. I don’t want to have an anxiety attack in the drive-thru of a Starbucks. Something so simple should be a pleasure and a treat and not something that brings me to my knees. I don’t want to cry because it’s too shattering to do something as simple as seeing family members. I don’t want to lose sleep at night because I can’t turn my brain off from all the worry.

Yes, I have anxiety, and I’m not able to control it or suppress it any longer by myself. I have anxiety and it’s hard to say it’s a problem again and I need your help, but here I am. Part of me feels like a failure for asking you to help again, but I know I can’t live like this anymore.

So here I am again, friend, asking for your help. I have anxiety, and I need medication to help me deal with it. Help me cope with everyday life so I can experience normal again.

Help me, friend.

(This piece has been republished by Her View From Home)