Thursday, October 7, 2010

Mama's Little Helpers

Next week I head to Dallas. Per usual I am looking forward to it in my anxiety inducing way. Yes, me, anxiety. I didn't officially know that's what it was until one day the doctor said the words anxiety disorder and I was like, 'who me?' And he's like, 'Yeah, you with the tears, hypeventilating in the corner of my office. I'm talking to you.' I was there to get my first real prescription for Xanax, even though I'd been taking it for years when faced with visits to the dentist and plane rides alone. Oh, and funerals. I've also been known to mix (too many) drinks with said Xanax on solo flights. I have a body count of missed connecting flights that's blush-worthy but I'm working on it. I will not reveal my series of sources and suppliers and for the record I've always been a bit of a Xanax lightweight, keeping the dosages low but effective. Like I said, plane trips. Dentists. Funerals... So be it.

At some point though over the past couple of years, 'trips home' have made its way onto my list of triggers. Don't get me wrong, I love the hell out of my family and all the nuts that have fallen from its tree, but when you live far away and can only make it back to visit once a year (maybe) the demands can be high. Thus, lots of alcohol and yes, Xanax. I realize this. I admit this. But I don't exactly like this. The chest tightening, the guilt, the never wanting to say good-bye and see-you-soon, knowing that 'soon' really means 'next year'. An emotional roller coaster ride that has me scrambling for Mama's little helpers. And then, the light softens, things start to fuzz a little and I find a mild numbing sensation lightly buzzing just under the surface. Suddenly, it's not a big deal.

But next week I'm turning over a new leaf. I think. My prescription has run out and I find myself faced with three options: a) go back to the doc, bawl like a baby and score some new drugs, b) call my mom and see if she can spare any - which would be purely coincidental of course, or c) go without. Tentatively, I pick 'c'. I'm going without. But bringing my running shoes, my yoga mat, a brown paper bag (for the fireball and end-of-days thoughts that will accompany me on the plane), and cash for drinks. I will turn up the tunes and enjoy the ride. I think.

Cau for now. Wish me luck.


Anonymous said...

I'm out. I was going to ask you for some. what do we do now? Your mother.

Schovillova said...

We rise above it mom. And drink like mad. Or meditate.