A doctor this morning prescribed me Zoloft. I came home and took the Zoloft. I then had a panic attack for six hours. I was too anxious to eat, too anxious sleep. The more I thought about the panic the more panicked I became. The more I panicked, the more I thought about it. I couldn’t take it anymore. I wound up driving to the ER and having them check me for heart palpitations. My blood pressure was very high, but I wasn’t experiencing chest pains or dizziness. My EKG was normal. I I was poked, prodded and made to pee in cup. I received an intravenous injection of Ativan and a prescription for me.
I’m not a big fan of medication. Hence the trouble I am in right now. I tend to be not so good about taking the medication that stabilizes my mood. But I was very glad when the doctor suggested taking Ativan to manage my anxiety. A panic attack is just that an attack. It’s when I notice one alarming thing and then the evil bitch that lives in my head tells me that I’m dying. I”m trying to calm down by counting to ten and telling myself that a panic attack is not a heart attack. That evil bitch will say something like, “How do you know it’s not a heart attach?” I try to calm myself down, the evil bitch tries to keep it going. Ativan shut the bitch right up.
Ativan is like a warm, large hand on your back. It stroked me and told me that everything is going to be all right. It wrapped itself around me and told me to go ahead and lay in it’s arms. it reminded that i have plenty of air and am not smothering. Them finally it rocked me to sleep. i feel like myself finally. For the first time, all day, I don’t feel helpless in the face of my fear.
Thanks for reading!