I am currently in quarantine and have been for two months. I have had my ups and downs but my old friend anxiety has been with me through it all. I am new to town and just started getting out of my shell when the virus hit LA. My old friend had been quiet with the move, more than expected at least. I did so well. Now my old friend talks with me daily about every little thing.
I am new to town and had to get a new doctor, therapist, and psychiatrist. Old friend didn’t make the task easy. I was afraid to get a new doctor; I had been with mine for half my life before the move. My doctor knew everything. She was there with all my ups and downs of finding the right medicine to help control my old friend and my other ailments. I was terrified to trust someone new. I think that may have been one of the reasons I waited so long to get a new doctor. My old friend made it hard to pick up the phone and call insurance.
Once I did, my new doctor said I would need a psychiatrist to help manage my anxiety, depression, and bipolar. Mind you this is after the COVID19 hit so all of this is while in lockdown. The psychiatrist must be seen after seeing a therapist first with my insurance. Again my old friend helped me make that call. The therapist asked how I was doing, I said fine. My old friend felt it was easier to say that than the truth. It wasn’t until three calls later that the truth came out, I was terrified and could not control worrying about everything during the lockdown. I then, was too afraid to speak up when I knew I had only a few days left of medicine but two weeks before I would be able to see a psychiatrist, who could prescribe my refill. My old friend told me it would just be easier to go without meds than to bring attention to the matter.
It took me three days to find the courage to call the pharmacy and tell them I was out of meds. My old friend was there when I went to the pharmacy to pick it up. My old friend held my hand as I was scanned for temperature and checked to see if I was ill. My old friend helped me up the stairs and into the line of mask-wearing people. My old friend helped me judge the line. Was the person next to me sick and not showing signs yet?
I finally met with the psychiatrist. My old friend anxiety came up in conversation. We talked about my family and the history of where my old friend came from and how long we had been together. I was given a diagnosis that my old friend helped me forget. Too nervous to write it down, maybe if I forgot it would be less impactful. My old friend held my tongue when they asked if there was anything else. My old friend wanted to stay and control my life like it has done for so many years before. My anxiety meds seem to be in check…
Blog post was written by guest blogger: June Still