LavĂnia
plalace
- Feb 19, 2024
- 151
Telling one of the impulsive things I did.
When I was still at my old job, the first, most stressful job I ever had (compared to the total of: 1), I had been prescribed clonazepam. It was the weakest dose per pill, to be taken only when I had a crisis, sublingually.
I almost always had anxiety, a crisis and was extremely agitated during my break. I would leave the building and go to another street, and then another. I would pass by a square, look at the trees, I liked them. I would walk more. I would go down the city, to another park, more isolated. Even the sky there was overcast, with big trees, leaves falling, I liked them too. Very quiet and relaxing. I would walk more. Until I had to go all the way back to work, and I was still anxious.
So, of course I took the pills every day. But the "calming effect to get rid of the crisis" only worked after the crisis was over, about 30 minutes later. So I started getting angry. One day I was having a bad crisis, I went to my break, and started hiking in the parks as usual. I took one. I knew it wouldn't help. I took another, and it wouldn't do any good either. Another. Another. One more. The pack isn't that big, so I took them all. I think there were 9-12.
Since they dissolved under the tongue, they were really cold, comforting feeling, was nice. But my anxiety was still screaming. I said, "Yeah, it didn't do anything, what can I do?"... And throughout the day I got sleepy, until I got home.
I changed my clothes, got my food and went to my room. I always eat lying down, I don't know why. I started eating, one bite, then another... My mother yelled at me and asked if I was going to sleep already. Strange, I don't remember her coming into the room. My body was heavy, and then I realized I was holding the fork too tightly in my mouth. I fell asleep while I was eating, and I hadn't even realized it.
Then I got ready and went to bed for real. The next day I took the bus and... look, I don't remember how I managed to wake up. I felt strange. But I followed my routine. On the way to the bus I always imagined a giant number falling from the sky and breaking buildings, imagining it rolling and gravity acting on it. The numbers were to remind me how long I had been taking the medication. 6 and 8 were the worst, they fell so badly and it was desperate to still be on them. I must have been on 15 that day, but I didn't know which number to imagine because I had taken it all.
When I got to work I felt even worse. I went to the bathroom and threw up. I vomited so hard, there was almost nothing coming out except water, but the force and dry contractions didn't stop, it seemed like my body wanted to expel everything. Even air. I spoke to my boss and he let me go. I left the building, crossed the street and fell to the ground, vomiting again. I couldn't see anything, even with eyes open light ignored me. After calling my mother and going to the doctor, I still had this urge to vomit. My throat was destroyed. At the doctor's, my blood pressure was 190, while normally it is 130. To the doctor and my mother I told I took three pills instead of one, and I threw the rest away out of anger... and everyone believed, which is actually very convenient.
Since then, I haven't taken any more medicine, I'm still thinking about going to the psychiatrist to see but I'm afraid to depend on it.
When I was still at my old job, the first, most stressful job I ever had (compared to the total of: 1), I had been prescribed clonazepam. It was the weakest dose per pill, to be taken only when I had a crisis, sublingually.
I almost always had anxiety, a crisis and was extremely agitated during my break. I would leave the building and go to another street, and then another. I would pass by a square, look at the trees, I liked them. I would walk more. I would go down the city, to another park, more isolated. Even the sky there was overcast, with big trees, leaves falling, I liked them too. Very quiet and relaxing. I would walk more. Until I had to go all the way back to work, and I was still anxious.
So, of course I took the pills every day. But the "calming effect to get rid of the crisis" only worked after the crisis was over, about 30 minutes later. So I started getting angry. One day I was having a bad crisis, I went to my break, and started hiking in the parks as usual. I took one. I knew it wouldn't help. I took another, and it wouldn't do any good either. Another. Another. One more. The pack isn't that big, so I took them all. I think there were 9-12.
Since they dissolved under the tongue, they were really cold, comforting feeling, was nice. But my anxiety was still screaming. I said, "Yeah, it didn't do anything, what can I do?"... And throughout the day I got sleepy, until I got home.
I changed my clothes, got my food and went to my room. I always eat lying down, I don't know why. I started eating, one bite, then another... My mother yelled at me and asked if I was going to sleep already. Strange, I don't remember her coming into the room. My body was heavy, and then I realized I was holding the fork too tightly in my mouth. I fell asleep while I was eating, and I hadn't even realized it.
Then I got ready and went to bed for real. The next day I took the bus and... look, I don't remember how I managed to wake up. I felt strange. But I followed my routine. On the way to the bus I always imagined a giant number falling from the sky and breaking buildings, imagining it rolling and gravity acting on it. The numbers were to remind me how long I had been taking the medication. 6 and 8 were the worst, they fell so badly and it was desperate to still be on them. I must have been on 15 that day, but I didn't know which number to imagine because I had taken it all.
When I got to work I felt even worse. I went to the bathroom and threw up. I vomited so hard, there was almost nothing coming out except water, but the force and dry contractions didn't stop, it seemed like my body wanted to expel everything. Even air. I spoke to my boss and he let me go. I left the building, crossed the street and fell to the ground, vomiting again. I couldn't see anything, even with eyes open light ignored me. After calling my mother and going to the doctor, I still had this urge to vomit. My throat was destroyed. At the doctor's, my blood pressure was 190, while normally it is 130. To the doctor and my mother I told I took three pills instead of one, and I threw the rest away out of anger... and everyone believed, which is actually very convenient.
Since then, I haven't taken any more medicine, I'm still thinking about going to the psychiatrist to see but I'm afraid to depend on it.
