The Prop

My emotions are running high right now, higher than I have felt in a very long time.

Earlier this year, I was full of anxiety, and I could feel no way out. So I contacted my GP; via phone, they suggested I try anti-anxiety medication, Propranolol to be exact. I’ve never been one for wanting to take this sort of medication; I knew it would alter my brain chemistry and I was wary of what I might lose, in a bid to create a more level ‘me’. However, I needed some release, a way to break this cycle, so I agreed to try it. 

In the first instance, I took one pill per day, and all this seemed to do was cause a weird pain that appeared to come from my diaphragm, which luckily subsided a few days later. There was no change to the level of anxiety I was experiencing, though. I contacted my surgery again and with advice from the GP, I increased the dose to two a day. 

The first week or so was as before, but by the time the second prescription arrived, 57 tablets later, I was changing, and I think I liked it.

Gone was the churning washing machine of a stomach, and the overthinking everything into a world-ending calamity; instead there was sort of an uncomfortable calm, like the moments after you might alight a rollercoaster, with the inertia of the previous keeping the head spinning and the body tingling; I could feel a definite shift. 

This shift would ultimately change me to the point where I hardly recognised myself. I am a very sensitive soul; I notice small changes in myself, emotionally and in my physical presence in the world. Even my eyesight seems super sensitive to change. Being the adoptee (as I am), I feel that a lot of how I experience the world is driven by a trauma response from early childhood relinquishment; anyone who has read my book, this blog, or spoken to me face to face will know this. Anxiety is my base level; everything that is Wally starts from there, so when that base level gets changed artificially, it's uncomfortable.  I wasn't expecting to feel this discomfort, and I'm not entirely sure the anxiety had indeed left; it was more like throwing a tablecloth over the parrot's cage to keep it quiet. 

Nevertheless, I leaned into it; I took pleasure in the fact I was less affected by my experiences, however false it may have been. It was like novocaine for a toothache, and I breathed a huge sigh of relief. This was all fine for a while, until it wasn't. I'd been dialed down by the drugs; after all, that's what they were designed to do. But in the process I’d lost all my ‘me-ness’. I didn't cry anymore, and I can cry at the drop of a hat, especially at movies. I had no empathy, not a single drop. Every time I thought a situation needed it, I would have to pretend there was some in there to give. I stopped finding things funny, and I bloody love to laugh, to make people laugh, and to be silly. Most of all, when I look back, I think the meds stole my ability to love too. Where had I gone? I felt completely at peace with the world, but at what cost? I had a shield now, and every bullet bounced away. This calm was addictive, however, and it became clear that all I needed was to preserve the feeling.

I’d also decided that I'd take on the project of turning my small garden into an award-winning outdoor space (ok … may be exaggerating a touch), but as I always do in these cases, I lived and breathed my little garden, and I didn't look up at all, head down … on it like a car bonnet! (hood for you American/Canadian types). Mind you, that makes the rhyme all wrong, doesn't it?

Without emotional or physical distractions, the outside world faded into the background while my new all-consuming project stepped up. And with the world went communication; in all aspects of my life, I was out doing my thing, and I loved it. 

It was around this time that a friend of mine died after a battle with cancer. I've lost people in my life, sure, but no death has hit harder than his. I stood at his funeral, looking around at the congregation of mourners and listening to people stand to tell stories of the amazing man he was to them was so uplifting and sad all at the same time. Watching his dad speak at his funeral will stay with me for the rest of my days; I kept thinking, “Shit, this is the wrong way round.” That day I was forcing my mind to connect and feel, cry, you heartless bastard, what's wrong with you?! But nothing came. This was not good, not good at all. 

That day was a pivotal moment in my life. My amazing friend, whose life we had all gathered to celebrate, was still showing me, guiding me to  somewhere I'd thought was long gone in my past, and for this I will always be very grateful. Even in death, he was being awesome! 

All of a sudden, the emotional numbing felt wrong; but allowing myself to feel again was akin to letting The Hulk back out, and I was a little scared to let him loose. I was fed up with being in this hard shell; I need to be softer. Because life could all be taken away so quickly.

Over the last few weeks, I have been slowly weaning myself from the clutches of the propranolol, and man, it's been like feeling for the first time! Every block that falls from my wall lets in light so powerful it blows my mind. I will admit that the washing machine tummy feelings are back, but when you are built on anxiety stilts, it's hard to reverse. I do feel that anxiety itself now seems to have cleared out, but my body doesn't know how to deal with it yet. 

Another issue with coming back from the meds is that I'm really struggling to sleep. I work shifts, so this means being awake all night often.  Getting in at 7 am from a 12-hour night shift and an hour's drive home, only to find myself wide awake after only 3 hours of sleep, even though I felt as if I could sleep for a week, has been the opposite of fun. 

When all is said and done, antidepressants are a double-edged sword; they offer some cognitive respite in an otherwise difficult and confusing world. Well, that's exactly what they did for me. However, they didn't just pull up the weeds; the propranolol also temporarily took away some particularly beautiful plants, and one of the best things about being human is all those wonderful, joyful, or sometimes difficult and painful feelings; yeah, sometimes it hurts, but at least we feel alive. 

I guess I needed a prop to see me through; however, there really is nothing quite like truly being affected and sometimes altered by our environment, experiences, and the people we connect with. 

Photo by Ricardo Viana on Unsplash