Zoloft: Day One

I went to the doctor yesterday, as promised. I told her everything. For the first time, I was completely honest with another human being about what's going on in my mind.

She listened to me. Asked if I heard voices. No. Asked if I was hallucinating. No. It's just that everyday normal events make me so jumpy and nervous and well, anxious. All the time. That's what the voices and the guy in the corner told me to say. (That's a joke, I swear.)

After what felt like two hours, but was really only about 45 minutes of me pouring everything out onto this unsuspecting woman, she diagnosed a General Anxiety Disorder. And prescribed Zoloft. 50mg. I immediately went to the pharmacy and bought goldfish crackers for lunch while it was filled.

When we got home, I fed the girls lunch and put them down for their naps. Yes, Sara's almost three and she still naps. In a crib. Poor developmentally challenged child. [/sarcasm]

I took the first one, and sat down. Within an hour, I felt like I had just mainlined four glasses of wine. I was silly, slightly hysterical in that drunken buzz kind of way. I was trembling, but not alot.

I decided to have a cigarette. Yes, I smoke. Yes, I know it's bad. One trauma at a time, please. When I went outside to my smoking terrace, aka the front porch, I saw that the mail had come.

Yes, the mail had come without me meeting the mailman in the street. And no, there were no catastrophes in it. Imagine that.

A little while later, the phone rang. It was someone trying to get Luke to buy some timeshare. My heart did not go into palpitations thinking it was some horrible thing.

When Steve came home from work, I actually gave him the sheet with all the things you're to watch for when you're on Zoloft. Things like suicidal thoughts, tremors, hallucinations, etc. He can watch for them with me. I'm not even trying to be SuperWoman and handle it all by myself. I can't do it.

How's that go? God grant me the serenity to handle the things I can, pass on the things I can't and the wisdom to know the difference? Like that. I'm learning.

I'm going to call it progress.

I know, in my head, that there is not enough Zoloft in my bloodstream to have actually stopped the episodes. In my head, I know that it's just the simple act of doing something to stop them that is making me feel better.

I have been assured by my friend that the headache and drunken buzz will go away. This headache is a bitch, but since my children are used to sitting around waiting for Mommy to explode, they're quiet anyway. When they're running around like the hooligans they should be, I hope the headache's gone by then.

In my heart, I just know that I am a little better than I was Tuesday.

Today, while the girls are napping, I'm going to do up the dishes and then make fingerpaint. Those poor children have had a screaming bitch of a mother for months now, they deserve a special treat.

I am a little worried that they'll remember the way I have been for so long, and think it's normal. I can only hope that they'll remember what I was before, and what I hope I am after.

And that's the best I can do right now. It has to be enough.