The Time I Was Afraid of My Own Medication

I used to think my biggest battle was anxiety. Turns out, my biggest battle was the moment I stood in front of a pill strip and felt my chest tighten — not because I took it, but because I was thinking about taking it.

🌪 When Anxiety Started Quiet… Then Got Loud

It started like a small thing.
A little restlessness. A few sleepless nights. A mind that wouldn’t switch off.

And then it kept growing.

Not in a dramatic movie way — more like a slow leak that suddenly becomes a flood.
One day I was “managing.” The next day I was counting my breaths, checking my body, and wondering why everything felt unsafe.

Eventually, I was diagnosed with generalized anxiety and panic symptoms.
That diagnosis did two things at once:

• it gave a name to what was happening
• and it made me feel like I had crossed into a different kind of life

I didn’t want that label to be permanent. I wanted a quick exit.

💊 The First Time Medication Helped… And the Fear That Followed

I started treatment under professional guidance.
The plan was simple: one main medicine, and another short-term one to calm the worst spikes.

And it worked.

Not like a magic switch — more like a slow return of the “old me.”
I could sit still again.
I could breathe without scanning my body for danger.
I stopped feeling like panic was waiting around every corner.

Later, with guidance, I tapered off gradually.

The first few weeks weren’t easy. There were uncomfortable withdrawal-like sensations, and my emotions felt slightly exposed — like I didn’t have the same buffer anymore. But that phase passed.

After that… I felt okay.

And because I felt okay, I made the classic mistake:

I assumed “okay” meant I was cured.

🍟 The Quiet Slide Back Into an Unhealthy Routine

This part is hard to admit because it feels so… ordinary.

No big tragedy. No single event.

Just small daily choices that stacked up:

• sleeping later and later
• eating whatever was easiest
• ignoring stress until it became loud
• postponing movement, sunlight, and rest
• convincing myself I could “power through”

Then life added its own pressure — family issues, personal problems, uncertainty.

And my anxiety didn’t return gently.

It returned like it had been waiting.

😷 When the World Changed… My Anxiety Took Over

When the pandemic began, my fears found unlimited fuel.

I wasn’t just “concerned.” I was spiraling.

I started checking my temperature repeatedly — not once or twice, but again and again, like reassurance had a half-life of ten minutes.

I knew it was irrational, and that’s what made it worse.

Because when your mind becomes your enemy, you don’t get a break.
You can’t “walk away” from your own thoughts.

I consulted a professional again (this time remotely).
A new plan was suggested.

I bought everything.

And then… I didn’t take it.

I didn’t even admit it.

🧠 The Strange Truth: Thinking About Medication Triggered My Anxiety

This is the part I never expected.

I wasn’t scared of side effects only.
I wasn’t scared of dependency only.

I was scared of what it meant.

In my head, restarting medication felt like:

“I’m back at zero.”

It felt like failure.
Like undoing all the effort I had made.

And honestly… I hated that I felt that way, because I knew medication had helped me before.

I also knew stigma is real — not always from others, but inside your own thoughts.
The quiet shame that says: “You should be able to handle this.”

But anxiety doesn’t respond to shame.
It feeds on it.

🗣 The Question I Couldn’t Escape: “Should I Tell My Doctor?”

I carried a secret I didn’t want to carry:

I had been prescribed help, I had bought it, and I had avoided it — because avoiding it felt safer.

But avoiding it came with a cost:

• ongoing anxiety
• occasional panic episodes
• constant mental negotiation (“tomorrow I’ll start”)
• and the exhausting habit of hiding

The real issue wasn’t “meds vs no meds.”
The real issue was that I wasn’t being fully honest with the one person who could actually guide me safely.

And the moment I admitted that to myself, something shifted.

Not my symptoms — my mindset.

Because honesty doesn’t cure anxiety, but it reduces the extra weight you add on top of it.

🧩 What I’m Learning Now: Healing Isn’t Linear

I used to think recovery was a straight line:

bad → treatment → good → done forever

But real life is not like that.

Real life looks more like:

better → careless → worse → try again → learn → adjust → repeat

That doesn’t mean you failed.
It means you’re human.

And the best part?

You can restart support without restarting your entire life.

You’re not going back to zero.
You’re picking up from experience.

🌿 The Small Things That Actually Helped Me Stay Steady

For me, the “big” turning point wasn’t one dramatic decision.
It was the slow return to basics:

• sleeping at a predictable time
• eating in a way that doesn’t spike my body stress
• reducing doom-scrolling
• moving daily, even if it’s small
• keeping my world a little quieter
• talking honestly instead of hiding

These didn’t replace professional care.
They supported it.

They made my brain feel less like a battlefield and more like a place I could live in again.

🤍 Where I Am Today

I still have anxiety sometimes.
I still get that old fear-flash now and then.

But I’m learning something that I wish I understood earlier:

Needing support doesn’t mean you’re weak. It means you’re willing to survive.

And if you’re reading this while staring at your own “next step,” here’s what I’ll say gently:

You don’t have to decide your whole future today.
You just have to take one honest step.

Even if that step is simply telling the truth.