For years, I suffered my anxieties. Eventually, I recognized them and set an intention to “cure” myself of them. I tried everything to make this happen. I am perpetually in therapy. I read a copious amount of material on understanding myself, self-love, meditation, and forgiveness. And nothing was truly doing the trick.
A year ago when finally, in desperation, I wisely asked for my doctor to write me a prescription for some pharmaceutical relief from what finally felt like a living anxious hell, I found my way out. I had won and I had lost. Because while I feel 200 % better with no more roaming perpetual anxious dialogues in my head, it wasn’t supposed to be that easy.
I told my therapist, it was like I’d been rowing hard in a row boat race upstream to beat my anxieties and suddenly I was in a cigarette boat and I’d reached the finish line. It felt like I’d won and I’d cheated. My recovery was supposed to be hard won. Easy is apparently not an easy word for me to live by.
I think that the neuropathways of the brain can be so worn down in familiar anxious usage that it really is too difficult to redesign the topography. The medicine allows you to rise about the auto thoughts and recreate happier healthier ways of thinking. Yes, for people like me who have struggled so long, we feel the struggle is noble, it seems a cheat. But isn’t the point to escape the anxieties?
I still work on myself in all the same ways I did before. I am focusing a great deal on self-compassion and allowing for my humanity. I am enjoying all the tiny moments that make up my life. I am trying to live meditatively. And I am doing a pretty amazing job of it. Perhaps I just need to forgive myself for taking the easy way out.
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