Posted in adventure, anxiety, Dreams, family, health, humor, kids, Life, Mental Health, mindfulness, motherhood, Musings, People, random, travel, women

What if Something Happens?

anxiety lies

Two nights ago, I had a stressful dream that my purse was stolen. I was with my boss, at a restaurant, and realized it was gone. I was so upset! It had EVERYTHING in it- my ID, my credit cards, my makeup, my money! I didn’t know what to do. And then I realized it had my car keys in it, too, and now the thieves could steal my car. What a nightmare. Literally. But, I woke up, chalked it up to another one of my weird stress dreams and moved on.

Last night I dreamed that my car was stolen. It was a new Nissan Pathfinder (in my dream) with leather interior and all the bells and whistles. I was extremely proud of that dream car. I went down the coast to see my sister in law, and I asked her if she wanted to see my new car, which, of course, she did. We went outside, but there were suddenly so many cars, and I couldn’t seem to find mine. So I thought, hey, I’ll just click the alarm button and listen for the sound, but…my keys were gone. Eventually, I realized my car was gone. I knew who stole it, but there was nothing I could do. I freaked out. I woke up, again, very stressed out.

A single dream like this would be par for the course for me- but two? Two in a row? I know what is happening here. As my trip grows closer, I am spending my waking hours planning and being excited, and for God’s sake, not imagining every single thing that could possibly go wrong while I am an entire continent away from my children. But deep in the dark and morbid recesses of my brain, the “what-ifs” are hatching, like terrible gremlins on a gremlin-hatching conveyor belt in the fear factory of my mind. If I refuse to give them any space in my waking-hours mind, they will come out wherever they can.

This morning, as I desperately googled “stolen car dream meaning”, seeking to reassure myself that my dreams weren’t a harbinger of crashing planes and imminent death, I realized that my anxiety had me right where it wanted me. Alone, afraid, and miserable at five in the morning. Wondering how mad my friend would be if I cancelled on her two days before our trip. Hoping I came down with strep throat so I had no choice but to stay home. My anxiety is so ridiculous that I wished illness upon myself to avoid doing something fun and wonderful. Let that sink in for a minute.

So, I took a deep breath, and made a plan. When my anxiety asks “What if something happens?” I will say, “Something will happen! I am going to have fun, and see a new part of the world, and expand my horizons a little bit.” And when my anxiety insists, “Yes, but what if something BAD happens?!” I am going to say “Something BAD could happen just as easily with me here as it could with me gone- something bad could happen at any moment of any day, but mostly, it doesn’t. So stop it.” And when my anxiety continues to pester me with thoughts and images too awful to transcribe for you, I am going to fight fire with fire, by reading and remembering all the wonderful posts about women who travel all the time and make it home safe, happy, and healthy. Other people do it every single day. I am no different.

My anxiety will tell me I should just stay home. But my therapist, who I happen to have at least a bit more faith in than my own anxious brain, told me that my anxiety is dishonest…but that I will never know that if I don’t stop listening to it all the time. The only way to combat anxiety is to do the thing it tells you not to do. I mean, unless it’s telling you not to kill someone. In that scenario, your anxiety is 100% correct, and you should definitely listen.

Because my anxiety doesn’t just want me to stay home. My anxiety wants me to stay home, keep everyone I love in the house with me, close the blinds, and board up the windows. If we leave, we leave in a group. My anxiety wants not only me as a prisoner, it wants everyone I care for imprisoned as well. My anxiety calls it “being safe”, but even I know that’s not honest. That’s not living. So I will take my trip, and I will not let anxiety win this one.

And if something happens? Well…what if something wonderful happens? You can’t stop living because you are afraid. You can, actually. You can stop living because you are afraid. But I have no intention of living that way.

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Posted in Addiction, advice, faith, health, Life, Mental Health, recovery, twelve step

Patience in Recovery

meth brain

I was sitting here googling random shit this morning, as one does, and somehow “Why are some people naturally more kind than others?” morphed into “Long term effects of methamphetamine on the brain”, which, in my case, aren’t necessarily unrelated to one another. Basically, I was wondering if my inability to be as kind as I’d like to be could be linked to damage in my brain caused by years of INSANE quantities of meth in my body.

It seems like there is good news and bad news. The good news is that, by now, my brain has mostly healed from all the harm I did to it. There are certain parts of my brain that might never be okay again, but as far as my behavior, moods and that sort of thing goes, it’s all me at this point. As far as “they” know, anyway. The bad news is, this means I am just naturally a bit of an asshole, but I don’t think this is breaking news. And, unlike most of the assholes out there, at least I’m trying to change. Actually, I have no idea what the other assholes are trying or not trying to do, I’m just angling to make myself look good. Shocker. Also, thanks to my years of chemical dependency, I have a higher chance of dementia and Parkinson’s, which I’m not thrilled about, but what can I do?

One thing I did find really interesting, though, is that I now have scientific evidence supporting what I have been claiming for a long time- your brain needs ample time to heal after your cessation of meth. I mean, duh, right? But this is not something anyone was able to reassure me of after I first got clean, and I thought I was going mad. If I wasn’t using anymore, why did I still act so crazy? Why was I still so full of anger and rage? Why couldn’t I control my emotions at all? In short, why was I still exhibiting all of the behaviors I associated with my drug use, but I wasn’t even using drugs?!

Although I was seeing some progress in my life in these areas, it was incredibly frustrating how slow it went, and how terrible I felt. I didn’t understand. I thought maybe it wasn’t the drugs after all, and maybe I was just a horrible monster of a person. My doctor strongly recommended that I go on an antidepressant or something, but I was so turned off by the idea of using another drug, even one prescribed to me. I knew that something wasn’t right, but my instincts urged me to wait and see. And so I did.

It took between 18 months and two years before I saw a significant change in my behavior- enough so that I felt passably sane. At 3.5 years, I can tell you that I am probably the best I have ever been in my adult life. I used drugs for most of my entire adult life, approximately 20 years. For someone who did more growing up and less drugs, I expect the recovery time would be shorter.

The point is this: be patient with yourself. Not only do you need time to grieve the time you lost and the damage you did, not only do you have to relearn, or even learn for the first time, how to exist in the “normy” world, but your brain has to heal physically. Meth might not be considered physically addictive, but this does not mean it does no physical, quantifiable damage. It does. Look it up, see for yourself the pictures of a brain six months after cessation of drug use. Actually, never mind, I’ll just post the picture so you can see for yourself.

My advice to anyone in early recovery from methamphetamine is to be patient. The changes will come, but maybe not as soon as you would hope. Commit to stick it out, and before too long, you’ll see the person you had always hoped to be under all the bullshit. With a lot of work, love and faith, it’s never too late to become the very best version of yourself. 🙂

 

Posted in Addiction, alcoholism, anxiety, Depression, health, inner peace, Life, Mental Health, misinformation, People, recovery, twelve step

Fear, Shame, & the Stigma of Addiction

stigma

Something I am really riled up about right now is the stigma and shame around drug addiction. SO MANY people do not understand what it really is, what it is really like, and how it feels when you are in the grips of it. They get upset that it is classified as a disease, and they say that it is a choice…which…I mean, even drug addicts themselves feel guilt and shame around this. Trust me, I was one of them. For a long time, I thought it really was my fault, and I didn’t understand why I couldn’t just quit, why I insisted on making my life so much harder than it had to be.

Well, news flash! It might start off as a choice- a BAD choice, obviously- but lots and lots of young people experiment with drugs. I’m going to go out on a limb here and say that a really healthy chunk of the population has, at one time or another, tried drugs. Lets not forget that alcohol is prevalent almost everywhere, and it is one of the most highly addictive and destructive drugs that exist- why do you think AA started WAY back when? It wasn’t just a friendly, old-timey social club. Anyway, not everyone gets addicted. But for some of us, for whatever reason, our brains get a little hit of that euphoria, and from that moment on, we just want MORE. To our detriment. As our lives crumble, as our dreams wither up, as our families cry and beg for us to change. And we promise to try, we promise to pull it together, we want to get better, but…

It’s not a choice anymore. Something has us in a grip so massive that we can’t stop killing ourselves. So maybe it isn’t a disease the way that cancer is. I will give you that, if it hurts you to think of it that way. But what about OCD? Bipolar disorder, or other mental illnesses? Would you judge someone harshly for having something like that? Because to me, addiction is a mental illness (and usually not a stand-alone one, either) and it’s no more my fault than it would be if I had…say, an ulcer. Or maybe diabetes that I controlled with my diet and lifestyle. Other people might do the same things that I did, and be okay. But some people aren’t, because something inside of them is different.

Sure, now that I know better and I have it under control, I can manage it by avoiding the things that would make me sick again, and by taking my “medicine” (meetings, therapy, watching what I eat and how I behave and paying attention to my thoughts and feelings). Just the way someone with diabetes has to monitor their diet and their glucose and all of that. I know that if I don’t do those things, I am putting myself in danger of a relapse. I am now responsible for my continuing health. But I was not responsible for the way my particular body reacted to the substances I foolishly tried.

Here’s the thing, though: People get sick and they aren’t afraid to go to the doctor and ask for help. They are not judged by their doctor when they show up sick. They don’t generally fear repercussions from their employer if they are ill. But do you know how many people walk around every single day, desperate for help with their substance abuse problems, but terrified to reach out because of what might happen to their lives? Not all addicts are the people you see on the streets, acting crazy. It isn’t always that obvious. Many of us are high functioning professionals with a LOT to lose. And asking for help is terrifying.

I stayed sick for a really long time because I was afraid to tell the truth, afraid of what would happen to me, and to my family. I was lucky.  I got the help I needed and I got to keep my job, I got to tell the truth to my boss, and she was compassionate and concerned. That is not everyone’s story.

But I really think it should be. We don’t throw people away like garbage because they aren’t working correctly. You don’t KNOW…you don’t know what kind of beautiful human being is there, underneath that illness. The addicts I have known in my lifetime, and there have been LOTS of them, are not garbage. Not even when they were using. Even the worst people I have known had redeeming qualities, and intelligence, and loyalty, and very, very few of them did not dream of getting better. I can’t think of one person out of hundreds that didn’t want to lead a better life.

We should be able to ask for help when we need it. When someone asks for help, we should help them. When someone is sick, even if it makes us uncomfortable and afraid, we should help them find their way to help. Addiction is stealing the lives of our friends, our family members, and our children, many times over, every day. Addiction is destroying the lives of not only the addict, but the addicts parents, and the addicts children. It is a disease of loneliness and disconnection. It might help a lot to end the stigma and remove the shame. It’s a terrible life to be stuck in. When someone is reaching out, we have to reach out, too.

And that’s what I am thinking about this morning.

1-800-662-HELP is the number for SAMHSA, Substance Abuse and Mental Health Services Administration. Call someone if you need help, or even if you just want to know how to help someone you love.

Posted in Addiction, anxiety, Depression, health, Life, Mental Health, Musings

Realization Dawns

anxiety

Recently, I was wrapping things up with my therapist, and just before we were done with our session she said something like- “Oh, well you have anxiety anyway, so that makes sense.”, and she said it so matter of factly, and I was a little bit offended for some reason, like, pssshh- I get a little nervous sometimes, but I wouldn’t say I have anxiety! Which is so funny, now that I think about it, because…I obviously HAVE anxiety. I must have been in a really good phase or something, because her words kind of wounded me. I just don’t think of myself that way.

That’s the tricky thing about MY particular set of mental peculiarities. I am not anxious all of the time. It comes and goes with me. There are certain situations which trigger massive anxiety, and once my thoughts start spiraling out of control, it is very hard for me to pull myself back into logic and reality. One of those is, clearly, my children. There have been times when it was worry about my health. Occasionally, I will obsess over losing my job or having to move. But all of these are pretty manageable except for the one about my kids. That is my big-ticket item, the one that I can make myself physically ill over.

So, when things are going along nicely, and our routine is well established, and nothing weird happens, I forget that I even have anxiety. Because, technically, when I have nothing to be anxious about, I kind of DON’T have anxiety. But that’s the thing- there will always be times when things don’t go as planned. I can’t control every single situation so that it works for me, and I really shouldn’t have to. Sometimes people’s phones die. Sometimes they are running late, or they lose track of time. These little tiny things, innocent, average, every day things, can make me lose my mind. When I can’t reach my little one’s dad because his phone is on the charger, or she is at the fair with a family friend who lost track of time, I don’t think “Oh, they’re fine.”, I think “Well, I better get in my car and go look for the wreck they were in”, only in a more screamy voice.

Anyway, I am in a lot of private groups on Facebook, and the other day I joined several more- groups for people with anxiety. After I had my meltdown on Tuesday, I just thought maybe an anxiety support group might help. So I joined three. Last night, a girl posted that she had been obsessing about a pretty unlikely health worry, and that she knew it was silly, but she couldn’t stop thinking about it, and she couldn’t stop pacing, and she was exhausted, and I reached out to her, and so did a lot of other people, with stories of their own, and with…well, support. Here’s the thing: Not one single person said “Oh, come on, that is so ridiculous! Of all the things to worry about, you think you have THAT?” Which, if it were any other group I am in, that would have been said. Instead, at least three other people confided that they had shared the exact same fear at one point, and others shared similarly unlikely worries. Everyone got it.

And I woke up this morning still thinking about that. That not only did I totally get where she was coming from, but everyone in the group that spoke up did, too. And that is when it hit me- I TOTALLY have anxiety. These people are my people, because they get it. When I am freaking out, even when I know I am being crazy, I just can’t stop being scared. Fear literally takes over my body, and will not listen to reason.

And here’s the deal- this is not a new thing, not at all. I started having full blown panic attacks at the age of 17, sometimes as many as five, six, or seven every single day. I didn’t know what they were, so I thought I was either going crazy or someone was poisoning me. The only problem with the poisoning theory was that I was around different people all the time. So instead of realizing that this was improbable, my poor, sick brain assumed that everyone was trying to kill me, and I just stopped eating food that anyone else had touched. Do you know how difficult this is? I lost a ton of weight, and my mom said something like “My god, you look like you are dying of cancer.” Which, of course, gave me a whole new set of worries to obsess about.  Honestly, the only reason I pulled myself out of that mess was because I got so sick of worrying all the time that I just said “Fuck it, I can’t live like this anymore- if I’m going to die, so be it, but I have got to eat.” And I just threw all caution to the wind and ate at Denny’s. From that day on, I stopped having panic attacks, and thought I was cured.

But…here I am, at 43, realizing that it never really went away. I masked it for many many years with drug abuse, and now I am discovering that it has been here all along. It was just covered up. I am so lucky that I can talk about it to the people around me- my boss knows that I get weird, sometimes, and she is super supportive. And I am sort of the quirky friend, the crazy co-worker, the funny-but-super-high-strung one. Being the oddball is kind of my thing. I’ve made it into a bit of a joke, I guess. Because it make it more tolerable, for me and for everyone else, too. Which made me forget, or not notice, that it is real. The moments when I want to cry because I’m so scared, when I can’t sit still, when I can’t breathe, when I can’t slow down my fucking insane thoughts- that’s not funny at all.

My point is, I guess, that I woke up this morning and realized that I really, really have anxiety. And that it’s been part of my life since early adulthood- this is NOT a new thing. It might look a little different, my fears might have changed a little bit, but the feelings? They are exactly the same. And now I get to figure out what happens next. But I have found some people just like me, and I am much less afraid.

Posted in anxiety, Depression, health, kids, Life, Mental Health, motherhood, women

My Terrible Thoughts

 

99problemsI don’t have a ton of time this morning, so this will get right to the point- I need to share about it before it fades away completely. Yesterday was a disaster. Not because a single bad thing happened, but because I spent the entire day worrying-no, obsessing- about what MIGHT happen.

And do you want to know what caused all of this obsessive worry? Well, I’ll tell you, but you better not fucking laugh at me (go ahead, I can’t see you anyway.). Okay, ready? Here it is: My daughter walked from her classroom down to the pickup area, with three other kids, and got a ride home from the lady who babysat her all summer. Yes, you read that correctly. No, nothing is missing from the story. That is what made my day into a living hell yesterday. We changed our routine.

For a “normal” person, this would have been a non-event. Or maybe even a big relief, right? No running across town on my lunch hour to pick up a kid and then trying to rush back within the 30 minutes allotted to me? Sounds great!

For me, unfortunately, every new situation, everything slightly outside of what I am used to, turns into this other thing. I imagine a plethora of things that might go wrong, and at least as many things that are extremely unlikely to go wrong, but still so scary. What if she gets lost? What if the teacher doesn’t get my note and won’t let her go? What if she gets lost and an adult offers to help her, only it’s really a serial killer and he lures her into his car? What if…what if I NEVER SEE MY CHILD AGAIN?! I know this sounds so silly that it’s comical, but when these thoughts are going through my head, they are terrifying. I get sick to my stomach, and my hands get clammy. No matter what I do, the thoughts keep building and growing more and more awful, and I honestly lose control of them. I don’t really know how to make them stop.

But here’s the thing- there is also a rational part of my brain that absolutely knows that I am being crazy. That none of these things are (probably) going to happen, and that I am ruining my day for NO REASON.

I just wish I knew how to stop being this way. Honestly, there isn’t enough CBD in the world to tackle thoughts that big.

Of course, my daughter made it home just fine. But I wasn’t fine. Do you know what panic like that does to your body? I could cry right now because I am still feeling the effects of that stress on me, 15 hours later. I went to bed at 7 last night, drained from all the worry.

This is just not okay. I have got to fix this before I start making her terrified of everything. Because that is where this is headed- not only will I be miserable, but I’ll have a child who is scared of the world. I guess I’m not done with therapy yet, huh?

Here’s to an easier day today.

Posted in anxiety, Depression, health, inner peace, Learning, Life, Mental Health, Musings

CBD’s So Far, and also, my house may be a vortex of evil.

cbd

Okay, so here we go. In my last post, I told you how I was sick to death of struggling with my moods, and that I was going to see my therapist that day but that I was also going to try CBD, since everyone and their mother was talking about how great they are. Well, I did all of those things- I went to my therapist, I cried a lot, I told the truth, and she was eager to hook me up with someone to talk about medication (as if there were ever any doubt that she would be anything less- she’s been encouraging this for as long as I’ve been seeing her. Not in a bad way, though, she never pressured me. Just for the record).

After I left her office, I drove straight to the dispensary- one of quite a few in my neck of the woods- and I found myself feeling a little self-conscious about walking in. It was just really weird, me being in recovery and all, to be strolling into a store filled with weed. I felt I was skulking more than strolling in, to be honest. Anyway, I felt a lot more comfortable after I was safely inside. I actually didn’t see any weed, but of course, I wasn’t looking for it. I did, however, smell it. That didn’t bother me at all- I love the smell of pot, I just hate how it makes me feel. It was set up like a fancy boutique, and the employees were all young and in uniform, with little Ipads and shit. It was like Verizon, only edgier. And you leave feeling happier instead of wondering what the fuck just happened…or at least, I did.

I explained to the girl who was assigned to me what I was looking for, and that I absolutely wanted NO THC AT ALL. I was very clear about this- perhaps alarmingly so. Anyway, she directed me to a tin of gummies, which was the only thing they had with 0 THC, so, because I didn’t want to have to go anywhere else, I just went ahead and bought them. As she rang me up, she reassured me that I would not get high from these, even if I ate them all at one time. I was very nervous.

I was so nervous that, when I got home, I only ate half of one. I wanted to make sure nothing happened. Nothing happened. So, right before bed, I ate one whole one and went to sleep. I can’t be sure that nothing happened since I was sleeping, but I’m pretty sure nothing happened then, either. One thing I can tell you for sure is that those little bastards taste incredible! I got pineapple-coconut gummies, and they were so delicious, it was hard not to just eat them by the handful. But they were very expensive, so that made it easier.

Anyway, Saturday I drove over to see my mom, which was about 3 or so hours away. When I got there, we were outside with my daughter and nephew, watching them play, and I decided to try a whole one during the day to see how it was…I didn’t have to be anywhere, and so, I ate one and my mom ate one, and I forgot all about it. About an hour later, I realized that I just felt…relaxed. I didn’t feel weird in any way, or…it’s hard to explain. There was no extra feeling of anything, it was more of an absence of negative feelings, if that makes sense. I just felt normal. I then got really excited, and ran to the bathroom door (my mom was in there getting ready) and started yelling through the door asking her how she felt. She confirmed that she felt the exact same way- just really normal, not anxious or stressed at all. Just fine.

So, I have been eating one here and there ever since. There is no noticeable added effect, like I said, it is more just the absence of negative feelings. I don’t feel as anxious (or anxious at all, really) and I don’t feel depressed, I just feel regular. Which is kind of a big deal, but…I am also a really gullible little person. A placebo would TOTALLY work on me, I’m pretty sure. So, is this real? Or am I imagining it? I’ve come to the conclusion that it really doesn’t matter, does it? If I think it’s working, then it kind of is working, whether it’s technically doing something or not. And if it doesn’t hurt anyone, and it doesn’t have any adverse effects, what’s the harm?

That being said, after spending a lovely day with my mom, nephew and daughter, spending the night, meeting up with more family for breakfast and then driving home…I realized that the minute I got home, I started feeling like shit again. My body started aching, I felt tired and unmotivated. I found myself sitting here, unable to get anything I needed to do done. I ALWAYS feel like this when I am in this house. I wondered, not for the first time, if this house is just filled to the brim with negative energy. Like, do I need to have it blessed? What the hell is going on here?

I have saged it about a hundred times, but maybe I’m not doing it right, I don’t know. It seems like the minute I pull out of my driveway I feel better, and the minute I walk in, my spirits plummet. So, it seems reasonable to deduce that this house is a vortex of evil, don’t you think? Maybe I should sprinkle all the corners with CBD. Nah…too expensive. I’ll figure something else out.

 

Posted in Addiction, anxiety, Depression, health, inner peace, Learning, Life, meditation, Mental Health, Musings, People, recovery, women

Real, for Real

feel better

Over the past while, for whatever reason, I have noticed my tendency to…sort of be disingenuous a little bit in my writing. I am giving the truth, but maybe not the whole truth, and I don’t know why that is. I think part of it is that I’ve wanted so badly to feel like I am exercising some control over the way I am feeling in my life, and so I will try this thing, and that thing, in an effort to feel better. For example, changing my diet, exercising regularly, meditation, mindfulness- and all of these things are WONDERFUL things, don’t get me wrong! All of them work, too…to a certain degree. And I’ve wanted so badly for them to work, I get so excited when, for a week or two, or maybe even a month, I can do everything perfectly and things seem to be looking up- I am quick to sing the praises of all of these things as a solution, but…the sad truth is, it’s really, really hard to do all of these things consistently forever! And the even sadder truth is, I am finding that even when I am pretty damn consistent, there is still a huge gap between how I AM feeling and how I WANT to feel. I haven’t missed a day of meditation in almost three months, and yet…I am struggling terribly with my mood. I am painfully aware of it, thanks to being so goddamn mindful, but I can’t seem to work through it, accept it, or just allow it…I don’t want to allow that. Why would anyone?!

Oddly enough, it was my little experiment this past week- let’s see if I can go 24 hours without yelling, remember? That pushed me into reevaluating my situation. The fact of the matter is, I couldn’t do it. I tried really hard, but I found myself doing okay the first day, and utterly failing on the second and third day. The yelling, though- I know this is just a symptom of a bigger issue, and that issue is that I am constantly battling with low level depression, an onslaught of negative thoughts about myself, and just generally clinging to a shred of debris that keeps my head above water. The tricky thing is that I don’t feel like this every single day- some days I feel great, and when that is true it’s hard to imagine that I ever feel so badly. But I’m here, right now, telling you that I do. More and more often lately, I feel far less than good. I used to have lots of good days punctuated by spells of shitty ones. Now it seems like the opposite is true. And I am out of tricks. The vitamins, the clean eating, the exercise, the meditation, the journaling- it just isn’t enough. And I refuse to live this way. I will not subject my child or anyone else I love to my bullshit behavior anymore- I got clean because I didn’t like myself, I am sure as shit not going to be a sober person who is still an asshole.  And listen, I am not just being mean to myself. I realize that I can’t really control my behavior- there is something wrong, and that isn’t my fault. Just like the fact that I am an addict is not my fault. But, just like my addiction- it is MY RESPONSIBILITY to fix it.

Yesterday morning, I made a decision. I have an appointment with my therapist today, and I am going to talk to her about getting an appointment with a psychiatrist, because it is finally time to discuss getting on some medication. I have tried for almost three and half years to fix myself, and if I am being 100% honest, I haven’t gotten very far. Lots of things in my life have gotten better, but the way I FEEL has not. I am less frantic, maybe, and able to be more calm, but this is just the benefit of not ingesting a metric ton of methamphetamine, I’m sure. The way I feel is still suffering. And, though I am really nervous about taking a prescription drug- I’m worried that I could feel worse, or have weird side effects, or gain weight- I’m more worried about the fact that there might be a solution and I’m over here just struggling every day for no reason. So I am going to start that ball rolling today.

This morning, I made another decision, and this is a big one- I decided that, because I know it will be weeks until I can see a psychiatrist, and I want to start feeling better yesterday, I am going to try CBD. I have been doing a lot of research about it, and I’ve heard nothing but good things about it, so why not give it a shot? If I can find something natural, with no side effects, that will work? Hell, that sounds great to me. My hope is that it will work so well that by the time I get in to see a prescribing doctor, I won’t need a prescription anymore.

I would really love to hear about anyone else’s experience with CBD- and remember, this is the NON THC version I am talking about. Not only am I in recovery, but I HATE the way being high feels. A funny thing for an addict to say, I know, but no thank you. Not my kind of high, anyway. Have you tried CBD? Did it help? Do you know anyone who has tried it and liked it? Tell me EVERYTHING. I will be visiting the dispensary today, so hurry up. And for the love of God, have a good day, will you? The world needs all the happiness it can get.