Today I did something slightly ludicrous. I met up with somebody I met on Tinder. For coffee. At 11am. And I only got home at 4pm. It wasn’t a date because it didn’t feel like a date. But it was something I didn’t really think I’d be doing at this point last week, when I was too afraid to leave my house because of my anxiety.
Now we’re joking that I should write a review of him on my blog, and that’s not what this is. But I think I’d be wasting a damn good opportunity if I didn’t write something right now, whatever this turns out to be. So, bear with me, as this is an unplanned ramble of a post, much like my last one. I have got more hauls and reviews and lifestyle posts in the works but they don’t seem the right things to post at the moment, as they wouldn’t be honest. Or, more specifically, they wouldn’t feel honest.
As most of you have probably seen from my Instagram, I started taking Citalopram about a week ago, which is a huge development for me. I know I’ve spoken on here in this past about how I fought my depression without medication, but recently it’s gotten to a point that I can’t control it. I’ve started having major panic attacks at work, almost every day. I cannot let colleagues brush past me or pat me on the shoulder, or have any kind of close contact with me without feeling sick with panic. Customers are even worse. I really felt like I was losing control in a big way, so I went back to my doctors. And now I have Citalopram. The side effects so far are hideous (nausea, vomiting, extreme drowsiness, complete loss of appetite) but I’ll persevere through it and see how it goes.
In terms of mental health, today was a great day. And there was one massive personal achievement for me. Me, the girl that doesn’t allow physical contact with anybody, who flinches when somebody brushes past them and has panic attacks when people lean in too close, I hugged a stranger. Somebody I hadn’t met before today. And I was fine with it. Completely fine. I don’t expect you to understand, not really, but just know that this is the biggest miracle for me in a long time. Really big. And it’s still far too early for me to credit citalopram with that success.
And so, today, I feel proud of myself. In a small way. For a small thing.
And, of course, this small thing is overpowered by a big thing.
Perhaps I should have started by saying that the guy was nice. Very nice. Perhaps too nice. Nice enough that on the way home, all I could think about was how nobody would ever call me nice. Many things leap to mind, when trying to describe first impressions of me. Loud. Fidgety. Erratic. Passionate, if you get me on the right subject. But not nice. Never nice.
I’ve had another blog post planned in the recesses of my mind for a while now, about how, although I appear not nice, I would do absolutely anything for the people in my inner circle. Today is not the day of that post.
Today is a post about how I hate first impressions. That my loud chaos hides all these badly wired chemicals in my brain. That my ex’s bravado hid an abusive streak. And how I don’t really trust anybody, least of all myself.
And it’s also a post of hope, because I’m really hoping that, one day, this will change.