If you can't make your own neurotransmitters....

If you can't make your own neurotransmitters, store bought is okay.

Let's play with that statement:

If you can't make your own insulin, store bought is okay.

If you can't make your own aspirin, store bought is okay.

If you can't make your own penicillin, store bought is okay.

If you can't make your own beta blockers, store bought is okay.

Last week, my sciatic nerve got the best of me. It does that sometimes when I sit too long and I go a few days without working out (and I eat poorly, and don't drink enough water...blah blah blah). Which I did last week in spades. And yes, I know better. I'm a continuous work in progress.

On Friday, in pain and laying flat on my well used, subleased apartment carpeted floor (it has to get really bad for me to touch this carpet...) I went online in search of a massage therapist that could help. I found one with lots of excellent reviews and was able to book an appointment for the next day. I was one excited girl. For the most part, the therapist was wonderful. She released that stupid nerve and I walked out feeling a whole lot better.

But. She was a talker. I hate this ... as in I hate kale but I still eat it because, you know, good for you. I can't help but have a conversation if someone starts it. Its an extrovert thing. So she starts with holistic care and this new class she is taking because she has anxiety and depression and this has been a cure.

Why do I always find myself surrounded by not so neurotypicals??

So like I always do, I tell her about our journey and this blog. And I tell her that Megan is currently on a medication that has helped her lift out of the debilitating anxiety that has plagued her last several months. This medicine has been a Godsend for her. It also carries a stigma (and probably a pretty hefty street value). That classes are awesome if that works for her; this is what is working for us.

And she says "You gotta get her off that stuff. It's poison."

Sigh. And also, stop. Full. Stop. Seriously, I had her stop for a minute.

And I just said, please listen.

Pretend you are are hanging precariously from a cliff. Below you is raging water that is creating so much noise you can barely hear yourself cry out. And there are people at the top of the cliff with ropes and emergency equipment and all the stuff that you need to be pulled off that cliff. You know they are there to help you. And they are yelling directions at you, throwing ropes and equipment and all kinds of shit, trying to get you back to safety.

BUT YOU CAN'T HEAR THEM BECAUSE THE WATER BELOW IS SO LOUD AND SO SCARY AND YOU FEEL YOURSELF LOOKING AT THE WATER AND NOT THE RESCUERS. YOU KNOW THEY CAN HELP BUT YOU CAN'T HEAR THEM AND SO YOU DON'T KNOW HOW TO USE THE EQUIPMENT THEY ARE THROWING AT YOU.

Sometimes you need something to calm the water below, long enough to hear the rescuers, do what they tell you, and pull yourself to safety. Once you are safe, the waters may rage on, but at least your feet are on solid ground, the water doesn't seem so loud where you stand now and then you can go have a nice lunch with your rescuers.

Sometimes you just need the meds to soften the noise so you can use your coping skills to pull yourself to safety. Can we all agree to start treating people who responsibly take psychological medication like we treat other medication that is a lifeline for people? With respect. With listening ears and an open heart? I'd appreciate it.


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